Period, dot dot dot
You know what we haven't talked about in a long time? My period. (Fifteen hundred gold stars if you guessed.) We haven't talked about it because there's been nothing to talk about, but now I want to talk about it because I have something to say (hi, dad!), and it is this:
One might think that after having one's period for close to twenty years one would get used to the inconvenience and indignities such that upon its ceremonious return after a not-insignificant hiatus of eighteen months it wouldn't be any big deal, but oh, one would be wrong. For the past few days I've been shuffling about the house, top of wrist affixed to center of forehead like so, and you'd think I'd been stricken with The Wilt (which has, by the way, decimated our tomato crop; phooey) for all the droopy put-upon-ness I embody. It's not FAIR. I feel YUCKY. I don't wanna be a GIRL anymore. Wah. *droop*
Body on my mind, I might as well take this time to say that the physical aspect of motherhood--the aftermath after birth, if you will--has been without a doubt the most challenging part of this experience for me, at least so far. (Talk to me again when we're explaining what heaven is and why the kitty had to go live there.) You read my birth story--twenty-six-plus hours of labor and a seven pound, two ounce nugget of boy; all in a day's work--and although it certainly wasn't a white-knuckle cliffhanger (more like an open-mouthed snoozer with a side of smooth jazz as far as birth stories go), it suited me just fine, thank you, and while I'm sure your exhilaration was 11 on a scale of 1 to 10 when you freebirthbirthed your quadruplets under a full moon, in a thunderstorm, in the woods behind your yurt, I was much happier with my catheter (a lazy girl's dream!) and my YouTubes and my treaded hospital socks.
Anyway, if you read my birth story when I posted it back in June, you might remember it was part of Discovery Health's Baby Week, and that meant I needed to pick a short blurb that would be dramatic enough to entice readers to click my link (and the ad revenue would come rolling in...not). As testament to my John Tesh's Greatest Hits-style labor and delivery, the most exciting blurb I could come up with was a sentence detailing my brief stint as a human pincushion, which, in actuality, didn't bother me much save for the fact that the time they wasted poking me with needles was time they robbed me of my awesome epidural. If Wombat's birth became a feature film and you looked it up on IMDB, one of the "memorable quotes" would be me expressing great and undying love for my epidural. I think I also wrote a love song to my catheter, but that's another story for another time.
But speaking of which, if you want dramatic, how about that first trip to the bathroom after giving birth? Before I got pregnant, I, like many other women, I imagine, had done a lot of thinking about pregnancy, and then while I was pregnant but before I'd gone into labor, I'd thought a lot about the delivery too; all things considered I felt as prepared as a person could be to tackle those two stages of new-motherhood. What I didn't prepare for, though, was the physical aftermath of delivering a baby, in part because I'd never really heard anyone describe it in detail, and in part because, ew, no, thanks, I'm sure it'll be fine, la la la la la.
Now, however, I know why no one talks about it: (a) once the baby's here, it's all about the baby and no one cares a fig about your deflated postpartum ass, and (b) the aftermath...it ain't pretty.
Wombat's birth was fun, amazing, exhilarating (10 out of 10), borderline addictive (yeah! babies everywhere!), and a damn good time; the recovery, not so much.
Even immediatly following his arrival things weren't going so well. I was too blissed out on babybits to notice that the doctors and nurses were fussing over me in a way that's reflected on Simon's face in the birth video as Pure Terror. Apparently I had a very low placenta and was in danger of a major postpartum hemorrhage if they didn't deliver the placenta ASAP. All at once, the all-smiles all-hands birthday party in Room 19 became a makeshift emergency room, and everyone was strictly business. On the videotape I hear someone page for some methergine, and Simon says they stabbed a big needlefull into my thigh; that might have been the point at which we see all color drain from his face.
Obviously, the problem was remedied and I lived to tell the tale (word to you mothers: think carefully about the risks of a home birth; but for the expertise of hospital staff I could be dead), but for Simon there were definitely some tense moments spent calculating how he was going to care for a newborn and go to work and pay the mortgage and herd the cats alone after I expired with a crimson gush on the delivery table. The way events proceeded was that, methergine administered and placenta delivered, I was fine and healthy within a matter of minutes, but the nurses didn't tell Simon the good news before they started talking about some other woman in some other room who was having some other major complications, and poor Simon thought they were talking about me and was really really scared I wouldn't live to see the next cycle of ANTM. I, meanwhile, was blessedly oblivious. (See, even I didn't care about my own deflated postpartum ass once the baby was here.)
Happily, after Simon suffered only a few excruciating minutes of pants-filling dread, all was well with me and mine, and then just as quickly as they'd flooded in, the party of hospital staff drained out and left our new little family alone in a clean, quiet, low-lit room that, given some Barry White and a non-busted vagina, and minus a scene-stealing newborn baby, might have passed for a romantic honeymoon suite. I guess in a way it was our babymoon; some people go to Hawaii during the third trimester, we hang out in Room 19 with our tiny son and our extra stitch for good times, woo!
And there I go again, talking about the misty watercolor good stuff when what everyone wants to hear is the I-can't-believe-it-happened-to-me real! life! drama! right? Or at least that's the only thing that will get me prime time on TLC.
Anyway, after we enjoyed some quiet family time, Nurse Awesome ('member her?) helped me to the bathroom and then asked if I could "go." HA. No way. Had I known that's why we were hobbling to the bathroom in the first place, I could have saved us both the trip, sister, and thus began the Great Bathroom Experimentof '08, in which every visit to the 'throom is filled with mystery and dread, some of it realized, some of it not.
Let me just say this: Take whatever the recovery nurses give you--pain meds, stool softeners, lunch on a tray--even if you think you don't need it. Let them help you. Let them help you help yourself. And if your mother is a nurse and she comes to stay with you for two weeks after the baby is born? Let her help you too. She knows what she's talking about. And she knows where to find the prunes at the grocery store.
(I realize that by mentioning prunes you might think I'm hinting at constipation and/or the nightmare that is passing your first post-baby poo. Here's the thing: Remember those dandruff commericials where the one guy goes "But why are you buying dandruff shampoo? You don't have dandruff" and the other guy goes "Exactly"? That's like eating prunes. "Why prunes? You're not afraid to use the bathroom." Exactly.)
The rest of my recovery went pretty well--mawed nipples stopped stinging after a few days, I only used my Dermoplast spray once, just for kicks, and I never even cracked my bottle of Tylenol with codine--and before long (shhhh) I could fit into my normal clothes again (although they had to pry my fingers from my maternity jeans, aka "buffet pants"). The truly weird stuff didn't start happening until later. My hair fell out in sheets for months and months, and when it finally stopped just recently, it started breaking off about an inch from my head and just around my face, giving me the look of a young lion trying to grow out his mane. Also, my butt flattened and I can feel it flap against the tops of my hams when I jump up and down, which I try not to do because, well, because of the butt flaps. My hands are veiny old mom hands. My boobs are beyond recognition in a variety of ways depending on the time of day and direction of the winds. My...oh, hey! So that's a skin tag! Hm! Weirdest of all, my stomach, which was quite lovely about three months out, is now soft and poochy and, look, when I do this it's all wrinkly and gross. (Simon: "Then don't do that!")
It might have something to do with the fact that I don't work out enough to even pretend I do, or the fact that I eat junky stuff during the day (it might be a Lean Cuisine, but it's still junk), or that my hormones are still all wackadoodledoo because I went back on birth control at about two months postpartum but then went off it again a few months later when I read about the mini-pill making people crazy. (Is that why I felt so testy toward Simon who is constantly going out of his way to make my life easier and happier? Yes, I believe it was.) Could be that I'm not sleeping enough. Could be that I'm not not watching t.v. and not not eating plain pasta directly out of the colander enough. Could be that I'm just getting old. Metabolism and all that.
Something else that's shifted is that now that I'm a mother, I can't just notice my waist getting thicker and my belly getting rounder and my pants getting tighter and my butt getting flappier without being at least a little suspicious. My sugar craving turned into sugar all day, every day, sugar with a sugar chaser with sugar on top, and oy, why am I constantly exhausted? Uh...Sugar crash? Super-active baby? Lack-of-exercise fatigue? No, my brain had to go to, "Gee, I must be pregnant. OH SHIT." I mean, I hadn't had a period in like twelve years, it felt like, so it could totally be true. And can you believe I even took a pregnancy test a few weeks ago (the other half of the box I peed on for Wombat; awww!), and I didn't even tell Simon about it until...right now (hi, honey!) because I just felt so STUPID. Stupid that I suspected something so unlikely, but also stupid that it wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibility.
It was negative. I made positive it was negative. And then this week I started my period, albeit with much gnashing of teeth and soiling of undergarments. (Caught me by surprise, it did.) So, welcome back, period, I guess. I didn't miss you (like, AT ALL), but I'm kinda sorta almost glad you're here.
Oh YAY, I can read your whole posts again. I love reading about different pp experiences. So fun - not. But, yes, it is interesting to read the perspective of another on something that is somewhat hush hush. All my friends that had not yet had kids called me the greatest birth control, after my first, as I told all the enjoyable details.
"Kinda sorta almost glad," I can relate to. Now, bring on baby #3 (and the aftermath), then please, period, stay away for at least another year ;)
This was very useful to read halfway through my pregnancy. I'm getting there when it comes to feeling prepared for the birth part and the newborn part, but completely clueless about the phsyical aftermath part.
And nobody talks about it! So, thank you.
I have a 14 month old and I totally did the same thing with the pregnancy test. I feel wierd, maybe I could be pregnant again...like you said, it couldn't possibly be just because I'm taking terrible care of myself!
Only, I didn't have any tests left. (Puhlease, I used up all the extras during the first week I knew I was pregnant, just showing off. Seeing the "pregnant" without the "not" above it was just so exhilarating.) So I had to go out and buy one. And the pitying look the cashier cut me as she took in the test and wee Squidgey in the cart was priceless.
Can I please drive out to California today and give you a hug (with my MOM HANDS, WTF?!)? Because my postpartum experience has been so similar (except I stopped the mini-pill after only about a week because it was making this bitch CRAZY) and I...I don't know...it just feels like a huge relief to know you are out there going through the same stuff. My sister (whose baby is about Wombat's age) has not experience ANY of this postpartum crap, and looks at me like I'm crazy whenever I talk about the constant hair shedding. I kind of want to hit her (with my MOM HANDS OMG WTF WAAAH).
Also, I TOTALLY (and I mean COMPLETELY) forgot about my period coming back. Until just now. How could I forget? Man, that is going to suuuuuuuuck.
My toddler is still nursing, and I just got my first period back after a three year(!) hiatus. I know I should be kind of happy to see it again--embracing my womanhood and fertility and all--but really, it's a drag. Maybe I'll just nurse my next baby until menopause.
Not trying to be a twit, but your statement about the risk of homebirth isn't accurate. Homebirth midwives have the same drugs and expertise and are able to respond to hemorrhage the same as hospital doctors. In fact, the risk of hemorrhage is lower in a homebirth than in the hospital (Duran, American Journal of Public Health, March 1992).
Maple syrup shooters the week before I get my period.
I feel like a foreigner in my own body. This covering can't possibly be me, can it? The way you describe your posterior reminds me of how I would describe my stomach (aka, baby gut).
I decided yesterday to stop punishing my body with icky crap, try to exercise and just in general be *nice* to my body.
reading this post made me giggle at times and feel faint at others. love your writing.
I loved this. All of it.
And I'm with you, statistics or not: I don't buy the whole home birth thing. I KNOW that the stats say one thing in terms of risks, but my gut tells me another. And I had a hippie-like awesome birth in a hospital and I breastfeed and it was all rainbows and hemp and we're all FINNNNNNNE.
Unrelated: I haven't gotten my period yet. I'm too scared.
Man, I was able to enjoy that sweet misery for one whole month before we made #2 (due oh-so-close to Wombat's birthday).
So, uh, be careful, if you're not ready for your quiverfull.
Thank you for sharing. My coworker said that the recovery was the most surprising and unexpected aspect of pregnancy. I think the more it's shared the better.
Is the hair falling out thing normal? Shouldn't you get a blood test or something. Yikes :(
did you experience a drop in milk supply when you got your first postpartum period? Mine went wayyyyy down for 2 days (I got my period back at 4 months, boo) and I went apeshit and ate a ton of oatmeal because I remember reading that it can boost your supply. Anyway 2 days into the whole debacle my milk supply came back and all was well.
JT: YOU were the one who made me take stock of what the mini-pill was doing to my sanity. So, thank you. And Simon thanks you too.
Iris: My statement about homebirth wasn't accurate or inaccurate; all I said was "think carefully about the risks," and I hope that's something everyone does, regardless of where/how they're giving birth.
Sarah: The hair shedding is totally normal, it's just that people don't seem to talk about it. Had I not known to expect it, I probably would have freaked right out.
Renee: No noticeable drop in supply, although I've been watching for it since I've heard that can happen.
Even with all this, I still want one.
I keep waiting for the lush pregnancy hair that people have talked so much about, but thus far mine is breaking off and falling out and generally looking like dog crap even more than pre-pg. WTF, hormones?
I really appreciate your candor about the post-partum stuff that most people don't mention.
Wow, it just felt like I was reading my OWN postpartum story, complete with the scary hair loss/lioness regrowth, rapid weight loss/random skin flabbiness, poor eating habits (Lean Cuisine, it's just so recession chic, I can't help myself), mini pill rage (though, I'm still on it, hmm), and thinking I was pregnant, too. I even bought and peed on a stick to be sure, then felt incredibly lame when the results were SO conclusively NO. And you are SO RIGHT that no one really talks about your body immediately after you give birth, and probably for good reason, especially the peeing bloody Mary part and adult diapers and netted underwear they make you wear. If my whole postpartum experience were a smell, it'd smell like Tucks medicated pads -- did you use those, too? Even nine months later, I still don't feel 100% like I did before. Maybe I never will.
I'll be on the lookout for my period now, that's for sure. YIKES.
What is up with the short hair re-growth?! I have it too and I'm pretending it's hipster bangs. Also I think iris's point was just that midwives have experience and drugs too, so consider on that level. I too would never want a home birth but I think it gets a bad rap in the US. Different in Canada I'm learning.
Can I just say that this came at a perfect time for me? If any more of my hair comes out of my head in the shower I am going to lose my mind. I also had something stabbed in my thigh during the whole "deliver the placenta/stitch me up" thing, and I'm not sure if it was methergine, but whoa. Let's just say there was no problem getting me to "go." Very humbling. So humbling I can't even go into detail here. Let's just say I'm pretty sure Scott must love the hell out me to still be around after seeing all of that.
Can I just say that this came at a perfect time for me? If any more of my hair comes out of my head in the shower I am going to lose my mind. I also had something stabbed in my thigh during the whole "deliver the placenta/stitch me up" thing, and I'm not sure if it was methergine, but whoa. Let's just say there was no problem getting me to "go." Very humbling. So humbling I can't even go into detail here. Let's just say I'm pretty sure Scott must love the hell out me to still be around after seeing all of that.
Of course midwives have experience and drugs. But I don't think anyone can argue that they have the same access to technology and team support that a woman and her baby might need in case of emergency. I don't care how experienced a midwife is--she can't perform an emergency c-section in your living room.
Oh yeah, THAT'S why I am waiting at least a few more months before trying to get pregnant again. The fear of "the first poop" still haunts my dreams.
Also, I like your comment about the hospital thing. I'm planning on using a Certified Nurse Midwife the next go 'round, one with privileges to deliver in a hospital where everything is at my disposal should it be necessary.
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