The fourth trimester: postpartum life
“The most difficult part of birth is the first year afterwards. It is the year of travail – when the soul of a woman must birth the mother inside her. The emotional labour pains of becoming a mother are far greater than the physical pangs of birth; these are the growing surges of your heart as it pushes out selfishness and fear and makes room for sacrifice and love. It is a private and silent birth of the soul, but it is no less holy than the event of childbirth, perhaps it is even more sacred.” – Joy (an Instagram post I came across from @umamother)
*I don’t even know who to attribute the aforementioned quote to, as I saw it on a social media post, but it so perfectly describes what I could not put into words. I couldn’t help but share it here.
Postpartum is hard. Postpartum during a pandemic is uncharted waters, a whole new level of difficulty no one could ever prepare for. Stress; anxiety; worry; physical, mental, and emotional fatigue; breastfeeding struggles; unrealistic expectations; marital stress.
Not many people talk about the reality of life post giving birth. The “fourth trimester,” as this period is commonly referred to, is technically the first three months after giving birth. It’s a time for baby and momma to bond, for baby to develop through his first milestones, and for momma to begin the recovery process.
I have learned even greater the need to die to myself every day. Marriage had already revealed in me a selfishness I didn’t know I possessed, so I humbly learned to sacrifice my own wants and needs for the sake of my husband. Yes, I am human and I am still far more selfish than I’d like to be; but, having a baby further peeled back deep, deep layers of selfishness I was shamefully unaware of. I have both so willingly and yet so reluctantly given up so much of my pre-motherhood independence, but I am still far from perfect. I find peace in knowing the Holy Spirit will continue to hone me for the rest of my life, and for that I am truly grateful.
Today, I am over five months postpartum, and as trying as it has been, I absolutely love being a mom. Our sweet son brings so much joy to our lives, and if ever I get frustrated or angry or overwhelmed or just plain tired, I am humbly reminded of my relationship with God. How often do I bring him pain and fall short of pleasing him, yet he continues to unconditionally love me? This is the reality of becoming a parent. I couldn’t have imagined motherhood to be so challenging and rewarding at the same time. It’s beautiful.
After we brought sweet Eli home from the hospital, the daunting reality set in – the reality that Phil and I were his parents and we were responsible for his livelihood. The nurses let us take him home with us?! As comical as this may sound, even having Eli home for the first week took a major adjustment to just knowing there was another human being living with us.
Looking back, I’m not even sure how we got through those first few weeks. We had no helping hands, no visitors. And while it may seem like a great inconvenience to have no help, it was actually such a special time for us to cleave as a family of three and depend solely on each other. I had never been so needy in my life. I humbly had to ask Phil to help me with everything, literally everything – showering, going to the bathroom, handing me a glass of water sitting two feet away from me, everything. I hated being so “high-maintenance,” but my sweet, sweet husband served me so selflessly and helped out in any way he could.
I had so many unrealistic expectations of what I thought motherhood should and would be. I thought I would easily nurse my baby and he would sleep and then I could go about doing the things I needed to do throughout the day. I thought I would be able to sleep least between feedings at night. I thought my body would quickly recover and that I could start engaging in physical activity within a matter of a week or two. I thought postpartum depression and anxiety wouldn’t affect me, that I would stay mentally and emotionally strong. I thought my parents would be able to come over and help us when we needed it. I thought, I thought, I thought; but, I thought wrong. I cried every day for two months straight (yes, fluctuating hormones had a lot to do with it) over all these unmet expectations.
I had been sleep-deprived, or so I thought, prior to having Eli, because I suffered from pregnancy insomnia, but I had never experienced true sleep deprivation like I did in the first several weeks after giving birth. Phil and I slept maybe two to three hours most days, running off of pure adrenaline. I was so tired, I couldn’t even fathom the time or energy to cook something to eat. We were so incredibly blessed to have had our friends set up a meal train for us, where we received meals and, or take-out gift cards from friends and family who signed up to serve us. This was so helpful, especially since we couldn’t have even our parents over to help because of the Coronavirus. We still weren’t comfortable with going to grocery stores at that time, so we were dependent on grocery delivery services, which were near impossible to get. And, of course, this added another unprecedented level of stress to our already stressful situation.
Although my recovery seemed slow and was very painful, in hindsight, I did end up recovering rather quickly. I had significant issues where I was only able to either lay down or sit on a donut pillow for about one month, which made getting in and out of bed and breastfeeding very difficult. To get any semblance of movement, I began doing some core-strengthening and diaphragmatic-breathing exercises almost immediately after arriving home from the hospital. This was incredibly helpful in helping me gain control of my core again and almost completely restore my diastasis recti (the thinning of the fascia between the abdominal muscles which results in a “separation” of the ab muscles). Around three or four weeks postpartum, I felt ready to start easing into exercise again. I started off with some very short walks around the neighborhood. By six weeks postpartum, I felt confident enough to begin light weight-lifting and took my time through very modified metcons. And from then on, I’ve been able to sneak in about one hour five to six days a week to workout in our basement home gym. Working out in the morning has been my saving grace. It’s my only “me” time. A time for me to listen to worship music and just zone out mentally from all that my tiny human demands of me. A time, where, early on, was the only moment of the day where Eli was not attached to me nursing, being held, or worn in the baby carrier to sleep. I’m better for it when I get that one hour to exercise. Phil has been so gracious in understanding this of me and goes out of his way to make that time sacred for me.
My most significant challenge during this fourth trimester was, and still is, by far breastfeeding. I was so naively unaware of how utterly time-consuming, exhausting, and frustrating it could be. Eli was and still is to this day just a slow-nursing babe, which makes for slow weight gain for him and one exhausted momma. All of the baby books, blog posts, and momma web sites, recommend to offer each breast to a newborn baby for 15-20 minutes, for a total of 30-40-minute feeding sessions, and that most babies tend to nurse 8-12 times a day, or every two-three hours. As baby gets older, he should become more efficient at nursing and not need as long to express the milk he needs, and in turn feed less often throughout the day. However, my little Eli isn’t like all those cookie-cutter babies I read about. Although he has become more efficient in getting more milk and doesn’t feed 12 times a day, Eli still takes a rather lengthy time to feed. For the first two months, I was nursing Eli for a cumulative nine hours a day, as sometimes he would take over an hour per feeding. Nine hours within a 24-hour timeframe. That’s a full work day!
And little did we understand that feeding and sleeping and wake windows are a delicate harmonious trio, that if thrown off balance, could wreak such havoc on baby and parents. If baby is overtired, he won’t nurse well, and if he doesn’t nurse well, he won’t sleep well – it’s a vicious cycle that’s so, so difficult to fine-tune. Every day is essentially a challenge of time-management. We live in three-hour windows. Depending on when Eli wakes in the morning, we have to adapt his day-time feedings every 2.5-3 hours to fit in all his feedings before he goes to bed for the evening – make sure he’s not over-tired for his next nap; make sure he’s fed enough to keep him full until the next feeding; make sure he sleeps until his next feeding. Who knew keeping a tiny human alive could be so incredibly hard!
At Eli’s two-month check-up, our pediatrician had been concerned about his slow weight gain and suggested he may not be getting a full feeding at each nursing session and that I needed to pump a few times a day to give him extra milk. I began pumping two to three times per day in addition to feeding Eli eight times per day, so my days were, and still are preoccupied with feeding my little babe. We also had reached out to a lactation consultant to rule out any nursing issues and we were just reaffirmation that Eli is more of a comfort nursing boy. I wanted so badly for there to be a simple remedy to my nursing struggles, that if I just did xyz, Eli would become more efficient at nursing and feeding him wouldn’t be so time-consuming. To this very day, breastfeeding continues to be my greatest challenge, as Eli is still below the recommended growth curves. It’s been the most devastating uphill battle I’ve ever faced, as I feel like I have done everything in my power to provide for Eli and it’s still not enough. But that’s just it – I’VE tried everything in MY power, instead of giving it up to the Lord. It’s not about me. It’s about Eli and what is best for him.
Postpartum is my new normal and I love it. I can’t even remember what life was like before Eli came into the world. I’ve learned so quickly that nothing ever gets easier, it just gets different. When we’ve finally worked through one challenge or have surpassed some developmental milestone, another one emerges. Thus, is life. I’m growing and I’m so grateful for the way God is molding me each and every day.