Bleedin wrecked.
Six weeks postpartum. The bleeding only stopped 2 weeks ago and now it’s started again. Bloody hell. The joys. Between 2 babies and myself there’s literally always someone who needs their butt changed. Nappy or pad, there’s not much difference really, it amounts to the same thing. It’s draining. In every sense. I am quite literally bleedin wrecked.
This stage after birth is like postnatal limbo. The initial novelty of being a new mam has worn off, for family and friends. Phone calls, visits and casserole drop offs have dried up, much like my skin, hair and nails. They have gone back to their own day to day lives and we are left, chalky complexioned and overwhelmed, to fend for ourselves. Yet physically, mentally and emotionally to us, as said new mam, it’s still like it only happened yesterday.
Some days are not so bad. For whatever reason things run relatively smoothly, luring you into a false sense of security and tricking you into thinking you have some sort of handle on things. Not in control or anything, you’d never be crazy enough to think that, but maybe not drowning quite as quickly as previous days. The universe, however, can smell this sense of ‘winning’ at life, like a dog can smell fear, or a baby can smell hot coffee and so, must intervene. I’m convinced the universe and my babies are in cahoots, the ultimate tag team. Any success must be countered with failure. No victory, regardless of how small, can go unpunished. The imbalance must be corrected and we must know our place. Cue 24 hour shit storm, quite often both literally and figuratively. It is usually on these days that your body likes to join in the fun and throws some delights of it’s own into the mix, just for the craic like. Such treats might include; extreme hot flushes and/or mood swings, hysterical outbursts of crying for no apparent reason, your entire insides falling out of your vagina, an immense pressure in your butt, like you might shit out an elephant at any minute or, a personal favourite of mine, gee bone crushing sneezes. If you’re really lucky you may get to experience more than one, if not all of these, at the same time. All the while trying not to take it personally that not a stitch of clothes you have fits and that certain parts of your body now have to be tucked in in order to be contained… Granted, it’s such a magical time, but fuckin hell, it’s bloody exhausting.
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