Thanks, I Made Him Myself: The Postpartum Diaries

These two weeks have been pretty incredible, in so many ways. I will circle back around to little man's birth story in a separate post, but there's plenty here, for now.

One week postpartum

Postpartum highlight: On day 4, I could wear one of my regular old t shirts without my belly hanging out the bottom, a problem in the last month or so of pregnancy.

I woke up today and nursed my son—“nursed” and “my son” still being words that feel clunky on my tongue as I say them. (Already I can’t remember a time before him being here, but there are words and phrases we are still growing into.) When I lifted him up to hand him to Chelsey, there was a large wet spot underneath him on the pillow. Inexplicably, he was not wet. Nor was his diaper. Not having all the answers about your child, I’m learning, is part of motherhood.

In out past life, before Everett, we would talk about what would happen if we won the lottery. Chelsey would ask me if I would still work. It was an easy answer: of course I would. I love teaching, and no amount of money could change that. But now, it's a whole different kind of lottery. Undoubtedly, we have won the jackpot. Just look at this sweet face.

This is the most important job I've ever had. And the only job I want to do for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, we'd actually have to win the lottery to make that happen. A mom can dream, can't she?

I finally understand the phrase "it takes a village to raise a child". Our village has surrounded us with so much love, in many forms. We came home to a fridge and freezer full of meals, and some adorable decorations. We've had supplies and food dropped off and sent. We've had so many messages asking how we are doing and if we need anything. What I've come to understand, through everyone's generosity and kindness, is that the ways in which our village helps us raise our child do not always have to do directly with the child. Often, our village takes care of us, so that we may take care of our child. Either way, we couldn't do any of this without you!

In the same way, I have to say how much I appreciate Chelsey being able to take off and be with baby and I for a few weeks right away. Holy moly, I couldn't do this without her. I've never felt so strong in our partnership. Already we are finding our new rhythm, taking care of this little boy, and each other.

Our first night home, we thought we had set things up so perfectly in our room. We got ready for bed, which included setting some cushions up so I could sleep sitting up, and set our sweet 3 day old newborn in his bassinet. The cats, who had been arguably disinterested in said bassinet for the many weeks it had been set up, were suddenly drawn to it. Chelsey caught Huck mid-jump on his way into the bassinet from the floor. We did some quick problem solving, and draped a swaddle across the open side of the bassinet to help the cats understand that this was no place for them. Still, I settled in with my arm draped across the bassinet, just in case.

Finn has a habit of walking across the tops of our pillows to get to my night stand, from which he jumps up on to the dresser. With several couch cushions behind me, he had lost his pathway. He is a resourceful cat, so he found another route--walking across me. However, as he is not a careful cat, that wasn't going to work--not with a 3 day fresh incision at my bikini line.

So I decided to sleep in the recliner. It seemed like a really good idea, until I realized I was hesitant to put up the foot rest, lest I would be unable to put it back down, due to the aforementioned 3 day fresh incision (in which they rearranged my insides, including my abs). Nor, I realized, could I recline, as that would require using my abs to push back the back piece. No problem, I thought, I could sleep sitting up. It was a great idea until I could feel my feet swelling. So up the feet went.

We seemed to be good to go, until it was time for the first feeding. I needed light, but not too much light. We had bought the perfect little nightlight for just such an occasion...and it was set up in the nursery, where I assumed I'd be feeding little man. Thus the room rearranging ensued (again, seriously couldn't do this without Chels!) She got the light from the nursery, moved my night stand over, and helped me get set up.

The next morning, we decided sleeping downstairs might be easier. So that is where we've been camped out ever since. The first week brought many firsts for us and baby Everett. For example, his first bath at home.

Verdict: He did not like his first bath at home. You can tell by his little scrunchy face. But also, by the fact that in the brief moment it took to wrap him up in his sweet little towel, carry him to the living room, and snap a cute pic, he promptly sharted into his sweet little towel, and we had to take him right back to the bath.

In our first week home, we also saw the pediatrician, who did a heel stick to check Everett's bilirubin. Bilirubin is a yellowish substance in your blood that occurs naturally when red blood cells break down. It's the substance that can make you appear jaundice when there is too much. They began watching his levels in the hospital, because my blood type and Everett's are different, which means (if I'm understanding it correctly) that my body can produce antibodies that "attack" his red blood cells, causing an excess of bilirubin in his bloodstream as the RBCs break down. All this to say that the pediatrician felt that his bilirubin level was high enough to warrant action. Within hours, a "biliblanket" was delivered to our house so that we could start photo therapy. Baby's skin and blood absorb the light waves from this blanket and change bilirubin into products that can pass through baby's system. Essentially, this meant that our little buddy had to lay on, or be wrapped in, this blanket as much as possible. It also meant daily heel sticks to check his levels.

The next day was Saturday. We took Everett to the lab to get his heel stick. After several days of being able to take care of our little man together, we were thrown off when we were informed that only one parent could go with him into the lab, due to Covid restrictions. The moment felt heartbreaking, but the decision was essentially logistical--baby boy was in the car seat, which Chelsey was carrying, due to my lifting restriction (nothing heavier than baby). So Chelsey went in with him. I went outside, and peered into the waiting room through a window. As much as I've voiced my aversion to being present when he gets his vaccinations, not being able to be with them tore at my heart in a whole new way.

For the record, she said he handled it like a champ.

No heel stick on Sunday. Monday's level was promising enough that we were told we could discontinue the biliblanket. And that was week one.

Two weeks postpartum

Postpartum highlight: On day 10, I could finally fit into my sandals that my feet had been too swollen to wear comfortably for the last 4 or 5 weeks of pregnancy.

In the hospital, Chelsey "had a chat" with Everett. She told him there were three things he could not do while she was holding him:

1) Cry;

2) Pee on her;

3) His belly button (cord stump) can't fall off.

Well, 1 was inevitable. 2 has thus far been avoided. And 3...well, that one was just funny. On day 9, as she held sweet baby Everett in her arm, a wild swing of his arm sent his little cord stump flying into her lap.

In the last two weeks, we have been officially welcomed into motherhood, having been baptized in all manner of bodily fluids. Such a tiny human creates an amazing amount of laundry--for all of us. I enjoyed the first few days being home when it was no shirt, no problem. And then my milk came in, and now I can't even be without a bra. And breast pads.

On a related note, nursing is hard. I've gotten a lot of help and advice from friends, the awesome lactation consultants at the hospital, and our pediatrician. But at 2 in the morning, with a crying baby, that shit is hard. I've spilled collected breast milk on me more than a handful of times. When he is desperate to eat, he becomes frantic and flails his arms wildly. He won't latch without a nipple shield (did you know that was a thing? It helps with the latch, but not entirely, and not when he's flailing and knocks it off mid-feed.) There seems to be some kind of secret formula for balancing nursing, bottle, and formula, but so far it has eluded us. And as we work to figure it out, little man's sleep schedule is all over the place. We all get frustrated--him, because he's hungry, me, because all I want is to feed him, and Chelsey because there's not much she can do to help either of us--though she does what she can.

Speaking of emotions. Definitely feeling all of them. Many moments of bliss, as I look at my son, and my little family. Moments of sadness, when I think about going back to work in January. Moments of desperation when nursing isn't going well. Moments where we laugh so hard we cry. And moments of something stronger than I can name.

One night, when the humans were downstairs--Everett asleep in his little cocoon, moms enjoying the peace of a moment with no expectations--and the cats were upstairs--snuggling and napping--I was overcome with this unnameable feeling. It was something akin to pure happiness, a feeling so strong that it bordered on grief. I looked at Chels and said, "I just want my whole family down here," and then proceeded to cry. And soon after, when the cats did come down, I cried again.

During pregnancy, I fell in love with my body, and that hasn't changed. I am amazed by all of the things a pregnancy and postpartum body does. My body has been through such an incredible amount of change in the last ten months, and so it continues. One week out, I had lost 20lbs of what I gained while I grew my son inside of me--but it doesn't matter to me how fast I lose the rest.Two weeks out and the tiger stripes are less noticeable, but it doesn't matter if they never go away. I've been stitched inside out and glued, and have this scar below my belly button that will always be with me, and that's perfectly fine. All of these things were a part of bringing my son into this world. The same body that grew this little human is now nourishing him.

My favorite thing to hear from people is how beautiful and perfect my son is, because I get to respond: "Thanks, I made him myself. Well, mostly. #science."

He has already grown so much in the last two weeks. I can't wait to love him through every milestone yet to come.