Recovery

So... it would be challenging enough to learn how to take care of this tiny, helpless, sweet little baby with absolutely no experience in parenting.  To try to familiarize yourself with her cries, her needs, her little idiosyncracies, with a non-stop flow of visitors streaming into your hospital room and then your home.  This would be an accomplishment whilst feeling 100%.  But.  You have to do it whilst feeling like a train has run you over, or at the very least, run through your, well, you know.

In all of the movies and TV shows you see a dramatic portrayal of actual childbirth, complete with screaming, sweating, and the husband passing out.  But as soon as the baby is out, the pain is over, everyone's noses are powdered and all are back at home feeling cozy and comfortable.  I guess that's because no one is really interested in watching a movie about a mother's challenge of figuring out how she will only use the stairs in her 2-story house twice a day.  It's like a modern-day word problem in math:  If B must sleep upstairs but spend the day with visitors in the living room, but nurse upstairs for privacy, and baby eats 6 times a day, how many stitches will B tear in the first week of being home from the hospital?  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

First, I want to be clear that the actual pain of labor IS over immediately after the baby is out, for those of you who haven't done it.  At least in my experience.  As soon as the baby enters the world, the pain is a distant, distant memory and I was left with the feeling of, "Yeah, I could do that again."  To say "It's all worth it," is a cliched understatement.

That being said, there is a certain level of discomfort that comes with healing from the trauma of childbirth.  Now, I can only attest to my own type of delivery, of course, and I know that a C-section comes with a completely different set of recovery issues, so in no way do I mean to be complaining while others are thinking that I had it easy.  I can only relate my experience and if you think I'm a wimp, well I guess I can live with that.  :)

A funny thing happened after I gave birth.  Remember how I told you that I was borderline obsessed with Law and Order?  I haven't been able to watch it since C was born.  Once I got home, I distinctly remember snuggling down on the couch, and flipping through the channel guide on TV.  But when I saw the little white letters spelling out my formerly favorite show, conspicuously missing was the little jolt of excitement that I used to get all the time (because, let's face it, Law and Order is on ALL THE TIME).  It wasn't a conscious decision, I just couldn't watch it any longer- unfortunate considering I now had a lot more TV time!  But again, I digress.

The point is that because I had such a sick obsession with this show, I know what a good crime scene looks like.  And that's why I was able to recognize one after each time I used the bathroom in the hospital.  Picture this- you can't possibly hold it anymore, though you have all day because you are scared of the pain of logistics of going.  You slowly ease out of bed and hobble to the bathroom while simultaneously 1) dragging your IV pole and tube behind you and 2) trying to hold your hospital gown closed so your friends' husbands who are visiting don't see your butt.  In a diaper.

You finally make it in and you find that the fun has only just begun because 1) You have to go into a container attached to the toilet so the nurse can see how much you went. 2) You have to clean your stitches with a squirt bottle, pat dry, then spray yourself with numbing spray 3) You have to change the 2, yes, 2 phonebook sized maxi pads that are attached to your lovely, stretchy, hospital-provided granny panties 4) You have to clean up the floor and toilet seat so that even if no one else uses the bathroom, if they enter they don't start frantically looking for a body 5) After washing your hands you must change the get pads in your bra which you desperately need for relief because your new little miracle is trying to learn how to eat and, in the process, is chewing on your boobs like a Milk Dud that gets caught in your teeth when you're eating 5 at a time in the movies (c'mon, no one eats Milk Duds one at a time.)  Side note- Milk Dud!  No pun intended!  Just a happy coincidence that it is the most annoying but delicious chewy candy I could think of! :)

Anyway- you have to do all this and oh yeah, YOU STILL HAVE YOUR IV IN!  I mean... COME ON!  Forget the labor, I want to be knocked out for the recovery!  I don't tell you all of this to be gross or over-dramatic.  I just want you to know why, if you came to visit me in the hospital, it took me no less than 27 minutes to go.  You have no idea how angry all of this made me.  I don't know who I was mad at- the nurses for expecting this of me, my mom and all other mothers for not warning me, Ivan for not helping me, even though there is NO WAY I would have let him in the bathroom, but I was mad all the same.  I can't accurately explain how annoyed I was by this whole process.  It was like I was standing there looking around for SOMEONE to understand, like "Wha...? I... Seriously...?"  I'm telling you, I was writing this blog post in my head the whole time I was in the hospital.  And if the details are this fresh 5 1/2 months later, you can only imagine my attitude then.  Honestly, I'm having heart palpitations as I write this.

But then there is that blessed first shower.  You finally get clearance to get your IV out (because you've done such a good job of filling up that bathroom container) and you can go stand under some hot running water and rinse some of the crime scene evidence off of your body.  Some of my girlfriends, Zandar especially, will be pleased to know that I didn't shave my legs.  Not that it didn't occur to me- I had packed a razor, but it was just not going to happen.  So see, there are some occasions for which I don't shave. :)

So you get out of the shower and you're starting to feel slightly human again.  You're smelling better, you're feeling a little more relaxed... and then you look in the mirror.  And staring back at you, is a Sneech in a diaper.

What is a Sneech, you ask?  First of all, I feel terrible that you are not familiar with this most amazing Dr. Seuss character.  You really should check out the book or video, but in the meantime, to hold you over, voila:

The one on the right is what I looked like after the shower, only in a diaper.

The post-delivery tummy really is a sight.  Like a deflated helium balloon, it kind of just hangs there.  It makes you think, upon seeing yourself with no clothes on, "What. Have.I.Done?"  Of course you only think this because your baby is on the other side of the door, but for how you're feeling about what is staring back at you from that mirror, that door may as well be the Great Wall of China, because that is how far removed you feel from anything else in world beside your saggy balloon stomach.  At that moment, you don't know that it's going to get better and you are racking your brain to figure out the best way to accessorize a spare tire- a skinny belt?  A drapey vest?  A burlap sack?

Of course it all does get better.  The pain downstairs turned to itching and then went away completely.  The breastfeeding pain disappeared as C and I both got better at it.  And my Sneech belly is gone.  I am at once back to myself and changed forever.  I still can't watch Law and Order SVU.  I no longer get nervous to sing with my band- I guess that I feel like I've made it through childbirth and recovery, so I can handle a lot more than I thought I could, and I also realize what's really important now- as in:  Keeping my baby safe- important.  Forgetting the words to "Hit Me With Your Best Shot"- not as much.  I am back to shaving every day.  I also work out 5-6 days a week, just like before C arrived.  Is my body the same?  No.  Can I do Zumba without peeing?  No.  Was it worth it?  Duh.  :)  Would I do it again?  In a heartbeat.