Postpartum Recovery

Isaac is a whole 19 days old today. Wednesday was his first pediatrician appointment. He was about eight ounces above his birth weight and had grown over two inches. That's. Insane. He's still tiny, but no wonder he's been eating like a racehorse.

So, I'm doing much better since first coming home from the hospital. It was such a fun, terrifying, joyful, painful time. Packing up Isaac and the mountain of diapers, pads, and Vaseline tubes from the hospital room, we simply drove off with a new, super little person. Some guy took me down to the lobby in a wheelchair. Ryan's parents had pulled up the Jeep and, after two days of constant care and supervision, we just left. No tests for our ability to keep this baby alive, no signed papers promising to be conscientious providers of love and support, and definitely no more hospital employees to bring me hot tea whenever I asked (although, they often forgot to actually bring the tea, but I believe they fully intended to).

Driving back on 385 to our house, the familiar roads and signs comforted me. After just two days of hospital beds, IVs, blood pressure cuffs, and reams of papers to sign, driving in the warm and sunny outdoors felt renewing. Ryan and I stopped at Bi-Lo to drop off my blood pressure medication prescription.

Wanting to feel like a real person again, I walked into the store myself while Ryan stayed in the car with Isaac. This was no small feat. Still sore and feeling mutilated, people seemed to stare at me as I inched my way to the pharmacy counter. I have way more respect for my grandma who gets her own groceries and has to use the motorized shopping cart. Normally, I'm a fast walker, but the stacks of canned soup seemed to walk faster than me.

Anyway, when we got home, a few neighbors were outside and cooed over the pretty baby. We don't know our neighbors that well, but an hour later, a couple that lives diagonal from us brought fried chicken and green beans. That reminds me how I need to be more thoughtful when others have babies or any other big life changes. I've been amazed how generous and kind so many have been to us, not just after the birth, but throughout our whole lives.

Being home felt great, especially since Ryan's parents were staying for an extra day and my mom would be there another three weeks. I took Isaac to the nursery and fed him. We rocked in the glider chair and I stared at Isaac's perfect head of hair. In that moment, I felt like I had the world. I stroked Isaac's head, telling him how blessed we were and how much we would grow to love each other.

And that was the last positive thought I had for the next two days.

Okay, that's an exaggeration, but not by much. As I mentioned in the last post, I barely slept at the hospital, but wasn't too worried since I figured I'd sleep well in my own bed without beeping machines and IV drips. I tried to take a nap that afternoon, but was too wired and took a shower instead. I tried to sleep again a few hours later, but my mind wouldn't turn off and I just laid in bed, thinking about everything.

How many people were in the delivery room? There was the nurse, that other nurse, the anesthesiologist, mom, Ryan...was there another person? Well, Isaac, of course. But wasn't there some other lady? I should send dad a picture of the baby. It would be great if he could come visit, but it would probably overwhelm him to make the trip. How long have I been laying here? Guh, over an hour. I should just get up and talk with Ryan and his parents in the living room. It's pointless to just lie here, doing nothing. What if something happens to Ryan and I have to raise Isaac by myself? Oh, God, don't let that happen. I couldn't raise children by myself nearly as well as mom raised me and Kristin. I should set up an appointment to get Isaac's pictures taken. Maybe I should do it myself, but my camera won't be nearly as good as somewhere professional....

Have I mentioned that I have anxiety? The thoughts ranged from trivial to crazy depressing. Finally, I got up and asked Ryan and his parents to pray that I would be able to sleep. They did and I felt better, but slept for maybe an hour that night. Ryan and his dad went to Bi-Lo to pick up my prescription and I decided I just needed to cry. I rarely cry, but it was surprisingly easy to start. When Ryan got back home, I just cried with him in bed for a long time. He is great at listening to my repeated fears.

I didn't consider making a bottle of breast milk and having someone else feed the baby since I'd heard I should wait a month before using bottles or pacifiers. So I spent most of the night in the nursery, rocking and feeding.

By morning, I was a hot mess and still crying all over the place. We had an appointment with a breastfeeding center that Wednesday morning. At the center, the workers asked basic questions about how breastfeeding was going. I said it was going well...and immediately started crying when I asked them how I could sleep when Isaac wakes up every hour or two to feed, not to mention when I'm unable to turn my head off.

"I've slept maybe five hours since giving birth," I cried.

"That's not okay. You have to get more sleep," Ms. Obvious said, way too positively. "Just make time for yourself."

"I know. I just can't. My body just won't shut down."

"Yes, it's hard these first few weeks. When you get home, just let your mom and husband take care of the baby and get a really good nap."

"Um, yeah, I've tried that. I just lay awake in bed and my head won't turn off," I said, still crying.

"Well, when the baby sleeps, just ignore the chores and any other responsibilities. Focus on getting rest..."

Finally, the consultant understood that my problem wasn't making time to sleep, but truly being unable to. She gave me a number for some place that could give advice on medication to help, but I ended up just calling my OB that night.

"Well, the doctor doesn't want to prescribe anything heavy yet, but if you're still unable to sleep by Friday, give us a call," the on-call nurse said.

I didn't think I could make it another day and a half without sleeping, so the nurse gave the okay for Melatonin and/or Tylenol PM. I pumped a bunch of milk into a bottle, handed off Isaac to Ryan and my mom, and for the next 12 HOURS, did all I could to sleep. I took both the Melatonin and Tylenol, which made me groggy and for a few blissful minutes, I thought my mind would slide into happy dreamland...

But then my mind sprouted gnarled, decaying hands that clawed their way back to consciousness.

"Noooo..." a voice cackled. "You're not getting off that easy. We've still got some gloom and despair for you. Heh heh heh...double, double toil and trouble..."

I've suffered insomnia before and each time I feel like I'm going crazy. Sometime during those 12 hours of trying to sleep, Ryan laid with me again and listened to my fears and crying...again. He doesn't sing much, but sang Our God is an Awesome God and prayed.

Note to all spouses: you don't always have to fix a situation. Sometimes, just being there and listening is enough.

He and my mom took turns watching Isaac that night. Ryan even slept in a sleeping bag in the nursery because I thought it might help me sleep to have our room to myself.

By Thursday morning, I was shaking and knew I was about an inch from the end of my rope. When I can't sleep like that, I also can't eat very well. That's definitely not how you want to shed some post-pregnancy pounds.

I called my OB the second they opened (literally...I kept checking the clock and called right when it turned 8:30). The nurse probably heard the notes of crazed panic in my voice, so said to come right in.

Yeah, this chick's gonna do something crazy, the nurse probably thought. Maybe not hurt her baby or anything, but something like drive to Costco and buy all the white-out for no reason.

Ryan and I drove to the doctor while my mom stayed with Isaac. That was the first time we'd both been away from him. I met with one of the doctors who stopped by my hospital room a few days earlier and while I'm not crazy about her intensely peppy bedside manner, she was fabulous that day.

"I've tried everything: Melatonin, Tylenol PM, chamomile tea, nothing short of hitting myself in the head with a hammer," I said.

Waving her hand, the doctor said, "Oh, girl, none of those ever work. Let's try this. I'm going to start you on some Ativan. It's perfect for breastfeeding. It'll knock you clear out."

So, that night I took an Ativan and got drowsy, but then those claws inside my brain twitched and, once more, overpowered the drowsiness. Frustrated, I took one more Ativan and then, about two hours later, walked into the nursery where Ryan was watching Isaac.

"Did you sleep?" he asked (Ryan, that is. If Isaac talked, I'd just start screaming and probably never stop).

Confused and disheveled, I said, "I...don't know. I got sleepy and...I don't know if I slept or not."

"Well, I came to check on you once and you seemed asleep."

"Maybe I did sleep...but I could have just been half-awake...I don't know."

I took one more Ativan and the same thing happened.

A few hours later, I came to the living room and told Ryan, "Um...I think I slept again, but it's hard to tell. I feel like I did, but maybe I was just laying in bed the whole time...I can't tell!"

It was super weird, but apparently I was sleeping and slowly got back to normal sleep. At least, as normal as it can be when you have to keep a little person alive throughout the night. I'm just taking one Ativan a night and can sleeeeeeep. I should only need it for a few more weeks, but we'll see. Whatever, I'm just glad for the sleep I'm getting. Believe me, if you've never suffered from insomnia, being given back the gift of rest after days or weeks of anxious wakefulness makes everything more bearable.

I'm doing well now that I'm sleeping. Sure, I could use more sleep, but then again, I'm a "heroic sleeper," as my brother-in-law brilliantly coined me, my mom, and my sister. It's true...we can sleep forever if given the chance.

So, all of this said, I've written more about the troubling parts than the good ones. There are a lot of good times, but it's helpful to write out the really hard parts. I'm actually enjoying a lot of the baby-ness. I still get really sad around 4 or 5 pm and cry for about an hour, just about the overwhelming realities of motherhood and my already-present anxieties of something happening to Ryan. Who knows why it's always at these times, but considering it's the only time of day I feel low, I'm not worried about it. With another three weeks of postpartum healing, these crying jags seem pretty minimal. Besides, sometimes it just feels good to cry.

Right now, I'm snuggling with Isaac again. When he's fed, relatively clean in his diaper (it's impossible to keep that butt clean...apparently newborns soil diapers faster than...I can't even think of an analogy. It's just intense), and asleep in my arms or in one of the several places we have set up for him to sleep, I feel like a good mom.

And I do love this baby. It's taking awhile to feel that mother-son bond, but we're getting there. I'm at least used to Isaac's little face and the cute pucker he makes during feedings. He's started focusing a little bit on faces and his little thighs are getting a small amount of chub around them. I've always wanted a chubby baby, but it makes me a little sad that he's already getting older. Ridiculous, I know, since he's not even three weeks yet, but I love this little baby curled up on my chest. Someday, he won't need me nearly as much as he does now, so I want to savor these days.