The Eye of the Beholder: My Postpartum Progress

I think maybe it's weird to write about my postpartum recovery before I've published Everley's birth story but man I'm having such a hard time writing it. I'm not sure why other than I just don't seem to be able to do it justice.

Bella's story kind of just poured out of me, and when I look back on it it feels like I hit just the right notes of funny and poignant, honest and entertaining. That's just how her birth went down so to write the story about it was easy.

Everley's birth was... intense. Not what I'd expected. Not what I'd choose if I could do it all again. Not unlike my entire pregnancy, in fact. Yet, it still ended up with the precise ending I'd always hoped for. A beautiful, healthy, amazing baby. And I want her story to be as special as Bella's so that one day she can read it and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was one of the two greatest days of my entire life.

So that's coming... soon...

MEANTIME, before I talk postpartum, a warning: there will be brief mention of both boobs and biscuits so if that's not a discussion you want to overhear I suggest you go here and just look at the pretty baby.

Secondly - please take a moment and read this article by Allison Tate. She just says so much about what it feels like to be a woman trying to get back to herself after having a baby. Or in my case, two babies. Or in her case, four.

She speaks the truth in spades about capturing that changed and so-far-from-physically perfect you in pictures during pregnancy and afterwards. Something I avoided like the plague when I was pregnant with Bella and after she was born. I have almost NO pictures of my whole self while pregnant with her - even the weekly pictures I had Cairn take of me during my pregnancy are of the belly alone. I was mortified about the changes to the rest of me. My skin changed colour, my body ballooned, my face changed shape. I felt awful about myself when I look back and it's so sad. It's just so sad to me now that I wasn't proud of my body and its formidable accomplishment.

This pregnancy I wanted to do things a little differently. Initially I tried to have Cairn take photos again, and I wanted Bella to be in them with me, but neither were interested so instead I started taking pictures of myself. I wanted my baby to know that I was proud of what my body did to create her. And those pictures were not easy to take. They certainly were not easy to post every week. But I did it. To prove a point to myself I did it and you know what? It worked. Kind of. I can't say I felt beautiful, but I can say that I felt okay with the changes. It was not an easy pregnancy but I worked hard to stay in shape and took care with what I wore and how I presented myself. And I think I did okay.

But the thing is? The pregnancy is a crutch. It's easy to forgive yourself your flaws when you're pregnant because, well, you're pregnant! Everyone says, "you look great for X months pregnant! You totally don't look pregnant from behind," (what does this mean exactly?! nobody should look pregnant from behind!). They tell you not to worry about the love handles and the skin discolourations and the swelling and the bloat. "You're pregnant!" they say, "You'll bounce back in no time. It'll all be over soon enough."

Except it's not.

Because after you are done being pregnant most of those things are still there. The only thing that's actually gone is the pregnancy. And suddenly you're just mom. And your vagina hurts A LOT more than it did before. There's the bleeding and the pads that go along with it. And the underwear that goes along with them. Not cute. And your boobs are leaking. And at night you sweat so badly that you can feel it running down your cleavage.

Your formerly round, vibrant belly that just days or weeks earlier was full of life and making people smile and pat you and coo with excitement is just a flabby sack that hangs over your torn maternity jeans and refuses to stay shoved inside your stretched out leggings. And you spend every outing terrified that someone will ask you how far along you are. Because you aren't.

And I don't care how cliche it sounds, you ARE too tired and too busy during the day with a newborn to spend time fixing yourself up. There isn't a product out there that can erase two weeks of no sleep. In my case, I have the added pleasure of melasma - the mask of pregnancy - to contend with. Something that can't even be treated while breastfeeding. Right there, all over my tired face that I'm too tired to cover up with makeup that just makes me look more tired anyway. So much for that "being over soon."

Speaking of nursing, I feed my babies on demand for the first few months, which means it is hard to get out without them. It takes a while to figure out their patterns or to know when they'll be good for a stretch long enough to go to the gym or get my nails done. All things that I did regularly before to keep myself not just looking good, but feeling good too.

Like Ms. Tate captures in her article, my oldest daughter thinks I'm perfect. She couldn't care less about any of the physical items I've listed off above. She doesn't see those things and if she does, she doesn't care. And I DO want to be present in the photos and memories with my girls, despite how far from perfect I may look. My girls make me feel absolutely wonderful as a mother. In fact, I already know that I'm a great mom. I am. I'm a great mom and my kids make me feel beautiful in a million ways because they are tiny little reflections of me and my God, just look at them.

But I need to point something else out here. Staying in the picture after having children is not JUST about how your kids see you. Being a beautiful mom is wonderful. But I need to feel like a beautiful woman as well. Kids will always see through physical imperfections to who you are inside, but living up to the standards of adult society? Whole different ballgame. I want to be a beautiful wife. A beautiful friend. A beautiful person. That's where I've still got some work to do. I need to convince myself that I am all of those things even without the flat stomach and flawless skin.

They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that's the principle I've been using to try and maintain and regain my self-confidence during and post pregnancy. I have played the role of my own beholder and taken photos of myself, most of which you've already seen here. As promised I want to share my 40 week bump photo - the only one in the entire series taken by my husband. I had to beg him to do it because we were in the hospital and there was no mirror in which I could take it myself.  The others show my physical progress over the last two weeks.

Rocking the gown at 40 weeks pregnant. A few hours before Everley was born.

Sweats and slippers. 7 days postpartum. Baby accessory kicks this look up a notch.

 

Jeans! Maternity jeans, but still. 11 days postpartum.

Stretchies and slippers. Two weeks postpartum.

And this is where I am today. Am I perfect? No. But am I perfectly okay with that? I'm getting there, yes I am.

Hungry Eyes

I know I'm over-compensating for my lack of writing with videos. I am aware. But it's just so HARD to find the time, and the brain power, to write anything that comes anywhere close to being as cute or as funny or as entertaining as this:



It's Bella's first "real" food meal. If you can call organic brown rice cereal watered down with a heavy helping of formula "real food." Incidentally, also her first taste of formula. She's been kept alive by 100% boob until this morning. Isn't that amazing? She ate her first meal like a champ - didn't even get very messy. What can I say? It's in her genes (the appetite and the cleanliness). I happen to think a lot of our success had to do with the pink spoon, but maybe that's just me?

Isn't it Ironic: Part 2

Bending down to pick something up off the floor is the worst thing that can happen to me right now, yet I’m clumsier than I’ve even been in my entire life.

It’s true. Dropping something these days causes my heart to leap into my throat as I realize, holy fuck, now I have to figure out how to bend over and pick that up. This is particularly the case when I drop something in public, but even in the privacy of my own home it’s enough to induce a string of cursing so profane it could melt the ears off a sailor.

You see not only is bending over a very painful and awkward thing to do with this big 32 week belly in the way, it also disrupts the delicate balance of the state of any clothing I might be wearing at the time. Pants fall down, shirts lift up, boobs fall out all over the place. It’s horrifying to live through and even more horrifying to witness, I’m sure. I HATE it.

The other day I considered just leaving my iPod behind when I accidentally dropped it on the bus. I swear. I was like, I’d totally sacrifice that thing just to not have to bend down right now. Thankfully a lovely teenage boy picked it up for me. And didn’t try to steal it. Probably because it’s bright pink and had Britney Spears blaring out of it, but whatever.

The dropping stuff issue is a serious problem right now because for some reason I have lost all control over my own hands and fingers. I suppose it has something to do with the swelling? My fingers look like 10 little raw breakfast sausages and bending them to get a good grip on something is a major chore. I’m continually dropping stuff for no reason what-so-ever. I’ll be applying mascara and the wand just falls right out of my hand, usually bouncing off my boobs and ruining whatever outfit I’m wearing on its way down. Queue the cursing. I grab something out of the fridge and attempt to put it on the counter only to have it drop right out of my hand and splatter all over the kitchen floor. Awesome.

I should note that while dropping things is particularly frustrating, because it seemingly could be avoided if I hadn’t somehow suddenly erased 32-years of practice with my own digits, there are other things that I dread doing now:

Getting something out of my sock drawer, as this requires bending down and rummaging around until I find the right pair.
Picking and putting down the dog’s water bowl, or filling is bowl with food.
Picking up the dog for any reason, he’s squirmy and low to the ground.
Picking up the dog’s shit, again, requires ample bending, in public and let’s face it, nobody likes picking up another creature’s shit.
Putting on boots or shoes especially if tying laces is required.
Throwing things in the garbage because I always miss hence more bending.

I could go on, but I think you get my point. It's getting to the point where any or all of these tasks requires some form of assistance, or me getting down on all fours in order to perform whatever "pick up" is necessary at the time. Not so convenient. Especially on the bus during rush hour.

My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 21

Week 21.

Week 21 was actually last week, sorry I couldn't update, was in Cuba having the time of my life. If by having the time of my life I mean sleeping. Which I do. Yes, week 21 can be marked by mucho sleeping, eating, beaching, swimming and sunning. In other words pure and utter paradise for Beaches - where do you think the nick name comes from?

But more on Cuba in a soon-to-come post.

Weight gain in week 21 was pretty extreme. I'll give you the finally tally in my week 22 post, coming soon. Let's just leave it for now at - all you can eat buffet, every day, for seven days. Need I say more?

Milestones this week: Got caught up on sleep for first time since May. Seriously. It was the first time in five months that I actually woke up one morning and was not tired. Amazing what paradise can do for you.

Baby Girl Champagne started to try and physically break out of her warm watery habitat. I'm thinking maybe she wanted a cigar and a mojito (yeah, me too kid, guess what, sometimes life ain't fair). Her kicks and punches are now visible from the outside, if you catch them at just the right time. She's moving all the time now, several times a day, and she is very strong. She even wakes me up at night with her crazy antics. I suppose I might as well get used to it.

Here's a good kick story. Please skip ahead to photos if you are afraid of gross.

One thing I never really thought about before pregnancy was that the wee kicks and punches are not only felt on the top of your tummy. No sir. This kid kicks organs. Organs I've never really felt from the inside before. Organs like um, the bladder and bowel. You can see where this is going.

Crown and I decide to go for a leisurely stroll along the beautiful Varadero beach one afternoon. I had recently peed but let's face it, the ocean was right there in case of urgent emergency. I wasn't concerned. We walked pretty far - all the way to the end of the point, at least a couple of kms. We get to the end, take a few pictures, admire the view. Suddenly, little chicken wakes up and starts doing gymnastics. A back handspring to the bellybutton. A somersault to the gut, and then... oh! The trampoline... on my BOWEL.

I'm not sure if you can quite imagine what happens to a full bowel if a 10 inch parasite starts to do JUMPING JACKS on it but let me explain. You suddenly and urgently feel the need to shit yourself. Suddenly our romantic beach walk? NOT SO VERY ROMANTIC ANYMORE. This story ends well, my friends, but I'm not sure how. I literally thought, several times during my fast and painful walk back to the resort, that I was going to shit in my bikini right in the middle of this pristine, sunny, white sand beach. Because when a baby bounces on your bowels, you gotta go and you gotta go RIGHT NOW. You simply can't hold it in. You're squeezing one way, she's jumping the other and before too long, she is going to win.

Chalk one up for Mama this time, Kiddo. I made it to the banyos without mishap using pure self-restraint and sheer determination. It may have been our first battle of wills but it certainly will not be our last. Remember my sweet, strong, determined baby girl, your Mom? She's tougher than you.

Sorry for the gross - had to share. And now, as a reward for listening. I give you Beach Belly:


Blocking out the sun:


Displacing a good portion of the ocean:


And as a special bonus, a little family shot that I like to call, Porno Tits:

Every Rose Has It's Thorn

Phewf. I'm back. And when I say that, I mean really, I'm back. Because I have been gone for quite some time... not just from this blog... but from this planet. I've been in a place that can only be described as it's been accurately and eloquently coined by the one and only Scarbiedoll... the FIRST HELLMESTER.

As of today I am 15 weeks with child. Sounds so pretty when you say it like that doesn't it? With child. Awww... so loving and fuzzy and miraculous. As of about two weeks ago I'm able to see it clearly as such. Before two weeks ago I was with parasite.

Listen, I don't want to be a whiny bitch right off the bat. So let's start with the truly amazing and beautiful things that happened during our first trimester.

a) We survived it. All three of us. In a time that is full of worry about whether or not this little energy sucking zygote is serious about moving in for the next 9 months, getting through the first three together is an amazing and relieving experience.

b) Ultrasounds #2 and 3. I skipped over ultrasound #1 intentionally here, because we're talking about the FUN stuff, remember? More on that in just a jiff... Ultrasound #2 was amazing because at 7 weeks and 4 days I was able to see the little jumping bean inside of me and witness the flashing and fluttering of it's tiny little heart. Ultrasound #3 at 12 weeks and 2 days was mind blowing. Crown was with me when together we met our little chicken for the first time. This thing was a baby! A baby! In there? Moving and kicking and somersaulting. Incredible. There really aren't words enough, but for me it was instant love.

c) Sharing the news. My hands down, absolute favourite part of pregnancy so far. Telling family and friends this news has made every minute of my discomfort worthwhile. This will be the first grandchild for both of our families. Of course, everyone is very excited and the look on people's faces and reactions that ranged from jaw dropping disbelief to squealing and jumping up and down for joy gave me strength to get through the worst moments. It makes you realize that a pregnancy is not about you. It's about adding to an entire family, social network, village and beyond.

Enough warm fuzzies to convince ya'll that I'm truly happy about this amazing creature growing inside of me? Good. Now here's the reality of the first hellmester in concise and honest points:

1) Ultrasound #1. I had it at just over 5 weeks. When you are so early in a pregnancy you have to drink a shit load of water and hold your pee for an HOUR prior to an abdominal ultrasound. Then you go for your ultrasound, ready to DIE from having to pee so bad and the technician presses on your bladder with a fucking baseball bat (or so it seems) for approximately half and hour. The alternative is the magic wand that goes up the you-know-whatsit. Trust me when I say that, as unpleasant as it may sound, the magic wand is waaaaay more preferable. I actually requested it for ultrasound #2 just so I didn't have to suffer the pee pee torture.

2) Vomit and lots of it. That's right, I was a puker. I puked more in three months than I have in my entire life ever and that includes from drinking even. Swear.

3) Food aversions. They are real and I had every one of them. The truly twisted thing about food aversions? Sometimes you don't know you are averted to it until AFTER you have already tried to eat it. IE/the time I thought it was okay to eat quiche and broccoli for lunch at work and ended up projectile vomiting all over the shared washroom facilities. Can you say life long nightmare come true?

4) Giant breasts and not in a good way. 15 weeks in and I've already outgrown TWO sets of bras. The cruelest part? These fuckers were so sore for three months that Crown and I couldn't even enjoy their new found enormity. Boo.

5) Everything smelled like ass. No really. Pretty much everything. Flowers smelled like ass, coffee smelled like ass, public transportation smelled like ass, cabs smelled even more like ass... and don't even get me started on what ass smelled like.

6) Too tired to even be tired. I'm a naturally sleepy person. I looooooove to sleep. My mom claims that I didn't sleep through the night until I was four years old (here's hoping that gene is recessive) and I've been making up for it ever since. But you know what? I didn't even know what tired WAS until this happened to me. Like sometimes? I would lie on the couch and want to cry simply from being so tired, but I was just too damn tired.

7) You get fat. Peeps? Did you know about this? When you get pregnant? You get fat. No, seriously, I know you're as shocked as I am but it's true. That shit you hear about, "Oh she was all belly." Yeah, fucking bullshit. Fat happens everywhere. My ass is pregnant, by thighs are pregnant, and my boobs? Well, let's just say they are having twins.

There is more that could be bitched about but I'm in such good spirits at having left those weeks behind me that I'll leave it there. I'm just so happy to be back. To be healthy. To be carrying the most amazing little parasite around with me. As of last week, the chicken is dying to be noticed. My belly has popped right on out and no amount of sucking it in can make it disappear. Below is the belly at 14 weeks. I'm shocked at the difference already this week and will post the 15 week shot asap.

I hope you'll join us on this journey. It's sure to be one hell of a ride.

My Humps, My Humps, My Lovely Lady Lumps

So GET THIS!

My lovely friend and colleague, from over at Baa Art (Artsy), took me on a field trip this week to this place on the Danforth where a special woman, who we'll refer to here as "The Boob Guru" (TBG), runs a store that I can only describe as Boob Mecca. Bras for freakin' days, people! Most of said bras are a little too, um, fancy pants for my simple taste in boob fashion, but I digress... the point to be taken from this story is, she's a Boob Guru, cool?

So Artsy had recently made a pilgrimage to Boob Mecca and ordered a fancy pants bra and had to go and pick it up, invited me along and it's Boob Mecca so how can I resist? She filled me in on TBG's talents on route and I simply had to have her take a look at my lovely lady lumps and grace me with her wisdom. Obviously TBG's combo of special skills is something along the lines of "fit and sell." She's quite amazing to behold.

To get to the point, before long I find myself half naked in a cozy corner change room with TBG, she's turning me front and back and sizing me up, literally, and then she dashes out for a moment and dashes back in with a couple of fancy pants bras. I can barely contain myself as I take them in my hands and ask, "What size?!"

She's half way out of the room when she turns back to me, smiles and says, "34C."

34C?! 34C?! 34C. Hm.

I look down at The Girls and I'm like, "I feel like I don't even know you anymore."

I've been wearing a consistent, and apparently bad-fitting, 36B for a few years, before that I might have been into the odd 32 or 34, but always B. Always B! And suddenly, with a wink and grin from TBG, I'm a C? Seriously, dropping a bomb like that can really change shit up.

My humps, my humps, my lovely lady lumps are a full cup size bigger than they were just a few short days ago. Imagine the possibilities!

People, listen to Oprah, go find yourself a Boob Guru. The Girls deserve it.