I have so many feelings on this Mother’s Day, the first one where my baby is Earthside. Graeme cooked me a beautiful breakfast, straightened the toys and is giving me some time to reflect and write. I’m sipping on some of his homemade kombucha and watching him fold our baby girl’s laundry. I cry.
Ufda, what a hard couple of years this has been on me/us. All of us. Every single mother who is enduring infertility during this tumultuous time, every new mom navigating postpartum (especially after infertility), and people who have lost moms (and loved ones) over the past year – there is truly SO MUCH HEAVINESS to wade through. And so much joy, we mustn’t lose sight of that.
Infertility changed me, pregnancy and birth transformed me, and postpartum wiped the slate and forced me to start all over again.
What a chapter of life! I’ve come to realize that every day, every new experience brings about new transformation and growth. Infertility, pregnancy, birth and motherhood are excruciatingly painful and beautiful in the same moment. Each day I find myself grieving moments passed with Glennie and celebrating new developments and new moments together. She’s seriously so cool.
With the world shut down, I’ve had some time to reflect on the significance of this chapter and how crucial bonding is during this phase of life. My wish is for every parent to be given the opportunity to savor the fleeting moments without having to rush from one place to the next.
I always pictured aging as learning new things and reaching higher and higher and higher, and part of it is that way. But as this journey unfolds and as I realize I have no idea what I’m actually doing 99% of the time, I recognize that it’s not about going higher and higher and achieving great things, it’s about going deeper and deeper and burrowing ourselves into this life to uncover the depths of our soul work. With compassion!
Postpartum after infertility was (and is) really, really hard. It’s the only postpartum I know, and in general I know it’s hard for most women. I honestly cannot even put it into words, I have none to describe how painful it was. On the other hand, it was pure, unadulterated bliss.
My arms were finally full, the aching subsided.
Breastfeeding and bonding went swimmingly, and Graeme was incredibly supportive with nourishing meals and hands-on help. But my boobs hurt, my bottom was ripped apart, and every inch of my being was raw and gutted. New.
I admit that my identity was wrapped up in my infertility. I lived it for so long that I completely lost myself in it. And now what? I’m a mom! Living the life that I always wanted yet it feels so unfamiliar and scary, and with a whole new identity to get intimate with. It’s all I ever wanted, so why is it so hard? And then I’d feel guilty for having a hard time with it when so many women/couples are still stuck in the abyss.
During infertility and pregnancy, we had a team of doctors, natural health practitioners, you name it to guide us and hold us as we navigated our journey. After birth we brought her home into isolation with nothing more than a pat on the back and some good luck wishes. We finally had our miracle baby, all 7 pounds 11 ounces of sweet perfection. So, what’s the fuss all about? Put on your big girl pants and woman up!
Well, dangit, I needed more guidance during postpartum! One 6-week postpartum visit is seriously the biggest joke. I ended up demanding to be seen 3 more times as well as a referral to a pelvic floor physical therapist. My body is finally starting to feel more capable and my energy is slowly returning, 8.5 months after birth.
Glennie hardly cried, was smiling and engaging at 2 weeks, slept 3-5 hours at a time and was such a sweet delight. Still, I couldn’t help but think, “What about me?” I have never felt more exposed or raw in my entire life. Where’s the attention on the mother? It made me feel guilty for not asking friends and family that had birthed before me how they were postpartum.
I recently finished doula training to help women during their postpartum time because there simply isn’t enough help and not enough resources for us to lean on to learn how to survive AND THRIVE. (More on this later)
We aren’t meant to do this alone. We want a village, but we simply don’t feel like we have one here. Maybe that is our fault, I don’t know. It was so hard for me to let people in during infertility, so maybe that’s part of it. I pushed people away to protect myself, and now when I need people more than ever it’s hard for me to ask for help and accept it.
We weren’t completely hung out to dry, I acknowledge this. Friends delivered meals and we received many beautiful gifts and words of encouragement. My parents came and stayed for a few nights to help after she was born, and Graeme’s parents came and stayed with us for a week. My generous, loving mother-in-law stocked our freezer with delicious meals. Food prep and freezer meals go a long way if you know someone having a baby soon!
The hardest thing for us is that our loved ones don’t know her during this precious stage of her life. We have to remember that she isn’t being hurt by that at all. We safely expose her to as many smiles as we can so that she knows that she is loved and that the world is safe, even though we are terrified of what the future holds for our freedoms and the health of the world.
Glennie is crawling now. She’s saying “mama” and “dada”. We know she doesn’t know what these words mean yet, but it makes us flutter with excitement anyway. She loves cups and bowls and screams into them and laughs. She loves to be outside in nature (we call her Nature Girl) and squeals with delight when we walk amongst big trees. She has a group of friends all the same age that we see every week, for which I’m incredibly grateful.
I’m in awe of her every day and I love to tickle her chubby little legs, kiss her scrawny neck, pet and suck on her plump cheeks, and squeeze her tiny little body into my heart. I want to cut my body open and stuff her inside I love her so much. I’d drink her drool.
To my mom, for all of the sacrifices you made for me, for birthing me (without an epidural, she’s a super-human) and raising me to fight with compassion, trust my gut, and always lead with kindness. To my mother-in-law for consistently showing us what unconditional love is and teaching your son how to be generous and supportive before all else.
I get it now. I’m grateful for that. Being a mom is my greatest gift, the hardest and most rewarding thing I’ll ever do. This is my life’s work now, and I’m all in.
Happy Mother’s Day to all moms, to those in the thick of postpartum and raising little ones, to those that long for children of their own, and to those that fill the role of mom in someone’s life. Let’s remember that each of us is grieving and celebrating all at the same time.