I am officially a c-section mother. It's taken me almost 6 months to say that - the days following Max's birth were flooded with life events that pushed documentation to the background. His birth story sits unfinished in Blogger. For the sake of this post actually getting written, suffice it to say that when the post-op doctor came to my room after a 13-hour labor and emergency c-section, she said without preamble: Don't try a vbac next time. Just head straight for scheduling a C.
All of this meant to tell you that I do my best to be a c-section supporter. It's what my body and babies need, I guess, and so I go with the flow. HOWEVER, there is one thing that really bothers me about the c-section: the fuzzy-headed fog of disconnect that invariably lasts for days. Even when you think you're getting clear, the pain of recovery wraps your body in a zig-zag of haze.
I don't know if it's indicative of the c-section alone, or if it's simply a body's way of learning how to connect the dots of relationships when everything has been rewired. Does every new mother go through this?
And with a second one, the disconnect is intensified. Relearning how to be in the house, in my body, in the world. All the while tending to the needs of not one but two small beings.
It's taken nearly six months and I'm still not quite there.
I tried to set myself up with a list of expectations: those things that need to be done to live inside the space I call my life. Taking care of Alice, of Max, of Chip. Doing housework and cleaning toilets. Occasionally making dinner. Showering. Doing work for my church. My part-time job. Family relationships. As the circle grows wider, we come to things like Alice's 2nd year of our preschool co-op, service for others, sewing. Then there are the outlying goals of exercise, gardening, eating healthy. This blog pushes farther back on that list but I find that it fills my mind even as I try to tell myself that it's okay, it's another layer of life stuff that will eventually be able to fit inside my day.
If I think of The Creamery as simply a journal then it doesn't make sense why I haven't come back sooner. But it isn't that simple, it never is. The Creamery has always been more than that to me. It's an interactive journal, a small space on the internet where I've met so many of you. And I've said it before: I miss you. Even when I don't show it. Even when I don't respond to emails. Even when it takes me two months to post after Phoebe's death. I do miss you.
And I want to be better about showing it.
Life goes on. This space has sat empty and lonely. I'm going to fix that.
4 comments:
Thank you for sharing. THere are lots of blogs I occasionally read, but yours is the only one I have notifications for on blogger.
I totally know what you mean about a c-section. Well, I think I do, from my perspective. My first and fourth were c-sections, with my second the doctor told me not to have another vbac, but I ignored him, and felt very triumphant when that birth and the following both worked fine.
After the first one I felt upset and angry, mostly because other people told me I should feel that way. But in retrospect, I saw that Elora could have died otherwise, and I'm grateful they delivered her safely. ANd with the last, I had had a feeling the night before that it might end up that way, so I was at peace with the notion when after three hours of pushing they told me it needed to be done.
I'm glad you're writing here again.
I'm so happy to hear from you again. As for the blog, you've eloquently put how I feel about mine as well. I miss it and the people I've met through it. I have so much to say but feel I've been away too long.
Back to you, the kids are adorable and I think of you often. I miss your little space here and can't wait to hear about how everything is in your world.
Oh girl, you've been MISSED. And I can't wait to hear the birth story and all the stories after that.
(And so sorry about Phoebe. Angels in fur are so very necessary and beloved.)
Come, write when you can.
Take care of you.
SERIOUSLY. I'M WITH YOU. My number of kids increased 100%, my house size increased 50%, my weight increased I don't even want to think what %, my sleep decreased XX%, and I feel like I am BARELY ABOVE WATER. So I know how you feel. I keep thinking... when she sleeps through the night i'll be able to exercise again, when he's in kindergarten i'll be able to do family history, when when when. I'm trying to enjoy now, although I absolutely have limited control. It hurts but it's the new normal.
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