It’s been six weeks. Number 4 has settled in. It’s like she’s always been here. The big 3 have adjusted well. My husband has been back to work for a month. The two weeks he was off felt long and I was deep in a newborn daze. 

Those first couple weeks post birth are always a beautiful struggle. It’s euphoric to finally see the little one who grew inside you. The one who you have come to know only by movement and ultrasound pictures. Finally, you can see and touch and hear the human you have built.

It’s tricky though too as you try to navigate a new dynamic. You have to balance extreme hormones and physical disarray with being happy about the baby. Somehow, this time for me has seemed a little easier. Maybe she’s an easier baby or maybe we’re so used to it all by now, so we take it in stride better. I think it’s both. 

As for my body, it’s almost beginning to feel like “normal.” I’m tired, of course, but nothing too extreme. I have felt desperately sleep deprived and anxious in the past, so I know what that’s like and I haven’t felt that this time. I have a lot of supporters around so I was able to take a lot of naps in the beginning, which I think is part of why I don’t feel as run down. Thank you, village ❤

The first week home each time my adrenaline and excitement keeps me riding high. Weeks 2-4 though, I felt like I’d never be myself again. The bleeding was brief, which was nice. But, I had some days of bad nerve pain as my nerves came back to life. I was doubled over in pain one night as I laid with Peter until he fell asleep, as he has been requesting. That’s been an interesting thing to manage. I had stinging and burning from stitches from where I tore. I had loose muscles that made me feel like I didn’t have any control over myself. I felt so broken and simultaneously so complete. 

They often tell you, 6 weeks is the average recovery time. That’s the time you can continue usual activity, depending on your personal status. No matter how many times I’ve experienced this, I don’t believe it. At week 3, I thought no way will I feel better in 3 weeks. I was convinced the uncomfortable feelings would last longer. I was convinced I’d be walking hunched over with ice packs in my pants for months. But, here we are. 6 weeks. I made it. The pain is gone, the stitches have dissolved, the physical wounds are healed. What’s left is a full heart, a weary mind, some flabby, extra skin, a stretched belly button. The dark line, linea nigra, still remains streaked down my now empty belly. It’s all a reminder of what I did for 9 months.

I say healed about the wounds, but my muscles are still regaining strength. My stamina is restarting from scratch. I have some aches at the end of day that remind me I overdid it yet again. How does one “take it easy” when you have so many counting on you? I’m still not completely sure.

I have to remind myself, I’m not only “recovering” from 12 hours of labor and the pushing I did to get her out (only 2 minutes this time, which seems insane considering my first delivery took an hour and a half), but I’m recovering from a full body assault that lasted 9 months. Assault sounds like a harsh term. I actually liked being pregnant. It’s been such a fascinating experience every time, but assault is 100% the correct term. Every bit of you is affected, down to a cellular level. You get completely taken over. Your body isn’t yours anymore, it belongs to your baby. And your mind, your mind is a separate entity. You can only guess what is going on inside your body. You can only guess at who is in there and what he or she will be like. You have to throw your inhibition to the wind and trust that your body knows what to do.

I think people forget that it takes nine months to build the baby before the delivery. We are expected to “snap back” as soon as the child is out. People often stop inquiring about how a woman feels after a few weeks because outwardly we may look fine and doctors say recovery time “6 weeks.” But we, as a society (and myself), need to remember, it takes 9 months of intense change to get to the finish line. Just because we crossed the finish line and the wounds are healed doesn’t mean we’re “recovered.” Research coming out says it can take up to two years or more for a woman’s body and hormones to regulate and feel “normal” again. Perhaps, if persons in charge were considerate about how long it takes to recover from pregnancy AND birth by listening to women and believing in science, maybe then we would have proper laws and resources in place, but, alas, women must “power through.” Props to the women who get back to work soon after the baby is born. I’ll never know how you do it.

Yes, I may not be bleeding anymore. I may not have stinging or burning, my face doesn’t look as pale or drawn, breastfeeding is on track and we have a good system down, but recovery is still underway. I’m not myself yet. Maybe my brain is almost there, but I am unfamiliar in my body still.

I’m glad to be through the roughest stage, and, yet, I already miss it. It sounds absurd, but I miss the first couple weeks. Not the pain, obviously, but I miss that moment of coming home for the first time. I miss the looks on everyone’s faces when they first saw her. I miss the house humming with visitors. I miss being in the hospital where it was just me and Zach and the baby and everyone was on the edge of their seat waiting to meet her. I miss the feeling of anticipation. I feel totally relieved I got it done safely and smoothly, but sad that it went so fast. I miss being pregnant. I’m ready for life to start picking up again, and yet I want to stay in this phase a little longer.

I suppose it’s the “baby blues” feeling I’ve gotten before, another step in the process for me. Little ones change so quickly, it’s hard for our hearts to keep up. Her growth is a reminder of how fleeting these big life moments are and how important it is to remember how it all started. It’s important to remember how it made you feel. I think it’s okay to relish in the past and foster and understand the feelings you felt then. It helps you in turn be more present in the future and grateful for how you’ve grown. It helps you better recognize what matters most, to see life in a better lens than you saw before.

I have given every ounce of myself to each pregnancy and birth. Every ounce of strength, love, sweat, and tears have gone into our magical creations.

And after building a human, one must rebuild themselves. 

People (men mostly) often think of pregnancy and birth as common place and the journey is not revered and respected for the marvel that it is. The world thinks of it as easy, no matter how much we try to tell everyone how hard it is. 

After being pregnant 6 times in 7 years, 2 of them miscarriages (yes, they count, no matter how many people say they don’t and you definitely experience postpartum after miscarriages) and 4 of them that resulted in healthy and happy humans, I give myself an immense standing ovation. I marvel at my strength and resolve. I marvel at my ability to rebuild myself after loss and continue on. I marvel at my ability to push humans out into the world. I marvel at all women, induced vaginal births, spontaneous vaginal births, c-section, medicated or unmedicated….we did the damn thing. No matter how it happens, it’s hard and it’s a complete miracle. We are warriors and should be treated as such.

I marvel as I rebuild for a 6th time, while growing and learning alongside my 4 children.

As I renew myself again, I pray that I can be better than the last version and stronger than ever. So here’s to six, the six pregnancies I’ve had, the first 6 weeks of each of my recovery journeys and the six Oreos I will eat after I post this.

Here’s to rebuilding.