After delivering my first baby and officially fulfilling two, shall we say challenging, postpartum weeks of nursing, I am sharing the following testimonial as a holiday treat. Because I think there should be a national day of observation for the shit that I — and every other mother out there — just went through (and no, Mother’s Day is not enough). It is Labor Day, after all…
Leave it to the former reporter in me to ask every question under the sun. There’s not a conversation I had with another mother during my pregnancy that didn’t leave me with some bit of advice about childbirth and motherhood. Like, Stay home as long as you can before going to the hospital. And, Breastfeeding is tough for the first two weeks. By my ninth month I thought I had it all covered. But trust me when I say, no amount of advice prepared me for the reality of what has been the last 14 days of my life.
Let’s start with the delivery.
I used to think I was “good with pain.” I no longer believe this to be true. It’s widely known that if your baby is in a breech position, you’ll probably give birth via c-section. It is also commonly understood that the ideal position for a baby to be in prior to delivery is head down. Yet no one talks about what happens if the baby comes out situated as “sunny side up” (nowhere near as pleasant as the breakfast dish that inspired its name). Which is why I felt like I got hit with a bag of what-the-f—k when I delivered a baby who decided to arrive staring right into the eyes of the doctor and nursing staff. Hello, world! Goodbye, consciousness. It’s hard to describe pain, but the words “never again” left my mouth on more than a couple occasions during my two-plus hours of pushing. Blackout is the only way I can describe it. And this was with an epidural. In conclusion, I believe that women who opt for a natural birth (i.e. consciously deciding to forego the drugs) have real life super powers. Or are clinically insane.
On to the episiotomy. You hear about it, but as if it’s an urban myth, you never really picture it being a part of your own delivery. Well, I am here to tell you it is a very real thing, ya’lls. And it happens really fast… before you can swear to push harder or bargain with the doctor on behalf of your vagina. No, once the word “episiotomy” makes its way to the delivery room, your womanhood is doomed. And epidural or not, just knowing what’s going on down there is enough to really rock your world.
And lastly, we have breastfeeding. Who the f—k invented breastfeeding… or at least who made it popular again? I’d love to meet him or her. I’d also like to go back to that moment in the recovery room where I got the bright idea to give nursing a shot… and say No, bitch. Just no. I guess I should’ve listened more closely or asked follow-up questions when people said that the first two weeks were “tough.” Well, in the grand tradition of my brutal honesty, let me just say that “tough” doesn’t really do it justice. Excruciating, maybe? Brutal? Nightmarish, worst-pain-you’ve-ever-felt-in-your-life, perhaps? Yes, I am currently nursing (up until press time, that is), but I make no promises that this whole shebang is going past today. There should be a celebratory ceremony held in your honor if you make it past the first 10 days of this shiz. But no, not even a frayed blue prize ribbon. Want a more concrete example? It’s like having your rack cross paths with a cheese grater… every two to three hours, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You catch my drift?
This is not intended to scare moms-to-be or to tell a good story. It’s just the truth, yo. So, hug your mom today and give her a big old kiss. Because she may very well have had to compromise the well-being of her own lady flower just to bring you into this world.
And that’s just volume one.
