Postpartum Stream of Consciousness
The following monologue is a journal entry about a month after our second child was born. Max had gone back to work, and I was caring for 2 under 2. I didn’t write it to be published or for anyone to see, but I have a passion for encouraging women in their pregnancy, birth and postpartum, health: mental and physical, understanding of trimesters 1-4, normalization: of different lifestyles and choices, and acceptance: self-acceptance and other-acceptance, and hope that this excerpt will offer a bit of insight or normalcy to 4th trimester baby blues. Some of the passion stems from having gotten it right (from my point of view), and some of it comes from it having gone terribly wrong. Handling my baby blues and postpartum depression is one thing that I could have done better. The second time around, I did see a therapist for a short time, which I found super helpful, but it took a lot of time and effort to convince myself to take the time and effort to get there (ironic since I’m a therapist, right?).
I did it. I went into my second birth experience wanting to birth like a horse, to have breath not hold my breath.
—pause for crying baby—
Where was I...I have breath, I had breath.
—pause for feeding baby—
In the wee hours of the morning, on September 9th, my son breathed his first breath with me. He, like his sister, was born at home. It was fast, very fast. I mean, the final labor was fast, but I did have 2 full days of false labor starting in late August. 12 hours of labor that didn't bring a baby...TWICE! Twice before our birth day I said good bye to our sweet Sage (17mo) as an only child. Twice we sent her off with her gram for the day/night to prepare for her brother. And twice we woke up still a family of three. My body messed with my heart strings. Got them all tied up in knots preparing for life change without bringing life change. These extra long hours were not fruitless. They helped prepare my body and Tom for …
—pause for crying baby—
It's funny yet fitting that it took the first snowfall for it to hit me that we are where we are. We are on a lake. We're not on a mountain or in a forest. This isn't CO or CA or NY...this is WI. This is forever. I can honestly say I don't know how it made me feel to meet the recognition that we aren't there, but here forever. Maybe like waking up from a dream. Today's snowfall wasn't pretty. It wasn't the way I like to remember snow. It wasn't fat and happy or sparing and sweet, it wasn't skiing snow or kissing snow. Today's Wisconsin snow was wet and came in on the wind. It came with downed trees and grey skies, angry waves and toppling wind. This snow brought me into reality. I feel like the snow.
—wake up—
I'm exhausted from my inside to outside, upside to downside, it flips all upsides down and it feels like drowning in an anxious fog of silence and deep breaths. I'm lonely in a room full of friends, imaginary ones stuffed with fluff, and their kids that breathe life into them. I gave life to them. Not the fluff, but the ones that give them voice. They have the sweetest voices in the world, a goo-goo and a mama and pitty pitty pease hug them so tight I'll never let go, and I'm down side down til they scream and my seams bust loose and it seems I'm losing whatever mind I may have had left over from the caffeine hangover.
—pause for needy toddler—
Where was I? Oh, my birth story. I did it. I had breath and I birthed like a freaking horse. And I had breath. I didn’t fight the pain, and I felt love.
—brain pause—
I feel love and guilt, and a bit like he messed with me. They tell you the kids will be different, and you know they must be right, but have no idea what different looks like til the next one is here and the first one is adorable and the second one wont stop crying…but didn’t the first one scream bloody murder, too? I can’t remember: the last time I slept, or bathed, or or or. Man-oh-man do I love these babies. And man-oh-man do I wish they would stop crying. “This too will come to an end.” I don’t want it to end because I recognize that “this time is fleeting.” This time is sweet. Never again will these babies be this baby, I want to hold them, and I want to be alone.