Stephanie is the mama to a 3.5-year-old little girl and a 6-month-old boy. This is her postpartum story.
In February of 2014, I conceived my second child. We also found out in that same month that our first child is Autistic. When dealing with Autism, people love to talk about causes, statistics, and interventions, and as we shared the news of our daughter’s diagnosis and my pregnancy, we were met with lots of interesting statements. My favorite was “Maybe it will be a girl; autism is more rare in girls” (Nope, it’s a boy and my daughter is the one who we know has Autism).
The causes and statistics weighed heavily on me throughout my pregnancy, and they continue to occupy my mind with fear even now, 6 months into life as a mother of 2. I often wonder if I have the resiliency to do this: to make sure that my now 3.5 year old gets all of the attention and interventions that she needs in order to develop into her best self, and to make sure that I also give this new life everything that it needs and deserves as well. Do I have the strength to deal with the very real possibility that I will need to manage the schedules of 2 children on the spectrum who need speech, occupational, and physical therapy? Do I know how to raise a child who is not on the spectrum? When will I know which he is? How will I find time to give everybody: baby, toddler, husband, self? It is a waste of my limited energy to worry about it, for I cannot change the future, or the past, but I do worry.
The blessing in this worry is that it keeps me from dwelling on unimportant things. My nature wants things to be tidy, clean, organized, and categorized (librarian here), but postpartum life, and motherhood in general, does not work that way. The floor is dirty, the sink is full, the walls need to be painted, but it doesn’t matter. Heck, the only reason I have “time” to write this, is because I am at work, locked in my office, pumping. In case you were wondering, there is nothing fun about pumping, but it is worth it.
Being a postpartum mother, a mother in general, is the hardest thing I have ever done. Clean home? (What’s that?) Shaved legs? (What am I, 17?) Alone time? (That’s almost laughable). There are a lot of things in life I feel like I am good at, but postpartum is just not one of them. Being tasked with the idea of offering advice makes me feel like it’s presentation day in class and I haven’t done my research. I know nothing. I’ve done it twice, each time totally different. You have to find little ways to cope and grab onto them for whatever normalcy they give you.
I spent my early postpartum days in a nice bathrobe with a bottle of water (preferably with a straw) and a heating pad close at hand. The bathrobe, in case anybody wants to come over and I don’t want to get dressed; the bottle of water because nursing = thirst (and it was always my husband’s job to make sure it was full); the heating pad for sore shoulders, cramping abdomen, and to warm the cradle mattress before putting my winter babies in so the cold wouldn’t startle them awake (take out the heating pad, then put in the baby). The second time around, I even thought ahead enough to get a pedicure and chop off my hair a week before my due date. Two less things to worry about, especially when the hormones shifted and my hair started falling out.
I can do this. You can do this. It does get easier. This is how take-out restaurants stay in business, so support the local economy. We are not alone. We need each other.
I need my friends, family, and coworkers. Especially the ones who have had babies recently and “get it.” Not the rose colored memories of babies who are now 5, 10, and 30 years old, but the now babies who are crying in the night, spitting their food all over the dining room, and experiencing quickly shifting emotions on the floor. I need those people to call me on the phone and to answer when I call to talk about babies or just about anything else in the realm of adult interaction. I need my “mommies” group Facebook friends. The women whose voices I will never hear, but with whom I share and answer a plethora of parenting questions, trials, and joys in friendly, judgment free, anonymity. I need my husband and he needs me. We chose to do this together and we will sink or swim as a unit.
I am convinced that Super-mom is a myth. She is pretending. Success in postpartum life is more like Voltron (remember the 80’s?). The whole team is needed to navigate this experience. That’s why we’re here.