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As I alluded to in our labor and delivery story, the postpartum part of our journey was nothing like I had imagined. Initially, I had planned on taking two weeks off work. Since I have a business, I don't get the perk of a twelve week, paid maternity leave. I felt like I could reasonably take two weeks off without work getting out of hand and, hopefully, have the time to recover from all the things I'd just gone through. Fortunately, I had the help of one of my best friends to at least carry out the absolutely necessary actions to keep cash flowing at least a little bit.

Breastfeeding would be challenging and painful...

So imagine my surprise when I came home feeling pretty out of sorts. The first night home, I slept in between trying my best at breastfeeding our little girl. Despite talking to a couple of lactation specialists at the hospital, it was never very pleasant (and by that I mean it hurt terribly). I did what I was supposed to, though; every couple of hours, I would breastfeed. No one told me it would be so hard to not really know or understand if she was getting what she needed.

I would be expected to leave the house within 48 hours of coming home...

Two days later we had to take the baby to her first pediatrician's appointment; something I never knew would be so draining. I was feeling pretty unwell and seemed to be in a constant cold sweat. That first appointment was quite long and involved which was just torture when I wasn't feeling great anyway. The nursing staff went to work weighing and measuring her. We had already known that she was jaundice and were told by the hospital staff it would go away after a few days. It didn't go away.

The doctor came in and expressed a serious concern about the baby's weight loss and jaundice. I was surprised that she had lost so much (knowing, of course, that babies do lose weight in their first few days and then gain the weight back as the milk comes in). He told me to start her on supplemental formula after she breastfeeds. I felt so disappointed. I didn't want to give my baby formula, but I also wanted to make sure she was getting enough. 

Then he proceeded to want to check her bilirubin levels because of her jaundice. This took a heel stick. Our baby seemed to have inherited my slow-flowing blood and they spent forever trying to milk her poor little heel for enough blood for the test. It was excruciating as she cried the whole time. The doctor told us if her bilirubin levels didn't look good enough, she would have to be readmitted to the hospital.

Her perfect, little foot before they had to stick it so many times!

Some medical professionals would make you feel like a terrible parent (and some would make you feel like the best parent)...

Needless to say, we left the pediatrician's office feeling like horrible parents. Not because of anything we'd done wrong, but because of the way the nurses and doctor made us feel about what was happening. My husband dropped the baby and I off at home (since I was feeling so terrible) and went to go retrieve the formula. Fortunately, before the baby was born I had researched what formula I would use if I had to, so I was prepared and didn't have to do much research in the moment. As he was out getting that, the pediatrician's office called back and said the bilirubin results weren't at the right levels and the doctor wanted to admit the baby back into the hospital to go under a special sort of light that would help her levels get back to normal. 

We would need to be readmitted to the hospital...

We had just gotten home two days ago. I felt like death warmed over and now we were being told to go back to the hospital. So we repacked our bags and headed back. They put our sweet little baby under the neon blue lights and I felt so helpless. We had to leave her there unless we were feeding her. That whole thing was torture. Here we had this sweet little baby that we could only hold for a short time every few hours. I tried my best to get some sleep in yet another hospital bed and we continued to try to make hospital food seem exciting. We did this the whole evening and the whole next day. Fortunately, the nursing staff at the hospital was fantastic and made us feel like we truly were the best parents. Given our experience at the pediatricians office, we needed that positive reinforcement. Finally the bilirubin levels came back normal and the doctor discharged us before we had to spend another night in the hospital.

Our sweet baby under the bili lights.

I would be so dependent on my husband...

That night I took a much-needed shower only to get a ridiculous cold chill while I was in there. I yelled for D to help me and he brought a heater into the bathroom to warm me up. I felt very much like I had the flu (which the nurse told me would happen). D was a hero, though, as he attended to all the baby's needs AND took care of me. After that shower, I zonked out on the couch after popping a couple Motrin. I feel like I spent the next couple of weeks sleepwalking. We managed to have our family over a few at a time to introduce them to the baby and I had some semi-normal days sprinkled in there. But mainly, I felt pretty bad.

My body would heal slowly (definitely not over night)...

I'm not really sure when I started feeling normal. I can say that exactly eight days after the baby was born, I got my taste for coffee back. It was the one of the few aversions I had during my pregnancy (which was weird because I love coffee). By the sixteenth day, I was back to work. I can't say I was very productive, but I was at least answering emails. I didn't want to be working, but I knew it was necessary to keep the business going. The most wonderful day, though, was Christmas Day. The three of us spent the day alone resting and opening gifts. I needed that day and probably felt my best just enjoying my favorite holiday with our new baby.

My reintroduction to coffee...

Snuggled in for our traditional viewing of "Serendipity" on Christmas Night.

There were still lingering issues months later...

Now I'm four months into postpartum. Technically by this point, the "fourth trimester" is supposedly over. Unfortunately, I still have lingering issues. In fact, I went and had some physical therapy to hopefully strengthen my core enough to be a little closer to normal. My abs had felt like I'd done a infinite number of crunches and my lower back is still aching to this day. Little by little, though, I am starting to feel more like myself. The fact that I don't remember most of those first couple of weeks at home, though, is surprising. I thought I would be so present and instead I was more like a zombie.

It gets better...

The clouds do eventually part, though. And then I had to get to work figuring out how to manage this new chapter of life I'd just walked into. By God's grace, we are getting adequate sleep (which I know is an absolute miracle) and are learning so many things about being parents. Sure, this little baby turned our whole lives upside down. But it was in the absolute best way possible.

I say all of that to say that I wish I would've planned a little better for how I would take care of myself once I got home. There are a lot of things I didn't know going into the postpartum journey. While I felt pretty well prepared in terms of things I needed and food, I wasn't at all prepared at how bad I would feel those first couple of weeks. 

What would I do differently? Expect the best and prepare for the worst. I do think next time I'll have a plan for extra help around the house. D ended up having to do a whole lot those first couple of weeks which wore him out. Things like making sure we were eating (yeah, we had the food but getting it from the kitchen to our stomachs was a challenge) and then cleaning up after we ate. Doing the everyday things like laundry, cleaning up the kitchen and taking out the trash was something we totally could've asked for help with. I eventually did end up asking for help picking some things up from the store, but only a week or two into it. Now I would probably have someone on standby to run to the pharmacy so D didn't have to. And, once Covid becomes a distant memory and more than one person is allowed at the hospital, I would probably like someone to come to the hospital the day we go home and pack my bags for me. Because, let me tell you, that was the hardest.

At the end of it all, it was a major learning experience. I learned that I might be a smidge weaker than I'd like to see myself and that labor and delivery can be a walk in the park compared to the discomfort that is felt after coming home. So glad we're on the other side of the postpartum journey!

What is the thing that surprised you the most postpartum?

 

As I was sharing in part 2 of this saga, once they found out I had a fever, they wanted me to push. This was all good and grand except I was only dilated to a nine. The hospitalist thought because of how low the baby was that I could push through even at a nine. I have to admit I got a smidge nervous at this point. I wasn't nervous about the pushing, I was nervous that I had a fever and everyone in the room seemed to be so on alert because of it. I was also nervous that because I wasn't dilated to a ten yet that I was going to end up pushing for hours and hours. While I knew it was a possibility, I wasn't feeling ready for that. I was tired even though I'd been sleeping for a good part of the day.

Before we ever got to this day in our story, I told myself that I wanted to be a good pusher. Besides just not wanting to wear myself out physically, I just didn't want to look weak and have the nurse in my face for so long telling me to push harder. The other thing I was a wee bit concerned about was their preoccupation with having women hold their breath while they push. I don't have great lung capacity and I wasn't real sure I was going to be a good pusher if holding my breath was the deciding factor.

So then came the moment of truth. The nurse gave me the rundown of what I needed to do (along with the spiel about holding my breath). She said, "Hold your breath like you used to when you were a kid trying to see how long you could hold your breath under water." This moment is one of my husband's favorites when I looked her square in the face and said, "Yeah...I never did that as a kid. I don't have that kind of lung capacity." She thought I was joking.

I gave the first push and I definitely did not hold my breath. I tried, I really did. To my surprise, the doctor applauded the first one. It was time to push again and the nurse reiterated the need for me to hold my breath. I gave it another shot and, while I absolutely failed at holding my breath, I gave another stellar push. The nurse kept trying to get me to hold my breath and I kept not doing that. Finally the doctor looked at the nurse and said, "As long as she's pushing this good, let her do it however she wants." I wanted to motion the "mic drop" in front of the nurse, but I knew I had bigger fish to fry. I know she was just doing her job, but I needed oxygen more than I needed her approval.

Fifteen minutes in, I gave one finally push and suddenly felt a whole lot lighter than I had for the last several months. I heard someone say, "Ah! Look at all that hair!" Unfortunately, I couldn't see a thing. The doctor was holding her down low to suction out her mouth and nose. I was the last person in the room to actually see her. I heard her cry and immediately felt relief. And then they placed her on my chest and I finally got the view of the most beautiful baby I'd ever seen. She had a gorgeous head of hair and such adorable features. As I was sitting there looking over every inch of her face, she pooped in my hand. I didn't even care. In that moment, I felt like I officially became a mother. Not because I just pushed out a baby, but because I had poop in my hand and it was still one of the happiest moments of my life.

One of the nurses captured this moment. My face says it all.

Everything from this point on became another bit of a blur. I watched them take her to get all her stats. My husband sweetly stayed next to me until I told him he should go be with the baby. I tried to ignore the rest of what the delivery team was doing to me and watched as they placed our baby in my husband's arms for the first time. I felt like seconds later it was just the two of us there staring at our baby.

One of my favorite memories...

I won't lie. The next couple of days in the hospital were rough. I wasn't feeling all that great as I was dealing with chills and just feeling exhausted. The nurses were so intent on me getting rest, but they'd come in to check my vitals every two hours and did the same for the baby. The only problem was, two different nursing teams were doing this so someone was coming into the room constantly. Since we were still under quite the lockdown because of Covid, I didn't even have family or friends stopping in. I am not sure how we could've handled it AND have all those nurses in and out.

Our first family selfie...

I couldn't wait to get home and actually get some rest. I desperately wanted my own bed, clothes and for nurses to stop coming in and waking us up. Getting our stuff packed up was even more exhausting. I remember thinking no one really talks about that part; packing your hospital stuff. But I survived it. We picked up my first postpartum Starbucks drink and headed home. My first order of business?  A nice, long sleep.

Our glorious, homecoming three-hour nap!

And that's where most of these stories end, right? Not this one. So I'm going to tell you the rest next week. What I can tell you, though, is all of this went so much better than I imagined (at least till this point). It was clear that the Lord was at work in the whole experience. While I will admit that I hated contractions, the epidural was a pretty great answer to that problem. And, quite frankly, the hardest part was just around the corner.

To be continued...

What are (or were) your expectations about the labor and delivery experience?

As you might've guessed in Part 1 of our labor and delivery story, I was quite the rookie at this thing called pregnancy and labor. I had no idea my water had broken until it dawned on me that maybe it had without me noticing. I often wonder what might've happened had I just kept laboring at home like the lady from the nurse line suggested. I'm glad that I questioned it and ultimately decided to go into the hospital.

Once they got us settled in the delivery room, it was the wee hours of Sunday morning. I knew that if I'd have to endure hours of pushing, I'd better try to get some sleep. So, I tried. However, contractions without pain management are no joke. A couple hours later, my doctor came in and explained to me she thought that I had what they called a forebag. My water had broken but, because of the baby's position, it had not broken completely. So she then broke the rest of my water. I knew things would ramp up a bit after that.

Despite being dilated to only a three, I was having a real hard time getting any rest. At six o'clock in the morning, I decided I wasn't going to try to muscle through the contractions anymore. I needed sleep. So they called the anesthesiologist in for an epidural. I always thought that getting an epidural once I asked for one would take too long. Fortunately, I was the only laboring woman in the obstetric unit that night and they got the doctor in the room within just a few minutes.

Now, I'll admit that I've had quite the phobia of needles the vast majority of my life. I can handle getting blood drawn, but that is about where my tolerance stops. So, as you can imagine, I was more nervous about the needles I'd have to endure than I was about actually giving birth. After a swift and painless IV and then not feeling a thing during the epidural, I've started to wonder if I might be cured of my phobia. The anesthesiologist was about as warm as a block of dry ice, but I might've called him my hero after my epidural was placed. And then I slept. The nurse would come in and check my cervix and temperature and then I'd roll over and fall back to sleep again.

Our "we're about to have a baby" selfie...

Since I slept so much, the rest was really a blur. I didn't watch any TV. I didn't scroll my Facebook feed. I didn't even listen to music. About the only thing I did besides sleep was eat ice chips and apply Chapstick. Occasionally, I would let the ice chips melt and then sneak a few sips of the water. It wasn't a problem for me to go without food the whole day. I was parched, though, and that part was brutal.

In the early evening, I was dilated to about a nine. They kept upping my pitocin (which I wouldn't let them give me until after my epidural), but they weren't liking how long it was taking me to progress. At some point I got a crazy episode of chills. My whole body was shaking uncontrollably. I just thought it was hormones or all the meds, but when the nurse came in and saw it she decided to take my temperature. It just so happened I had a fever. That meant that the baby had a fever, too. Suddenly getting the baby out became way more emergent.

My regular doctor went off shift and the on-call hospitalist came in and said I was still only dilated to a nine. I started to wonder what that might mean since I had the fever. I felt like they were about to start talking a cesarean section, which I absolutely did not want. The hospitalist decided that since the baby was far enough down, she thought I could go ahead and push. I wasn't sure what to think about that. I had prepared myself for a long stretch of pushing, but I wasn't prepared for pushing before my body was absolutely ready.

At any rate, the fever was worrisome, so I didn't ask any questions. And just like that a flood of nurses entered the room and it was time...

To be continued...

What was your labor experience like? Did things take an unexpected turn for you? If you haven't yet given birth, what would be your ideal labor experience?

There was a day when I was sure I would never be married. As the years of my twenties ticked by, so did my hopes that there was someone in this world that could endure my quirks. The other obstacle to finding love just happened to be my faith. In that way, though, it wasn't really an obstacle at all. It was more like a filter, really. In a world where marriages end quicker than they begin, I suppose having such a filter was of great benefit to me. I was sweating it, though, up until a few months shy of my thirtieth birthday.

I married my best friend in 2014 (we met in 2000). I knew that we wouldn't add any little humans to our home right away. We both love adventures and, as I've discovered recently, Pack n' Plays aren't the only thing one needs on the road with an infant. My little Saturn would certainly never make the many mountains and rivers we would traverse with a trunk loaded down with baby equipment. 

Besides wanting to see so many things together with just the two of us, I had some pretty high standards for things like time, finances, health; quite the checklist! And then about six years into our marriage, I had most of the items checked off my list and knew quite well that I wasn't getting any younger. Fortunately, my husband was feeling as ready as I was. So we decided we'd like to try to grow our family. 

And, as with most good things, it took time. More time than I thought it would, in fact.  I'll never understand why God does things the way He does in the timing He does them. However, I have discovered that His timing is perfect despite my own plans and timelines. Whether we are ready or not, His plan always rules the day...or week...or the month...or even the year (yes, that was a Friends reference).