What a difference a year makes!

I almost can't believe that this time last year, I was days away from meeting my daughter! It feels at once incredibly recent and impossibly distant. As her first birthday approaches a flurry of mixed emotions circulate in my head. I obviously continue to struggle with processing my fear and sadness surrounding her birth. I actually never finished recording her birth story because of it. It's telling, though perhaps unsurprising that I wrote everything that occurred up until I was in triage at the hospital, where my blood pressure results indicated to the midwife (following recommendations from my cardiologist and the risk OB in maternal fetal medicine) that I would need an epidural immediately. It marked the turning point in my agency and control. But I accept that I cannot change the past and parenting has offered many lessons in relinquishing my desire for (and ability to) control.

Frankly, the process of writing my birth story always felt more about me than her. And although I still believe that I matter and will honor that idea by refusing to erase the hard feelings from my memories of her birth, at this point in time, I also relish in focusing on her. Of course I wish my hazy recollection of her birthday (and the time I spent laboring over the course of the days prior) wasn't clouded with pain, confusion, and sadness. But as we come upon one year of time together, I am trying my best to cling to the few bits I recall and am told about her earliest hours. After all, from that day forward it really no longer got to be just about me. 

Although I don't remember, I am told that I was wheeled from the post-op area back to my labor and delivery room holding her in my arms. Although I don't have memories of the logistics of getting her positioned in a way that allowed all my wires and monitors to stay in place, I have a photo of her latched onto me as we breastfed for the first time. I see all the wires attached in the photo so I know they were still on me. I remember thinking while breastfeeding her that we got this and that her latch was strong and that breastfeeding felt weird but right. I don't remember doing skin to skin contact and that remains one of my bigger regrets but I felt like an alien in my post-surgical body so I am going to cut myself some slack. As our families cycled through to meet her, I remember being too out of it and too focused on breastfeeding to stop and let my parents and sister hold her. Although I was oblivious, my mom told me that my dad felt awkward about my breastfeeding because I was uncovered while feeding her. At that point I don't think all the riches in the world would have motivated me to feel an ounce of modesty or concern about anyone seeing any part of my body. The only thing that mattered was her.

I remember that my parents came through first, followed by Chris's parents. Although I forget their order of visits I think his mom and stepdad may have been next, followed by his dad, stepmom, and sister. I remember that I held her as we were wheeled into the postpartum recovery area and I remember feeling hungry but was not permitted or able to eat anything. I think at some point Chris left Emilia and me to find something to eat for himself as everything in the hospital was closed. I remember wanting to be awake to hold and nurse her but feeling too exhausted to keep her in bed with me without falling asleep (sleeping while bed-sharing was not permitted in the hospital but even if it wasn't, it would have been unsafe for me to do so with all the medication that remained in my system). I pulled her little bassinet as close to my bed as possible because I was unable to get out of bed at that point. I tried my best to soothe her with my voice. I remember thinking in amazement that she was easily soothed by this which made me realize she recognized my voice from hearing it in the womb. In retrospect this was also a good glimpse into her easy going personality.

Eventually I was able to get out of bed and practiced swaddling her. She would cry during diaper changes because she was cold. She would fall asleep fairly quickly while feeding. She seemed so small and so sweet. She smelled so good. She hated her sponge bath. She rooted at everything and I recognized it from one of our ultrasounds where it appeared as though she was shaking her head "no" furiously. 

I remembered thinking vividly that even though she didn't come into the world in the way I had hoped or anticipated, she clearly knew that I was her mom. I remember feeling overwhelmed with love and concern for her. And now my baby is about to turn 1!!!

Six Months Postpartum

We both always look this happy! Except for when we aren't.

At six months, postpartum I feel pretty good. Some days are better than others. I start back in the classroom for a condensed summer course soon. So that will be interesting! I've been juggling working at home (on research, writing, revisions, and various service commitments) while taking care of Emilia for a few months now. And I have a defense date set for my dissertation (finally!!). On the whole, things are going really well when I think about what I've been able to accomplish with regard to a work-life balance. I really hustle during her naps out of necessity. I also try to use the time when she is in bed for the night. Sometimes I stay up later than I should but it's the only way to still be as productive as I need to be. I'm sure all of this will shift again when I have to be apart from her to teach for several hours, a few days a week. 

(all photos taken by my friend Sarah with my camera)

I feel more confident in my ability to mother Emilia. She's so fun and lovable. I'd shout from the rooftops that this girl hung the moon if I could! I have more experience under my belt and have been told by many parents more seasoned than me that she seems extremely pleasant and "easy" in demeanor. As the person who spends the most time with her, I would agree with that assessment but include that even "easy" babies have their moments. And that is ok! Growing up and developing are hard work. It is necessary for me to remain empathetic to and respectful of her needs, while being flexible overall.

Breastfeeding has become such a joy and I feel so fortunate to be able to do it after struggling. Snuggling while nourishing her brings me so much happiness! We have both learned so much and are really good at it now. My milk supply is going through some sort of renaissance where I am again dealing with overproduction. I pump and stash the extras on those days when I have the good sense to do so before I go to bed. She goes to bed between 7-8pm and often sleeps until 6-7am. Sometimes she'll wake once in there to eat. And if I have an inkling that she might wake, I don't pump. But she's unpredictable and when she doesn't wake and I don't pump, I wake up engorged and uncomfortable. I hate having to wake the baby to nurse her if she's slept in, but I do so when I'm otherwise ready to be up for the day.  On the nights when she wakes up right after I pump... Ugh. It's usually the start of a long and rough night for me. I'd much rather get engorged!

I still need to go back to the gym (I say with some embarrassment). Physically, I still feel sensitive and tender. I have lingering soreness at my incision and occasional pain on the side that has nagged me most from the beginning. My body is softer and bigger all over. I have definitely lost a lot of muscle tone which explains why the scale says one thing but my mirror says another. My hair is still falling out but in smaller volume than it was during the peak of my losses. I'm trying to be kind but at six months postpartum I honestly thought I would be closer to my previous self. My body is hanging onto the winter weight I gained in advance of pregnancy that I normally have shed by now. I've heard that many women experience this until they wean their babies. I'm in no rush to do that so I really need to adjust my expectations.

Because the weather has been nice, I have been walking a lot more which is good. Most of my summer clothes fit oddly and I'm going through some renewed struggles with body image, in part because summer is a season in which bodies are more visible. When we were in Cleveland, I wore a (technically non-maternity) bathing suit that I had bought last summer to serve as my maternity suit. It felt awkward because that suit is too large while my pre-pregnancy suits remain too small. Every year during the transition from tights season, I feel exposed and uncomfortable. But right now I feel doubly uncomfortable. And dressing to breastfeed continues to present constraints.

Regarding my overall mood, it varies. There are good days and less good days. I wonder in retrospect if I should have really pursued placenta encapsulation to help mitigate the chances for postpartum emotional swings? I tried but after a few initial emails I never heard back from the person I found. I definitely should have pursued counseling after my birth but there didn't ever seem to be enough time (not to mention the logistics of leaving Emilia when she was so little). It's difficult to know if the hard adjustments were due to my recovery from surgery, my emotional state after a traumatic birth, or just a "normal" processing of this new role?

Some long-winded stuff about birth, under a cut...

One week postpartum... birth and recovery

Above depicts almost one week but 6 days to be exact. My body is ... recovering. I am still sore. Particularly at the cite of incision (because in my birth story there was an incision).

Suffice it to say that birth didn't go according to plan. This fact becomes easier for me to confront with each passing day but that doesn't mean it is easy. At least not yet. I don't plan to post my full birth story here but the synopsis is that I went into labor at home. Began timing contractions around 2:30 am on Sunday morning (Nov. 25th). Woke up Chris at 3 when I realized that things were likely happening. I labored at home until around 10am that morning when I called the midwife on duty and my parents. My favorite memories of labor are from that period of being at home. I was having back labor and things felt really intense so Chris drew me a bath and poured warm water on me. Standing during contractions helped. Moving through contractions helped. Both of these options were no longer available once I went to the hospital, unfortunately.

Sitting on the birth ball somehow made it feel worse through my back but that was just as well. By the time I got to the hospital I was 8cm dilated. I couldn't believe it! I was still walking around and talking through contractions so I anticipated being told I was 3 or 4 cm. For this reason, I truly believe I could have made it to 10 without interventions. But my blood pressure was elevated and my heart condition caused enough concern that I was not given much choice but to receive an epidural. Had I known this decision was made for me by my care providers (who never informed me) I would have waited a little longer, hoping to get to 10. Hindsight. I wish I hadn't made such a big deal during my prenatal care about my relatively common heart condition for this reason.* Hindsight.

The story from here isn't a new or surprising one. The epidural stalled me out. Over the course of the afternoon and evening, they broke my water and I was given pitocin. Both of these things made back labor worse. And when it was time to push nothing could counteract the fact that I was completely numb in the area where I needed to feel. So my pushing was ineffective. I pushed for four hours and was told that I had failed to move her down far enough. She was also possibly sunny side up? At this point my memories become blurry. Anyway, the OB checked me and determined that Emilia and I were not candidates for suction or forceps.

So the further condensed version of all of this is that I wound up with a surgical birth. Although I wrote here many times about how I intended to be open-minded and flexible nothing could emotionally prepare me for that moment... and all the moments that it rendered impossible.

I spent my entire pregnancy envisioning that she'd come out of me and be placed immediately on my chest. I thought about whether Chris (squeamish as he is) would be able to cut the cord or if my mom would have to do it. I brainstormed what to wear so that I could as easily and swiftly as possible begin skin to skin, breastfeed, and bond with my baby girl.

It is hard not to have those memories that I anticipated with such excitement and (to be honest) certainty. It is hard to have instead the memory of a sheet in front of my face as my body was strapped down, shivering, and nauseous from all the medications being pumped into my veins. My least favorite memory of birth was hearing her cry but being unable to see her. The nagging almost primal desire to want to hold her was unlike anything I've ever felt. But my limbs were numb so holding her was not going to be an option. No one brought her over to me or lowered the curtain. No one gave us the chance to do skin to skin with our faces. Chris did get to hold her and for that I am grateful. I didn't really meet her until I was post op.  And there were no medically emergent reasons for any of these decisions except that they were hospital protocol. I wasn't aware of this protocol. My birth plan's section on surgical birth requested simple things be done to humanize the operation. Lowering the curtain, skin to skin, and other small requests I wrote in it were approved by the midwives. Had these requests been a part of my birth I am sure the hard feelings I'm having in hindsight would be less... hard.

Don't get me wrong. I am so glad we are both healthy. I am so glad to have medical care that can ensure our health and survival even if my particular birth experience felt dehumanizing and traumatic at points. Even as it hurts to get up and down, even as it hurts to twist or maneuver my body, even as I look at my body which has the aftermath of both vaginal and surgical birth to recover from, even after my milk was delayed by a day while my body took its time in recognizing that she was born, I am so so so grateful. I am grateful for this baby and this new life. I am also grateful that she was born at 12:10 am on November 26th because November 25th was by far the most terrifying day of my life. And I am lucky that its anniversary will not fall on a day I intend to celebrate fully and richly for the rest of my life.

*Even one of the anesthesiologists mentioned after the fact that the reason why my condition, called PFO isn't studied is not because it is so anomalous or unique. It's because it is utterly mundane and common. So inevitably plenty of pregnant people have had vaginal, unmedicated births with a PFO. I say this because I fear people will read "heart condition" and think my desire for an unmedicated birth is unreasonable or selfish.