Report from the Trenches--November 18, 2008
I’m not sure if it’s a conspiracy of silence or complete amnesia, but NO ONE—no friend, family member or pregnancy/parenting book/show/magazine—truly prepared us for what to expect our first week with baby. IT WAS BRUTAL! So for all you moms-to-be, here are some of my lessons learned:
-Don’t believe your overeager husband when he rushes you home from the hospital after 24 hours with promises of helping out. They’ll quickly disintegrate into a hysterical tirade when exhaustion hits and his every-man-for-himself survival instinct kicks in. Tell him to get a good night’s rest and wake up in a better mood. When he does and finds your trembling, exhausted, half-naked body on the floor beside the baby’s crib, he’ll become a more caring and attentive husband and father. If he doesn’t, he’s a prick and you should leave him.
-Regardless, stay at the hospital as long as you can.
-Every day, a new and different body part will hurt (or sometimes many simultaneously). My saving grace: hot and cold packs and alternating Tylenol and Advil. (Some people, such as my mom, will have a problem with you taking pain medication while you’re breastfeeding. But it was okay with my midwife and the pharmacist, and as I so bluntly put it to my mother, “I’m just trying to stay alive here.” Sure, it’s probably best if you took nothing at all, but your baby needs his mummy, so do what you need to to survive.)
-Your parents will have forgotten everything; don’t count on their understanding or sympathy.
-Gord’s tip for dads: “Don’t trust what any father over the age of 45 tells you; things were different then and they didn’t help out anyway.”
-Breastfeeding is emotionally, psychologically and physically frustrating, exhausting and painful. Period.
-Not really a lesson learned, but a request in hindsight: An epidural for the first poo post-birth.
-There may be times when you’re so sore, exhausted and frustrated that you think you made a mistake in having this baby. You both may think so. But the moment doesn’t last long and your overwhelming love for baby will carry you through between those low points.
-You may dread nightfall. I spoke with a new-mummy friend about this, and she could totally relate as well. At night, it’s just you and the baby and no one else—all the world’s asleep except for all the worn-out mummies and fussy babies. It seemed to be Zach’s most active period and my weakest. Can’t say for sure yet, but it seems to taper off as you recover and baby settles into a feeding routine.
-Get a midwife if you can. Thanks to their philosophy of continuous care, my midwives visit me every few days up until six weeks and have become my best friends post-birth. Part doctor, part psychologist, they’ve counselled me through my own aches and pains, reassured me on my baby’s progress and my parenting skills and let me do some much-needed venting about my hubby, family and other frustrations and concerns. They’ve been good for Gord too.
-I don’t know if this is baby blues or what, but you might cry a lot. I did. But not out of depression, just out of pure love, gratefulness, pain and/or exhaustion. For me, it seemed to happen at the end of the day when I finally put my head to pillow. The tears would just start to flow. But I can’t say they were sad tears. Just emotionally, physically depleted tears. But maybe that’s what baby blues really is? Maybe we’re just dismissing as simply hormonal something that is totally logical given the state of shock your body and mind are in? Anyway, it’s okay. Let it out. You deserve the release.
-Good news/bad news: Each day is two steps forward, one step back, until eventually you catch up to something resembling a somewhat normal life—albeit a single-handed one with naps instead of eight-hour night rests.
-Don’t believe your overeager husband when he rushes you home from the hospital after 24 hours with promises of helping out. They’ll quickly disintegrate into a hysterical tirade when exhaustion hits and his every-man-for-himself survival instinct kicks in. Tell him to get a good night’s rest and wake up in a better mood. When he does and finds your trembling, exhausted, half-naked body on the floor beside the baby’s crib, he’ll become a more caring and attentive husband and father. If he doesn’t, he’s a prick and you should leave him.
-Regardless, stay at the hospital as long as you can.
-Every day, a new and different body part will hurt (or sometimes many simultaneously). My saving grace: hot and cold packs and alternating Tylenol and Advil. (Some people, such as my mom, will have a problem with you taking pain medication while you’re breastfeeding. But it was okay with my midwife and the pharmacist, and as I so bluntly put it to my mother, “I’m just trying to stay alive here.” Sure, it’s probably best if you took nothing at all, but your baby needs his mummy, so do what you need to to survive.)
-Your parents will have forgotten everything; don’t count on their understanding or sympathy.
-Gord’s tip for dads: “Don’t trust what any father over the age of 45 tells you; things were different then and they didn’t help out anyway.”
-Breastfeeding is emotionally, psychologically and physically frustrating, exhausting and painful. Period.
-Not really a lesson learned, but a request in hindsight: An epidural for the first poo post-birth.
-There may be times when you’re so sore, exhausted and frustrated that you think you made a mistake in having this baby. You both may think so. But the moment doesn’t last long and your overwhelming love for baby will carry you through between those low points.
-You may dread nightfall. I spoke with a new-mummy friend about this, and she could totally relate as well. At night, it’s just you and the baby and no one else—all the world’s asleep except for all the worn-out mummies and fussy babies. It seemed to be Zach’s most active period and my weakest. Can’t say for sure yet, but it seems to taper off as you recover and baby settles into a feeding routine.
-Get a midwife if you can. Thanks to their philosophy of continuous care, my midwives visit me every few days up until six weeks and have become my best friends post-birth. Part doctor, part psychologist, they’ve counselled me through my own aches and pains, reassured me on my baby’s progress and my parenting skills and let me do some much-needed venting about my hubby, family and other frustrations and concerns. They’ve been good for Gord too.
-I don’t know if this is baby blues or what, but you might cry a lot. I did. But not out of depression, just out of pure love, gratefulness, pain and/or exhaustion. For me, it seemed to happen at the end of the day when I finally put my head to pillow. The tears would just start to flow. But I can’t say they were sad tears. Just emotionally, physically depleted tears. But maybe that’s what baby blues really is? Maybe we’re just dismissing as simply hormonal something that is totally logical given the state of shock your body and mind are in? Anyway, it’s okay. Let it out. You deserve the release.
-Good news/bad news: Each day is two steps forward, one step back, until eventually you catch up to something resembling a somewhat normal life—albeit a single-handed one with naps instead of eight-hour night rests.
Tags: advil, baby, blues, breastfeeding, depression, hospital, tyelnol
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Comment by The Peveteaux-Goldmans on November 20, 2008 at 1:32pm - Well said Catalina!
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