I Knew You

What a few crazy weeks months it has been. A flare-up of already-under-medicated postpartum depression that has left me little more than comatose most days, the death of my grandfather, serious relationship problems with a family member, a teething baby, visiting in-laws, a diaper rash turned yeast infection... when it rains, it pours. I simply haven’t had the energy or inclination to write. But I’m trying to force myself back into some semblance of normality in hopes of tricking myself into a better frame of mind, so here I am. I was going to wrap up the story of how my husband and I met, but then the latest Planned Parenthood debacle happened, and I felt pulled in a different direction.

Before Baby J was born, I hadn’t had much experience with babies. I was the younger of two children. Most of my cousins were older than me; if younger, it wasn’t by much. My friends didn’t have baby siblings. I’d never even held a baby, and my interactions with them didn’t stretch much beyond making faces at the children of overwhelmed parents when they (the children, not the parents!) were fussy during Mass. So I read. And I prayed. And mostly I just wondered what in the world I would do when this little creature was on the outside of my belly and I knew nothing.

And then one cold day in January, after 28 hours of labour and another 30 minutes of pushing, the little creature whom I’d carried for 41 weeks and 5 days (but who’s counting?) was laid upon my chest. We stared at each other. Stared some more. Eyes locked. And my first thought was... you look like an alien (I think it was the giant eyes).

It didn’t take long for me to realise I knew more than I’d thought—not about changing diapers, which was easy enough to learn, but about this new little person (who wasn’t so new to me after all).

As he slowly s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d his way out of the swaddle time and time again, I recalled how he used to try to s-t-r-e-t-c-h his way into more space in my womb. When he cried uncontrollably and wouldn’t sleep one night soon after we were home from the hospital, I finally realised that his clothes were too short for him, and he just couldn’t tolerate it. From day one until today, he has almost always slept fully stretched out, arms above his head. And it came as no surprise, because I knew him before he was born.

I never had to (was never able to?) do kick counts, because whenever I would sit still a moment, he would enter into a flurry of uncountable movements. When I was in motion, however, he was generally still. He loved being worn (despite his general distaste for confinement) from the moment he was born—but he typically kicks up a fuss if I stop moving. And now that he’s getting a bit older, he adores being in his Jumperoo. He has loved motion since he was a bitty bean.

Aside from his propensity to bounce on my bladder at approximately all times, he was a pretty laid-back baby while still in utero. He dealt with a prolonged labour like a champ. I could drink caffeine without him losing his mind! He didn’t give me any major health scares. And he remains an easygoing infant, or at least as easygoing as an infant can be. He doesn’t cry all that often, and when he does, there’s almost always a discernible reason. He’s a great sleeper. He grins readily and enthusiastically. He goes with the flow. He always has!

The same baby who gave me horrible back labour thanks to his sunny-side-up presentation prefers being on his back to being on his belly. Tummy time has never been popular in this house!

And then there’s his heart. I heard it beating when he was still in my womb—that reassuring thump-thump-thump that told me there was a baby in there even before my belly had its discernible bump. That remarkably consistent thump-thump-thump that said “mama, I’m doing just fine!” I rest my hand against his chest, and that same little heart is still beating away. A miracle.

My baby had a personality long before he was born. He had a personality because he had personhood. He was a person. Is a person. Has a soul that will endure in perpetuity. And I am so blessed to know him.

Ten Things I Wish I'd Known before I Gave Birth

I read about a million "what you need to know before giving birth" posts before I gave birth, and yet I still ended up in the delivery room woefully unprepared for what awaited me. So this is my contribution to the collection—things I've never seen mentioned before, or in a few cases, things that I didn't believe or that just didn't sink in. So in no particular order, here are ten things I wish I'd known before I gave birth:

1. Labour is no joke. You'd think this would be obvious, yet it was even tougher than I expected. I thought I'd sail through a med-free birth, since I'm used to dealing with chronic pain. Not so—I was begging for pain relief just several hours in, and asked for an epidural somewhere around hour thirteen. But even more unexpected than my inability to deal with the pain was how utterly exhausting the whole ordeal was. Next time I hope to be in better physical shape so I can deal with the marathon!

2. I was worrying about the wrong things. My number one worry? Dealing with the poop (and to a lesser degree, the other bodily fluids). I've always had a weak stomach, and I feared that I would vomit my way through every diaper change. In fact, I did vomit during my first diaper change—but it turns out that was a result of some postpartum nausea issues and had very little to do with the diaper change itself (it was at most a trigger). Proof? We switched to cloth diapering at my request when babe was about a month old. I promise—those things you're worrying about? You'll get through them.

3. Speaking of nausea, postpartum vomiting is awful. Do whatever you can to avoid it. Although I never conclusively determined why I had several bouts of vomiting, I suspect that the cause was taking heavy-duty doses of naproxen with inadequate food. I thought I was eating enough, but the vomiting suggests otherwise. For those of you unaccustomed to naproxen, ibuprofen, and the like—be warned: they are hard on the stomach. I initially thought my vomiting was from pain, so I would take more of the painkillers (always keeping within the prescribed dose, mind you), and it would result in—you guessed it—more vomiting. So be careful, and take with plenty of food and water.

4. The bad stuff doesn't necessarily hit right away. I was expecting the worst—severe postpartum depression, body image issues, major hair loss (okay, so that's comparatively minor, but I do like my hair!), and even the possibility that I wouldn't feel any love for my newborn. For the first several weeks postpartum, though, I was happier than I'd been in months, I thought I looked pretty great for the mom of a newborn, and I was madly in love with babe (oh, and my hair remained firmly attached to my head). Things started falling apart about a month in, and I was no longer quite prepared—I thought I'd made it through safely. I don't intend to scare anyone, merely warn you that the sky doesn't always fall right away, but it's still worth keeping a watch for symptoms that need to be managed for a while after birth.

5. Being prepared doesn't make you immune. The one thing I was still on the watch for, even at the one-month mark (although I'd let my guard down somewhat) was postpartum depression. Yet the preparation did not make me immune to it, or even somehow better able to deal with it, as I'd somehow convinced myself it would. The depression hit, I went into denial, and I responded by becoming self-destructive and despondent. Knowing it might happen isn't magically prophylactic. It turned out to be crucial to my treatment and recovery that my husband knew what to look for, and persisted in trying to persuade me that I needed help.

6. You will probably do things you said you never would. It's okay if you do (provided, of course, that no one is being endangered). It's also okay if you don't. Some of these things may even be positive choices that you said you wouldn't do because you didn't think you'd be capable! After all, I swore I would not cloth diaper, yet here we are.

7. Breastfeeding is really hard at first. I'd read this about a million times, but I still didn't fully believe it. I wish I'd spent more time reading about the logistics than I spent reading about how hard it was, because then I might have realised that I should concentrate on growing about three extra hands. Of course, reading only helps so much; it's getting the muscle memory and coordination that really takes time and effort and ultimately makes or breaks you.

8. Not everyone who tries to help you is actually helpful. This is related to the previous point. I knew people would probably give me lousy parenting advice, and I was prepared to ignore that. What I didn't expect was lousy breastfeeding advice. Despite what I was told, it is not normal for a babe to feed for five hours straight with no break whatsoever—this is not cluster feeding. Cluster feeding is normal, but there are (short) breaks. I wish I'd done enough research to recognise the difference between non-nutritive sucking and nutritive suckling, because then I might have been able to take a few catnaps at least, and wouldn't have ended up sleep-deprived to the point of beginning to hallucinate.

9. Not every sleep-deprived decision you make is wise. For the first several days after we got home (as well as most of the time we were in the hospital), I took on the brunt of baby care, especially at night. I got very little sleep, and my husband got plenty—uninterrupted, even. I reasoned that if I protected his sleep, we wouldn't both crash at the same time. What it meant, however, was that I crashed hard, rather than both of us simply ending up tired but functional. When he caught on to what I was doing, he was more proactive in taking baby shifts—and I was easily convinced to let him. Check your reasoning with someone else!

10. Water is your friend. TMI time: it really hurt to pee for the first while postpartum (unsurprisingly). In fact, I scared my husband by crying the first several times I went to the bathroom, because it was just so painful. The more it hurt, the more I restricted my fluid intake so I wouldn't have to go so often. BIG MISTAKE. As I eventually figured out, being dehydrated increased my pain exponentially. In fact, pee pain quickly became a great gauge of whether I'd taken in enough fluids. It hurt a little if I was properly hydrated. I wanted to die if I was dehydrated. Stay hydrated, friends. Stay hydrated.

There are other things I wish I'd known, or done differently—my hospital bag packing, for one—but these are the biggies. Perhaps there'll be a part two in the future, though!

What did you wish you'd known before giving birth? Or, if you haven't given birth, what would you like to know?