Yes. I love Tina Turner. No this is not about her. This piece is for the mamma's. It is about the soaring highs, and lows, and a uncensored version of my experience.
I am going to be unapologetically upfront- be warned!
If you are a new comer, that has just entered the "what the fuck, this can't be normal." Welcome! The best is yet to come. Sorry!
The arrival of our Queenie.
I am going to cut to the chase. 20 hours of labour will do that! I really had no fucking idea what to expect. I will say this, no two birthing stories are the same, and we all have one. I will skip the verbal abuse, the point of no fucking return, I want to die - sobbing uncontrollably- baby breeches, emergency C-section here I come!
Moving on....
The rest was a blur- I do however remember the sudden relief that hit, some miracle pain relief that left me limp- and before I knew it Queenie was in my arms.
Like I said. Expect the unexpected!
I was sewn back up, and delievered to my room- where I was bombarded with "breast" talk, how to attach, position, and feed. Jeeeeezzzzzz!
During our stay the trauma of night feeds hit. By the end of our stay- my routine consisted of feeding, winding, vomit, and poo explosions.
The next few weeks at home were eventful to say the least. My C- section had torn, (fucking painful)- my idea of getting out and attending "mummy meet ups"- were over!
During this eventful time ( at home- doctors orders) I did what irrational people do- cabin fever had hit, my breasts were out for most times of the day, so it only made sense- that I turn to cleaning- the obsessive, "citrus fresh" scrubbing, sorting, rearranging, hurricane type!
I went from rational to irrational- sleep deprivation does this- and let's not forget poo explosions, vomit, lumpy breasts, nipple shields, have I missed anything?
Soldiering on.... My new life
I had resentfully come to terms with my new life. My hubby seemed to be living his pre- baby days- he could still shower, physically, he hadn't gained an ounce of weight, his overall physical appearance remained intact- I on the other hand - had come down with a case of saddle bags- in all the not so nice places.
The whole my day- and his day had come into play. Yes. I was unfair, considering he was running a business, and I was going from the "moment cherishing mummy" to I can't believe I am watching another episode of High-5 - bored to fucking tears!
Those beloved days....
Assuming you were not the hurricane wife - please feel free to skip this next bit, as this will be a unbalanced view. If however-like me you were the " hurricane wife" - don't feel too bad. The bad wife- bad mummy go hand in hand. Six years in and we are still going strong!
No doubt you too were shown freakish ways to feed, attach, and wrap your bub- here is my take on the babble- if I would of listened to the freakish ways I was shown how to feed Queenie, I would of given breast feeding the finger! Period.
As for my whole birthing experience Queenie didn't come out the designated canal, for the record, I don't feel any less of a mummy because of it. My scar is my legacy and will remain for the rest of my existence.
Here comes the unsolicited advice - please feel free to skip, dismiss, or give me the finger- here are a few of the things I learnt from my own experience;
You will no doubt, lose your sanity, and have days where you cry uncontrollably, whether it's because of sleep deprivation, or the whole hubby has it easier than me, it will and does happen.
You will no doubt, come to love the trashy magazines, and like me perhaps have the odd fantasy of some old flame- Richard Gere- enjoy it, savour those few minutes, they are yours- use them wisely!
You will no doubt, have embarrassing leaks and poo explosions, where a quick exit will be required, to avoid- poo and breast talk. Trust me on this! Its a hot topic!
You will text or phone the hubby- be prepared to feel guilty for days - after a unwarranted attack.
To the beloved hubby- you will be our punching bag, please don't complain about your day, you have had adult interaction- our adult interaction has been the wiggles- or some god forsaken abc for kids program. If you could breathe, anywhere other than around us- would be advisable.
Your day-versus his day - pay attention - where your beloved will be woken by an alarm clock, depending on your circumstances, chances are you will be woken by a first dump of the day, the let down of your milk- meaning a deafening cry from your tot. Inevitably your beloved will shower, read a paper, have a coffee, the usual pre baby and you, no doubt will be wiping a bottom, getting sticky fingers, attending to your hungry bub and by this point your day is off to a great start.
I totally get the feeling of hard done by, and the need to boast 'My day was worse than yours'. No doubt It was- forget the unbalanced view- in these moments it's all fucking unbalanced.
Daddys listen up...
If your beloved is having a moment- cut her some fucking slack. The abusive, hurricane wife is at the point of no return- again these are the moments when sighing, breathing or attempting to understand should be avoided.
One last piece of advice- never ask your beloved what she has been doing all day- that recommendation came from my beloved- who yes made the mistake of asking