Friday, January 27, 2012

Go Read My Friend's Blog

Kelly was an acquaintance  in high school, and I was rather terrified of her. She was all sorts of confident and sexy and all the guys wanted to get in her pants, but the amazing thing is they also wanted to be friends with her. She was by far the coolest member of the drama crowd, which I know isn't saying much, but she'd be cool no matter who she hung out with. It was like she almost legitimized the band of freaks that we were to the rest of the school. So fast forward a decade and a half and she and I become friends on facebook. And we somehow morph into actual friends. Z, T, C, and I visited her and her family a few weeks ago at her home in NC. First time I'd seen her in 17 years. The internet is weird.

Anyway, her blog is awesome. It is incredibly honest about the hard stuff and honesty is like crack to me. She had a baby last week and today she posted about the hormonal nuttiness that happens when you are very recently postpartum. She wrapped it up with a photo of her belly one week after giving birth. And it made me think of this post  that I wrote 30 days before C was born. I included pictures of myself in all my huge glory and promised to post pictures in the same dress a few weeks after C arrived to show how a flabby postpartum belly looks.

I've felt guilty about not putting on the dress and taking pictures ever since. But the reason I didn't do it wasn't that I didn't want to show my gross postpartum self. As someone who struggles with positive self image, any opportunity to rake myself over the coals in a public forum is welcome. Instead I felt guilty because I was one of the ladies who ended up losing weight quickly. And I felt like posting pictures would have been bragging. Look at me! Yes, I'm technically still overweight, but I weigh less than a did when I got pregnant! How gross. It wasn't just the bragging aspect of things that kept me from posting the picture. The rapid weight loss was a direct result of the hemorrhage that occurred six hours after C was born. It was another example of my body failing me. With T there was the preeclampsia and retained placenta. With the miscarriage there was THE MISCARRIAGE, and the D&C because it was an incomplete miscarriage, and then the never ending saga of passing all the "products of conception". With C there was the hemorrhage.

It was hands down one of the scariest moments of my life. A few weeks after it happened Z told me it was one of the scariest moments of his life, too. He said that blood was actually gushing out of me, he said it was like a bad horror movie because if you saw that much blood on the screen it would look fake and ridiculous. And the next several weeks were scary as well. I was so incredibly weak. My postpartum emotions were tied up in the fact that I was physically unable to care for my newborn and toddler. I was so lucky to have my parents there and desperately clung to them and their help.

Kelly was able to have the birth experience that she wanted, unmedicated at a birthing center. I am so proud of her for achieving her goal. But I'm jealous, too. Not so much of the unmedicated part, I'm a total epidural gal. And I'm not interested in the holier-than-thou battle of epidural vs. natural (though I chafe at the term natural-it indicates there is something not natural about giving birth any other way). Like in most things I think there is a choice to be made and just because my choice was epidural doesn't mean I look down on those who made other choices. I admire the hell out of the unmedicated ladies and the c-section ladies. All roads to birthing a baby are tough. Hell, sometime circumstances dictate the situation no matter what choice you make. We should be supporting each other rather than judging those who have different ideas than our own. And honestly, C's actual birth couldn't have gone any better. I still get the warm fuzzies when I think about pushing him into this world.

What I'm jealous of is that her body didn't betray her. She didn't hold on to a piece of her placenta, she didn't gush blood while doctors took turns reaching into her uterus to pull out blood clots, her body behaved itself. When I think of my body's weakness I feel shame and guilt and fear. I think about those first few weeks of C's life when all I could do was lay in bed. I think about the middle of the night calls to the doctor's office when I was convinced I was going to hemorrhage again and needed to be talked off the ledge. I think about wanting another child and being scared my body can't handle it. I was too ashamed to post a picture of who I was at that time, I might have had a relatively flat stomach, but I felt like a colossal failure.

The picture Kelly posted is beautiful. She looks strong and happy. This is the woman who left the birth center hours after having her daughter and walked into her home while carrying that baby. She is a total rock star. I may be jealous of her, but I don't begrudge her the success of her experience one bit.

Sometimes your kids are sitting on the sofa and looking totally adorable and you want to share that adorableness with the world and this is what you get instead. 

Check out this kid's lashes. I've always had the shortest thinest lashes ever, it amazes me that my boys have such thick beautiful ones. 


  1. I am terrified of post partum nuttiness. And I am also envious of your friend's drug-free, "uncomplicated" birth...because I wanted a drug-free "natural" birth experience. I wonder - almost daily - if I'll ever get over all the baggage that came with Roo's birth?

    Thanks for sharing!

    1. R-I guess the thing to focus on when stuff hits the fan during childbirth is we still end up with the kid, so maybe we shouldn't worry so much about how we got there. Easier said than done, I know. But Roo is lucky to have you as a Mama.

  2. I know how insanely lucky I was to have this experience, largely because I did not have it with my older daughter. It was incredibly healing... and now I am left to wonder, how do you get to the point of peaceful without getting a "do-over?"

    1. That's the question, Kelly. One of my closest friends miscarried a few years before we had T. She talked so much about how she felt she had fucked up somehow and it physically pained me because she was in so much pain herself, she was giving herself such an unfairly hard time. When I had my miscarriage I suddenly understood her reaction in my bones. Not to say I thought she was in any way responsible, I just knew why she felt like she was. Because I felt the same way. And what is worse? The complete lack of control over our bodies when something goes wrong? Or the idea that we might have caused it? I'm not sure how to be at peace when our bodies fail us. If you figure it out please send me an email!