“How are you feeling?” they ask, sometimes with a concerned look, sometimes a smile.
They just expect me to say fine, good, or great- those are the acceptable responses. Then they’ll make a sympathetic statement about how they hope I’m getting some sleep or they may say “look at all that hair” and gush at the baby. Or perhaps, “You look great, like you didn’t even have a baby.“
But if they really truly wanted to know how I actually was, if it wouldn’t be socially awkward to take the time in this interaction to tell the whole truth, I might say…
“That comment feels flattering because I’ve been socialized to think looking skinny is a good thing, but the truth is, I don’t feel healthy. I feel weak. I feel like something isn’t quite right, like it’s hard to think clearly. You see, as soon as she was born, I lost a lot of blood. My body is still recovering. It’s hard to take care of my baby and my other children and also build up my iron and blood supply. It feels like a chore to know how to adequately nourish myself.
“I feel grief. I think this chapter of motherhood is ending for me. I think that was the last time I’ll sacrifice my mind and body in that way and bring a new life into this world. And I’m confused because I should be relieved, be overjoyed to be done. But I feel a gnawing sense of loss. Scared I’m making the wrong decision to be done, but unable to face the possibility that I may not be, especially when that was so much of a sacrifice to carry that baby — I wasn’t sure I could really survive it.
“I feel different. I’m getting to know myself all over again. It’s kind of exciting, kind of disorienting. Sometimes I feel grateful and proud of myself, sometimes I feel irritable and weird, and I know it’s probably normal, I mean my hormones are going through a lot…
Yes, I said the word hormones. And not as the beginning of some kind of joke.
“I feel selfish. I want to hold my baby almost all the time, but my other kids need a lot from me, especially in this transition to a new sibling in the family. The dishes are calling my name, and we’re past the point where it seemed cute for me to just stay in my room and let someone else handle everything. Even though I was determined to ask for help, it seems selfish to do so now.
“I feel annoyed, followed quickly with guilty. You see, my kids want to hold the baby a lot. They ask pretty much every time they see her (if they’re not on a screen). I want them to get to hold her and bond with her. But then she’ll wake up (because they either have a hard time being still enough with her, or they only want to hold her for a minute or two and then they give her back). And I feel a little anxious when they hold her that they aren’t being careful enough. And then she wants to eat… again. And it still hurts every time she does that (don’t worry - I’m checking out the possibility of a tongue-tie). And I can’t get much done when she’s awake unless I want to hear crying or do everything one handed. So letting my kids hold her means feeding her again, which I just did. So I say, “no, you can’t hold her right now,” and then instantly second-guess myself, think about how fast it goes, and how they’re missing out on this chance to hold her, and feel guilty.
And yet
…. and yet.
Despite all these “negative” emotions, I know I’m right on track. Because I know there is opposition in all things. And I feel a lot of beautiful things too.
“I feel grateful. I have five beautiful kids. One of them is a beautiful brand-new baby straight from heaven. My body is healing more every day. Her birth was absolutely dreamy and I am still feeling joy when I think about it. I have people I can ask for help. I get to experience this special time unlike any other, right now.
“I feel wonder. I look at her little hands grasping my finger, stroke her feet and notice her toes spreading out, hear a tiny shuddering breath in her sleep, notice the sucking reflex even when she’s not nursing, and I am filled with wonder at the miracle of life. The complicated, orchestrated way all the systems work together to make her tiny body work. And I know this is only possible with a higher power creating and overseeing all of it.
“I feel proud. I’m showing up for her and my other kids every day even though it’s hard. I’m on call 24/7. And when I carry around her 12ish pound body throughout the day, I remember how astounded we were at her birth weight (11 lbs 1 oz) and feel proud that I carried and birthed that baby.
“I feel excited. I have never had such a positive birth and postpartum experience and am psyched to help women learn that postpartum doesn’t have to be confusing and miserable. I want to teach them, to help them, to love them. I want them to become more educated, find healing, and the support they deserve. I want to help them find their village. And I keep getting more ideas of how to do this.
“I feel love. For baby. For kids. For husband. For me. For God. For this amazing life.”
So if you ask me how I’m feeling, and I hesitate, this is why. Postpartum is a lot. The cocoon is full of feelings. But I believe these feelings make me really feel alive. And I love it.