This week was a challenging week for me. Lots of tears. I think the first couple weeks were all about focused survival mode, but by week 3, the sleep deprivation really sets in. Reality really sets in, and the amount of people checking in tapers off a bit.
Physically, I got my check-up complete for the stitches and all is healing well. My lower back hurts from leaning over to lift you, now that you’re growing so big. I’m going to have to figure out best ways to strengthen that since you’re only getting bigger.
In the grand scheme of things, all physical things this week are pretty minor.
My belly is nearly down to bloated-after-eating-gluten size, and I think the “Mom pooch” is here to stay for awhile. No sign of hair loss like others have reported; fewer chin hairs; minimal bleeding. I’m exhausted physically, but still finding and wanting to find energy to go out daily on at a mile walk with you.
How I’m doing mentally is another story.
More of a rollercoaster than a gentle progression. There was a book that I listened to while pregnant with you that I think of often: You Are a F*cking Awesome Mom. It also talks about postpartum symptoms in a very real/direct manner and her experience. Specifically, I remember this passage in which she recommended using a loofa to toughen up your nipples in preparation for breastfeeding. Every time I get into the shower I think about this, and I cannot imagine doing it. Thankfully, breastfeeding is going a lot better, Clara – at least in terms of your latch and my ability to feed you. I can actually stand up and walk occasionally while breastfeeding. I wish they’d make a breastfeeding specific sling.
I’ve stopped pumping for the most part.
I’ve had a bit of an oversupply, I think, which is a while other problem. After a couple engorgements, and fears of mastitis, I rolled things back quite a bit. This means more on demand breastfeeding, which also means a fussier time on the bottle.
I started using the Haaka more and more to just collect let-down milk. The difficult thing about the Haaka is keeping it on while you’re thrashing your feet around while breastfeeding. When you cry now, my breasts start leaking. When you drink from one side, the other side starts up.
I also think of the book above quite often because of how often I feel not good enough, Clara.
I want to give you the world, and I simply can’t do it.
I’m almost entirely ignoring the news right now to focus all of my positive energy on you. Big I still cycle through so many thoughts. I don’t want to send you to daycare. I can and should be making more money. I don’t want to go back to work. I have to go back to work, but I want to find a way to hire help. In home help is expensive in California. Los Angeles is dangerous; drivers are dangerous. I want you to get out and see the world, but I don’t want to put you in a car unless it’s necessary. I want to move, but I want to be on a beach. When do we go to Spain? How will you master two languages? Are we doing enough tummy time and engaging activities? How on earth do we keep up with this when I go back to work? Will you get the attention you deserve at childcare?
I wish I could catch all your pees and poops on the potty so you never have to sit in them. I wish you peed and pooped less or at least more consolidated, so that it wasn’t my ever present thought. Will childcare even work with us on elimination communication and treat you like the bigger kids in potty training?
I can’t get you to settle getting ready for bed or late into the night. Why do bassinets have the flimsiest mattresses? I get upset that I may not be feeding you the best I can be when my let down is too fast or your spit-up is too much. I get frustrated when your entire dinner comes back up, and my nipples are sore and I need to hold you upright at a 45 degree angle with back pats to make sure your digestion keeps going. If you’re not taking the bottle now, how will they feed you slowly enough at childcare? Will they have the patience?
I lose patience sometimes. I’ve lost patience twice now. I had to hand you off and walk away for a bit – eat, cry, nap. I’m so sorry; it’s not about you. You are communicating the best you know how. We’re just not fluent in infant yet.
I also feel very conflicted about visitors and chatting with people right now. I’m exhausted.
As an introvert, when I’m tired, I just want to be with 1-2 close people in person.
I don’t want to be stopped by neighbors; I don’t particularly want to visit with people or chat on the phone. Video calls are occasionally nice when they’re short but then I feel distracted from you again. I also don’t want to have to try and explain why I’m crying, or how I’m feeling because I don’t always know why. I don’t really want to give you up, so someone else can hold you while you’re calm. I’m mildly but appropriately concerned about your little baby immature immune system even with people washing their hands. I also don’t want to get distracted from learning from you and knowing your cues.
But on the other hand, I want time to do my own things. I want to shower. I want the house clean, clothes washed, closets decluttered, fridge stocked. I also want the love and affection of close friends and family. I want them to get to know you and love you and be there for you. I want you to have community.
Thank goodness for your dad.
He’s always been my rock, a centering force in my life and who quickly knocks off my nonsense thoughts. He helps me question their rationality, and reminds me that we’re doing above and beyond what we can to be the best parents we can. I can’t wait for you to get to know him like I know him.
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