DSC_7742

Nine days postpartum…

Toddler naptime stream of consciousness, nine days into it…
Trying this without using the “delete” key.

Getting too old for these nighttime feedings. I love stroking Délice’s cheeks. Oh my goodness gracious, she smells like heaven. Nice not to feel so stressed about it all this time around. Rather, stressed she is growing before our eyes. Quick, quick, take it in before it fades away. It took me all of three days to decide Délice cannot be our last one. TM agreed by day five. What is wrong with us? This is madness. How will I ever feed both? Entertain Ayo and not miss out on Délice’s each move? Whole house sick with tummy bug sucks big time. Ayo is hardly ever sick. How could that have happened?  Cartoons allowed in our house, what’s happened to our parenting? Ayo’s first big bro moment, cuddling Délice whilst watching a show: “Caillou fait des pizzas.” A French show seems more acceptable, right? At least he is learning something, right? He’s speaking less French already. Mama can’t just be dedicated to teaching him French all day anymore. So sad. So happy. So thankful for those who are caring for him. And us. Surrounded by unbelievably loving friends, family and church. Tired. Winded. How will I cope when TM goes back to work and Mamie is back home? This is like a diaper factory between her and him. She poops. He poops. She poops again. Tiring. Then I feel great and attack machine loads of spit up and breastmilk laden towels. And then I get tired. Herbal baths are divine. All postpartum mamas should be allowed to enjoy the herbal bath I had at the birth center after Délice was born. That was my first moment I got to stare into her face all on my own. So special. SO special. Candles, babe snuggles and bath – like I said, divine. Then the vernix absorbed into her skin. Skin-to-skin, skin. Then, I took the memory home: stockings to pour herbs into and a bathtub to pour herbal stocking into. A bath to shut everyone else out. Just me and my squishy belly that no one wants to touch anymore. I do! Me and my leaky breasts. Thankful for great supply. Quick feedings. But leaking faucets are hard to repair. Time. It’s all about time. Back to the bath – me and my memories alive behind my closed eyes. It was a birth beyond my wildest expectations. Birth is addictive. An unpredictable roller coaster. My hopes this time: to feel the intensity of the pain the whole time, not to push the sensations away. To experience the ring of fire. Ouch…why did I want that? To try other coping mechanisms rather than just squatting to push a babe out for 10 hours. Sling, shower, toilet, stair lunges, birth ball, tub… To enjoy pink champagne in celebration of this new little girl. To try the birthing tub. Check check check. Beyond my wildest expectations: midwife Laura attending Délice’s birth. A waterbirth! A Christmas Day birth! A delicious vernixy babe. No laceration at all. Say what?! Second baby bliss. A birth attended by my mama and my sis a.k.a. “midwife in training”and doula par excellence. Best labor backrubs ever. Most calming presence ever.

And… toddler naptime is over. Just like that.

3 thoughts on “Nine days postpartum…

  1. I am sitting here at my computer having my last bowl of “Jojo’s Almond-Cinnamon Na-No” and feeling an overwhelming need to respond to your blog in the stream-of-conscious manner with which you wrote. I don’t know exactly where I am headed with my writing, but I will write just the same.

    Oh, dear Esther, thank you for allowing me into your heart and soul…into the tender, sweet musings of a mama….of a woman. Your joy, your sorrow, your longings, your fears, your wondering…all were there for me to take part in. I found myself drawn into your world so quickly and not wanting to leave. As though I had a sort of privileged invitation into your innermost thoughts while, really, your writing is here for all the world to see. Sort of a silly perception on my part, but it is what I felt just the same. I think, perhaps, that is a sign of a good writer.

    I was very much in the present with you while, strangely, at the same time, I was in the past remembering. Remembering, oh, so precious memories of my own pregnancies, labors, and deliveries of 3 baby boys. Remembering leaky breasts and a squishy tummy…wondering how I would ever manage when my mother would go home…fearing I would miss out on my baby’s life as I tended to the needs of my toddler and fearing I would miss out on my toddler’s life as I tended to the needs of my baby. There is constant juggling in a mother’s world. I remember, Esther….distant memories, yet so very fresh at the same time. Sigh. It is bittersweet to remember 3 baby boys…each so unique and so dear…now amazingly wonderful grown men. You are just at the beginning of it all, and it is more than apparent that I don’t need to tell you to savor every nuance of the journey.

    Thank you, dear daughter-in-law, for allowing me this new and special journey as a “Grammie.” It takes the sting out of the loss of youth. Thank you for pictures, and videos, and texts, and Skype calls and, yes, for your blog that invites me into the intimate crevices of your heart and soul, so that I don’t feel so terribly far away. You are the amazing woman my first-born son chose for his wife; you are the wonderful mother of my grandchildren; you are my precious daughter-in-law.

    I love you, Esther….

  2. I LOVE it! Such a great post and I feel it encompasses exactly what it should on day 9- memories so fresh from giving birth, herbal baths and the postpartum body, breastfeeding, breastfeeding, breastfeeding, toddler shows (keeping everyone sane!), newborn snuggles and smells (yum!). Most shocking of all is a little blurb about number 3/4. I love it all! And I love to have been mentioned (teehheee), maybe one day I really will be a midwife in training! Thanks to you I won’t be going in totally blind!

  3. Oh my goodness, I love this post and your thoughts. Thank you for sharing your experiences so eloquently in your stream of conscious. Love you dear sis!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *