Carefully I scrub the sole of my foot smooth. This three minute shower has it's time allotted carefully; Soap all over, shampoo and conditioner at the same time, maybe shave underarms and at least one minute to scrub my feet.
I make observations and then, like little mice, they run around in my head, scurrying here and there. Unexpectedly showing up and making me jump. I noticed, while pregnant, many Mom's forget their feet so I had promised myself, not forget mine. Not that my toes are particularly 'pretty' but they take me everywhere I have ever been.
Motherhood... it is the strangest difficult transition imaginable. My relationship with everything is changed and I see myself, and everyone around me, with a different kind of awareness.
In labor, the women who aided us blew my, already rose-colored perception of women away. Women can be lifelines of a strength and grace I do not comprehend. Sometime between my dilation of 6 to 9 1/2, I lost myself until slender hands grasped mine. She pulled me out of the tunnel.
I believe all living things are comprised of Four; body (instinct, physical reactions such as flight or fight), mind (logic, reason), emotion (love, hate, compassion) and that indefinable essence, perhaps something called the soul.
After labor this is no longer a belief. It is indisputable truth. I was a passenger and my body had become a stranger's. My body was in control. This scared the shit out of me,
Funny thing, right? Not the pain, not watching the mirror -what terrified me was my complete and absolute lack of control over my body.
After, when they handed me this tiny girl, with her dark startled eyes, the flood of recognition in my bones..... my arms closed around her -I can not express this. It was all of me, all four parts. Then watching my exhausted and overwhelmed friend, how he both shut out and wrapped his arms around me.... I saw, understood him and accepted.
The first week of postpartum was a blur of hospital and mild shell shock. Yes I can recite the days and events, I have my memory, it's overwhelmed kaleidoscope of people, pain and dark 2am's looking at her face in wonder and watching my darling husband try to sleep.
Week two was joy and extreme physical awareness. Not sure why this is when it showed up, a week later, but my body's protests are the second thing I thought about next to her gentle face.
Week three; the reality of parenthood started to set in. My 'I-Can-Do-This' attitude rallies, pain subsides (comparatively). I take short walks with little Luna, start to do small chores, walk up the stairs often to recover long lost muscles. I see the stress on my man, on us and start trying to reconcile it. This doesn't go well...
Week four. My body gives me the bird. I wake up with a 103.4 temperature - mastitis. This is Unholy pain.
Interestingly, I KNEW what was wrong. I knew it was mastitis. My body told me what it was.
This pain -, it is in my fingernails, my head is exploding, my eyelashes are scratching my skin, my muscles are pulling my skeleton apart. THREE days until the temperature begins to recede. The only relief is when I nurse her so I over fed the little blue bird at every opportunity for days. Relatives helpfully comment daily how 'lucky' I am to stay home for a bit. I don't understand this observation and the fever makes me foggy and too weak to answer with a biting reply.
Week five was a see-saw. The benefit of being this ill, was that I sat down for this week. Really and truly (and finally -as my Mommy said), I sat down. I cuddled, soothed and sat. Too dizzy to argue with my body, my activities were limited to showering and feeding this tiny happy girl.
Hello week six!! I feel... dare I say it.... better. Genuinely, everything feels better. I respect my limits now too. Yesterday afternoon, as I got up to trim the backyard ivy I felt the room tilt slightly. My response? I immediately took off my shoes, went upstairs and took a nap.
I make observations and then, like little mice, they run around in my head, scurrying here and there. Unexpectedly showing up and making me jump. I noticed, while pregnant, many Mom's forget their feet so I had promised myself, not forget mine. Not that my toes are particularly 'pretty' but they take me everywhere I have ever been.
Motherhood... it is the strangest difficult transition imaginable. My relationship with everything is changed and I see myself, and everyone around me, with a different kind of awareness.
In labor, the women who aided us blew my, already rose-colored perception of women away. Women can be lifelines of a strength and grace I do not comprehend. Sometime between my dilation of 6 to 9 1/2, I lost myself until slender hands grasped mine. She pulled me out of the tunnel.
I believe all living things are comprised of Four; body (instinct, physical reactions such as flight or fight), mind (logic, reason), emotion (love, hate, compassion) and that indefinable essence, perhaps something called the soul.
After labor this is no longer a belief. It is indisputable truth. I was a passenger and my body had become a stranger's. My body was in control. This scared the shit out of me,
Funny thing, right? Not the pain, not watching the mirror -what terrified me was my complete and absolute lack of control over my body.
After, when they handed me this tiny girl, with her dark startled eyes, the flood of recognition in my bones..... my arms closed around her -I can not express this. It was all of me, all four parts. Then watching my exhausted and overwhelmed friend, how he both shut out and wrapped his arms around me.... I saw, understood him and accepted.
The first week of postpartum was a blur of hospital and mild shell shock. Yes I can recite the days and events, I have my memory, it's overwhelmed kaleidoscope of people, pain and dark 2am's looking at her face in wonder and watching my darling husband try to sleep.
Week two was joy and extreme physical awareness. Not sure why this is when it showed up, a week later, but my body's protests are the second thing I thought about next to her gentle face.
Week three; the reality of parenthood started to set in. My 'I-Can-Do-This' attitude rallies, pain subsides (comparatively). I take short walks with little Luna, start to do small chores, walk up the stairs often to recover long lost muscles. I see the stress on my man, on us and start trying to reconcile it. This doesn't go well...
Week four. My body gives me the bird. I wake up with a 103.4 temperature - mastitis. This is Unholy pain.
Interestingly, I KNEW what was wrong. I knew it was mastitis. My body told me what it was.
This pain -, it is in my fingernails, my head is exploding, my eyelashes are scratching my skin, my muscles are pulling my skeleton apart. THREE days until the temperature begins to recede. The only relief is when I nurse her so I over fed the little blue bird at every opportunity for days. Relatives helpfully comment daily how 'lucky' I am to stay home for a bit. I don't understand this observation and the fever makes me foggy and too weak to answer with a biting reply.
Week five was a see-saw. The benefit of being this ill, was that I sat down for this week. Really and truly (and finally -as my Mommy said), I sat down. I cuddled, soothed and sat. Too dizzy to argue with my body, my activities were limited to showering and feeding this tiny happy girl.
Hello week six!! I feel... dare I say it.... better. Genuinely, everything feels better. I respect my limits now too. Yesterday afternoon, as I got up to trim the backyard ivy I felt the room tilt slightly. My response? I immediately took off my shoes, went upstairs and took a nap.
