1,340. That’s approximately the number of days since I found out that I was expecting Ellie. In that time, my body has been the sacred vessel for two precious lives to begin. It has stretched and strained, literally transforming before my eyes as it created space for those sweet babies to grow. It rode the painful waves of contractions, doing what nature created it to do, working to bring those babies Earthside. It has ached and screamed from the pain of torn flesh, cringed during the early days of nursing, and ached for rest at the midnight hour. It’s been the source of nourishment, providing not only calories but immunities and comfort to two babies. It has dragged itself out of the warm, deep comfort of sleep to tend to the cries of hunger, teething, illness, and night terrors. It’s rocked babies back to sleep, held them close when they get hurt. It’s a little softer now than it was 10 years ago, but the scars and the numbers on the scale are just reminders of the incredible things my body has done. And at the end of a long day, it’s still a place of comfort and rest for my sweet husband. My body is incredible. I know that it is. But it is not my own. It has not been my own for one thousand, three hundred and forty days.
And it is so
so
tired.
I have been trying to write this blog post in my brain for weeks – struggling to find ways to talk about the incredible physical demand on a mama’s body without sounding like I’m whining or ungrateful. It is truly miraculous that God created women’s bodies to be able to create, grow, and nourish life and I feel incredibly grateful to have been able to do that twice in my life. And yet, I sometimes wonder why in that grand master plan, God didn’t look at his blueprints and think, “well, if she’s going to carry the baby for 9 months and then birth it, maybe we should make dad responsible for the feeding part.” And so, rather than sugar coating it or trying to put a positive spin on it, I’m just going to say the things you’re not supposed to say and hope that it resonates with other mamas who are also in the thick of it or who have been there too-
Sometimes I’m just so tired and so weary and every bone in my body hurts. Sometimes it all just feels like too much. Some days I just long for when they are both older and don’t need me in the same raw and immediate way. And most days, by the end of the day, I just don’t want to be touched anymore. I’ve had an infant or a machine attached to me for no less than 4 hours during the day; I’ve had a toddler climbing my chest and sliding down my back as if I was her personal jungle gym; I’ve worn the baby in the carrier while I made dinner because he wouldn’t stop screaming; I’ve had my hair yanked while the almost three year old tried to pull it into a ponytail during “hairdresser” pretend play; I’ve been peed on, thrown up on, and wiped bottom after bottom. At the end of the day, my cup just feels bone dry. My body is literally a battlefield.
Beyond the physical demands of having small children, I also struggle with the job of taking care of myself and the stress and anxiety that comes with nourishing another human with your body. I worry about my milk supply and making sure I’m eating enough, drinking enough water, taking the right vitamins and supplements, and resting enough to produce what he needs everyday. Owen has some sensitivities to food that I never experienced with Ellie, so I’ve had to experiment a bit to see what he can and cannot tolerate. He seems to do a little better if I don’t eat a lot of dairy, so I’ve cut major dairy sources out of my daily diet. I also try to limit caffeine and alcohol intake (which is torturous – in what other season of life is coffee and wine MORE needed?!). I can’t complain too much as I have friends who have had to cut not only dairy, but also soy and other allergens completely from their diet while nursing. The universe just seems so unfair sometimes that you can take such good care of yourself and eat and drink all the right things while they are growing inside of you and then you finally have them and think you’re going to get to go back to eating and drinking what you want just to discover that you have even more restrictions than you had when you were pregnant.
At the end of the day, it’s about sacrifice and recognizing that life won’t always be this way. Some days it seems unfair and like it’s too much. Some days I wonder how I will survive nursing him to his first birthday or when I’ll get 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep again. I long for days when I’ll be able to go out with friends and not have to watch a clock. I dream of days when I’ll feel like myself again and finally have the time and energy to give my husband what he needs and deserves.
But then Owen falls asleep in the crook of my arm while he’s nursing or I scoop up Ellie and hold her against me and she fits perfectly against my body and I know that the sacrifice is worth it. God built me for this and I can weather this storm.
But I could also really use a massage. And an ice cream sundae.
Life After Birth 