Our little family has made it to the 6 week mark!
I'm calling it the "6 week mark" because, since Henry was born, this random segment of time has held some special significance for me, I think because it was the approximate amount of time I'd heard it would take for my body to heal, for Henry to adjust to life outside the womb, and for "things to get easier."
Thus spake The Internet (and my doctor and nurses and various other experts).
Good news, all of those things are (mostly) true! I'm overwhelmed with gratitude that Henry is breastfeeding well now, sleeping as much as a newborn can, and continuing to amaze us with all the nuances of his development into a real human person. And, yes, "things are getting easier!" I can wash my face and put on pants on most days (well, leggings). Three days ago, I loaded Henry into the car, drove to Berkeley, deftly handled the stroller, visited friends I hadn't seen since before he was born (on time, too), successfully changed his diaper and breastfed him in public, dealt very calmly with a crying meltdown when he wasn't fed quickly enough, and managed to get home again with minimal bodily fluids spewed on me. I knew it was much more about the mental hurdle of being able to handle this challenge, more than the practical elements of it - true of most challenges I think. I felt proud. I'd transitioned from "what year be this?" to "IT'S TUESDAY! I know it's a Tuesday and I remembered to bring wipes this time!"
Plus I got to experience the mommy-pride of walking down the street with my baby in a stroller. It was the first time I knew that others would see me and think "mother." Crazy as it sounds, it was thrilling. I've never gotten to walk down the street as "mommy" before, how could I not feel proud and strong and beautiful?
People in California are very outgoing, and babies are always an open invitation for conversation, so I wasn't surprised when a couple my parents' age stopped me to admire the baby. I ate it up, I mean, look at this little guy:
I wasn't ready for the attention to turn back to me, though. "How old is he, about a month?" the woman asked. "Yes, 6 weeks," I said, fighting the urge to add, "and he's very perfect and clearly above average in both attractiveness and intelligence."
"Ah right," she said, "don't worry, the weight comes off" and she put her hands on her stomach and looked meaningfully at mine. Instinctively, I sucked in my tummy and, feeling absurdly embarrassed, I laughed and leaned over the baby, wanting to look anywhere but at them. It was like ice water over my head.
What the hell, lady? Can I get some lady solidarity? What is this shit?! I just laughed, though, because to point out the absurdity of this comment would have required a presence of mind I've not yet regained since giving birth. I laughed and zipped my sweater over my stomach and tried not to cry. Ten minutes later I forgot about it because Chris called and said he had time to run out of the lab and say hello, and I was back to feeling like Queen Mommy, proudly wheeling my clearly above average baby around Berkeley.
But, dude, what the fuck? When I got home, and took off my sweater, I remembered an even worse incident that happened just 4 days after I gave birth. At that time, going anywhere outside the house seemed utterly impossible, but bringing Henry to his check-up was obviously necessary. We had just finished our first appointment with the lactation specialist, which had resulted in more tears from me since Henry was struggling. I was also experiencing my first postpartum hot-flash (yes, that's a thing apparently), which means I was sweating profusely into my already dirty clothes. If you haven't read my last blog post, you could also note that I hadn't been able to take a shower or wash my face yet at this point, so I was generally feeling like a HOT (literally) MESS. I was sitting in a little waiting area after this disastrous appointment, waiting for Chris to bring the car around. Another new mother emerged from the elevator with her mom, wheeling a little baby in a stroller, who was also only 2 days old, just like Henry. We smiled at each other. The grandmother said "Oh you have a new baby, too." "Yes, 2 days." "First baby?" "Yes." "Ah..." the grandmother said, "I could tell... You look... well, I don't want to say terrible, but..." and she looked at her daughter (who was appropriately embarrassed), and chose not to finish, laughing instead. They wheeled out of the office.
I was heartbroken. I looked at my baby, my perfect baby, and thought, I'm failing, you deserve better.
Now, I was in an emotional state of mind at this time - how could I not be? Both sets of our parents had returned home and Chris and I were experiencing the profoundly steep learning curve of a newborn. I hadn't slept, bathed, or eaten properly in about a week. All of this was completely normal, but in my fragile state, that one negative comment was enough to reduce me to tears. Well, I was already in tears actually, so it just made me cry more. 6 weeks later, I can look back and recognize this as inconsequential bullshit and even laugh, but at the time it was deeply hurtful.
Notably, I didn't tell anyone, even Chris, about this "incident." I just took that emotion and filed it under "inadequacy evidence" - a shitty little filing drawer in every new mother's heart where we put the disparaging comments and self-doubt that try and steal our Queen Mommy crowns. That woman in Berkeley rudely commenting about weight loss illuminated that my filing drawer was overflowing. I knew I needed to do some serious shredding.
Since the last few weeks of my pregnancy, I've been bombarded on social media by strangers with fitness accounts. Some of these are couched in offers of friendship or support. For example: "Hey there, love your page! I know what it's like to be a new mom and not be sure how to regain my confidence and feel good in my body again. If you're interested in going on a journey of self-love, DM me back!" Another: "Cute pics, you seem so fun! I lost 20 pounds using <insert brand name of weight loss program> but I gained so much more! If you're interested in starting your own business like me, let me know. Here for you, mama!" These are real messages I received. I'm sure that the majority of these women (they're all fellow mothers) are genuinely offering support, besides trying to make money, and I can't fault a sister for hustling. But what I can take issue with is that all of this attention was ultimately centered on losing weight.
Pregnancy seemed to be an open invitation for people to comment on my body, but I (maybe naively) thought that would end after I gave birth. I didn't expect messages from strangers on social media, or negative comments from strangers on the street about how look as a mother. I've had my fair share of this sort of attention prior to becoming a mother, so I suppose this is just a new version of the same thing.
I'm here to say that it's ALL a bunch of NONSENSE!
It's tough enough to be a new mommy without any of that. I've been inundated with messages about how I'm supposed to look, feel, and act as a woman my whole life. How would it have been if, instead of "don't worry, the weight comes off," that woman in Berkeley had said "don't worry, it's all worth it." Or if that grandmother at the doctors office said, "I was tired as a new mom, too." Or if all these social media accounts were devoted to changing absolutely nothing about our bodies, and instead focused on how we think and feel as mothers. These voices are out there, I hear them, but I'm disturbed by how much quieter they are.
So far, the message I'm hearing loud and clear from the world is: "Good job with the baby, but your body is now gross and undesirable. Please lose weight immediately, and if you can't, please hide your body so we don't have to look at it. Furthermore, from now on you should be ashamed of how your body has stretched to accommodate a child. Plenty of women 'bounce back' to their 'pre-baby bodies' with zero effort, so what's wrong with you? Work out and brag about it so that other mothers will get with the program. Oh, this bullshit hurts you? You better hide that, too, because real mothers accomplish this with ease and never complain or feel overwhelmed. Have a baby, hide your body, don't talk about your emotions. Mom jeans."
What can I do to combat it except try to (loudly) show an alternative?
I don't need to "get my body back" because I never lost it. I made a baby with it.
This is my fitness plan:
Along with a little bit of this: #catyoga. It mainly involves laying in savasana (napping) while petting your cat. Do more catyoga.
This is the message I want to hear, and want to say to fellow mothers:
You're doing a great job.
You're enough.
You are beautiful, special, powerful, and strong.
You never need to change your body to make it more acceptable to others.
Love yourself as your baby loves you. Your baby thinks you are beautiful and perfect and exactly the person he loves most. Your baby is smart. Think like your baby!
Here is a poor quality mirror selfie at 6 weeks postpartum. There is no "After" for this "Before." There is no #TransformationTuesday. It's just fucking Tuesday. Maternity sweatpants, full belly, stretch marks, nursing bra, unwashed hair, and my Queen Mommy crown (it's invisible, like Wonder Woman's plane). But wait...
Here's an even more accurate picture. Glasses on after I lost a contact while changing a diaper (there's no success in that recovery mission), spit up cloth drying on my shoulder, the cutest baby in the world, and my kitty showing off her fluffy tail. Do you see the invisible crown? It's there.
While it may have taken 6 weeks for my body to begin to heal (sorry, Internet, it's going to take a little longer than that really), it will definitely take longer to emotionally combat all the negativity we encounter as women and mothers. When I find myself researching post-baby weight loss workouts, feeling discouraged and ashamed when I look at my altered body in the mirror, or generally spending too much time poring over the documents in that inadequacy evidence file, I'm trying to shine that crown instead. It's difficult, but when it gets hardest, I look at Henry's smile and remember that he thinks I'm the greatest milk-bringing goddess on earth. You can't argue with that love.
How do you combat those negative messages? What do you do to remind yourself you're a Queen? Comment and let me know!
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With love from, Katey
