From the couch

It has been almost three weeks since I was hit with a nice case of sciatica. Luckily I am one of those blessed with it in an isolated location- my ass. Over the course of these three weeks I have been confined mostly to limited movement activities. Because of that I have stuck close to home. I have built a pillow fortress on the couch so I can breast feed, sew quilts, and eat all at the same time and without much movement. At the end of the three weeks I had worked up to a ¼-1/2 kilometer walk but was very sore afterwords. Happy to be on the mend, and happier that my man was home for a few hours yesterday, I decided to bend in the shower and shave my legs.

My back went out.

Now I have been known to complain about physical ailments before. I know that when it rains it pours, especially when it comes to body mishaps, but this really has got me down. Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to move around the house with a newborn when you need a wall to hold when you walk? It took me a half an hour to get to a sitting position at the edge of the bed this morning. A screaming child next to me. Then I think how lucky I am that little N isn’t crawling and needing much more stimulation than sitting on my lap looking at shadows. Then I would be screwed. So I sit here, little N curled up beside me sleeping, counting down hours until I can take my nest dose of regular strength Tylenol, and pray that some light enters my back. The good news? Today is my last day of being alone for a whole week! My brother and his partner are coming from Canada and my man will be home in the mornings for 4 days! Bring on the love….

From the couch.

Sleep

I spend most of the day trying to make her comfortable enough to sleep.
Feed, cuddle, snuggle, play, read, sing, feed
Once she does fall asleep miss her. I watch her breathe.

I want to pick her up and rid myself of the first twenty minutes of independence I have had all day.
I want to snuggle with her.
I want to smell her hair.
I want to hear her coo.

My heart is so full... it is awesome.

1 month

It has been a month.

It is all still raw. Figuratively and literally.

I am getting it together though. I have let go.

Or I have let go a bit.

The funniest moment of the labour?

I was at the end of 40 hours of contractions.
My daughter’s head had entered the birth canal. I shat. The hot male midwife had to help clean me up. Everyone was so focused on the crap that no one thought why the crap would be there. A few minutes later, the threat of a c-section looming due to lack of progression, they gave me one final exam. Sure enough, there she was! I pushed for the greater part of an hour to no avail. The contractions were getting weaker and further apart. It was time to make some decisions. Time to bust out the ventouse. The apparatus looked somewhere between a flying saucer and a toilet plunger. They put it on my baby’s head. They cut my vagina to make more room. They pulled on the baby while I pushed. The seal slipped and the ventouse popped off the baby’s head and out my vagina. With it a chunk of flesh (placenta??) that rotated in the air in slow motion. It landed with a distinct sound on the doctor’s cheek.

This is one of the many moments I want to remember. It is the one I think of often when I think of that night. The comic relief that could have presented itself a bit earlier but was fantastic never the less…. Even if the doctor disagreed.

3 days of solitude

Day 1:

4 hours of sleep

6 hours of crying

3 hours of driving around England because I took a wrong turn and missed an osteopathy appointment for the baby


Day 2:

6 hours of sleep broken into 3 parts

0 hours of crying

1 incontinence pad 1 diaper thrown into a load of black laundry by accident

Day 3:

8 hours of sleep broken into 3 parts

0 hours of crying

1 poke with a stick to make sure she is alive resulting in 5 minutes of crying

My World

Day 11

I am sitting on our couch, the couch I always write my posts from, and feeling like I am a very different person compared to the last time I sat and wrote. I have my daughter passed out on my chest, a milky breath pants from her bowed lips. She has a full head of hair that seems permanently oiled due to the irresistible urge we all have had to kiss her when she snuggles into the space between my collar bone and my chin. I love her so completely.

Today is a big day for me here. My parents, who have been here since I came home from the hospital, left today. My husband left a few days ago and so now I am alone. A dear friend of mine gave me a word of warning not to be a martyr about my situation (as my family history would lead me to be) but in all truth, I have been terrified of this moment since she was born. It is fucking scary to be a parent, let alone a new parent left alone during the second week of your child’s life. I am starting to get into the swing of things. I have left the house for short sling wrapped walks around the farm. I am able to change a diaper in the middle of the night without turning on the light. I have even managed to breastfeed laying down. The last one may not seem like a big deal to some women, but my breasts are now a bulging “L” cup and I feel like the baby is on the other side of the room when I feed her this way. It has taken some pretty awesome nipple maneuvering skills, let me tell you.

So yes, my stitches are healing up and I am bleeding less. I am anemic, which doesn’t surprise me due to my blood loss at the delivery, but I don’t feel too bad. I have had so much support from D and my folks that I feel well loved, and in the end, that is how I fill my cup. All the sleep in the world won’t give me half the peace that a good hug and a warm smile will. On that note, however, I am going to bed.

We made it...