My Postpartum Paradise (or why you should always accept help after giving birth)

Postpartum bliss after Griffin was born.

After Griffin was born, we stayed at my mom’s house for two weeks. At the time, it was a matter of necessity. We had been living with my parents for several months upon moving back to Paducah and had not yet moved in to our new home.

My mom is a public school librarian and she was off for the summer. So, I basically had around-the-clock care even after Nicholas went back to work. My mom brought me water while I breastfed, did the laundry, cooked our meals, and held the baby while we slept.

It was glorious. 

Two years later, as I prepared for the arrival of baby #2, I assumed I would give birth in my own home and maybe my mom would stay with us. My mom is notoriously protective of her space; so, imagine my surprise when she said it would be easier if I had the baby at her house again and moved back in for a couple weeks with our toddler in tow. 

Again, it was fantastic. My mother isn’t the grandmother signing up for babysitting at the drop of a hat but, let me tell you, when you actually NEED her, she’s a rock star. Her and my stepfather’s help was a godsend as we adjusted to caring for two children, especially since my journey as a mother of two got off to a rocky start. 

So, there was no hesitation once Felix was born. All FIVE of us moved right back in. Felix even had the good sense to arrive during a snow storm and my mom was off from school for over a week. We snuggled in with our precious new arrival, as amazing friends and family brought us food. My stepfather entertained Griffin and Amos, while my mom took care of me and the baby. 

I just kept thinking. This is a postpartum paradise. 

Adjusting as a family of four.

It is also a pretty exceptional experience.

The World Health Organization describes the six weeks after giving birth as the most critical and yet the most neglected phase in the lives of mothers and babies. Here in America we shove a newborn in the arms of some one who has just experienced a physical trauma, pat her on the back, and leave her to her own devices. 

It's not like that everywhere. In Southern India there's a practice known as jholabhari, in which the woman moves in with her mother before giving birth and returns home to her family several months after the child is born. In Mexico, the postpartum rest period, or the cuarentena, goes for 40 days. The same is true of China and other Asian countries. 

It wasn’t always like this here. My great-grandmother stayed in bed for several weeks after the birth of my uncle (her FOURTH child!) while female relatives cared for her other children and home. My great-grandmother did the same for my grandmother and great-aunts and my grandmother insists this care is the reason she and her sisters never had any reproductive problems.

However, her advice to “never lift anything heavier than your baby for six weeks” is pretty much impossible if you are left on your own to care for an infant. 

My mom introducing Griffin to baby Felix.

When I tell people I move in with my mom after giving birth, people generally have two distinct reactions.

1. You’re so lucky!
2. I could never do that!

Yes, I am incredibly, insanely, beyond belief blessed with this arrangement. Every time I've given birth I've been enveloped by my family and my community allowing me to heal, to bond, to adjust to one of the most transformative times in a woman's life. It truly has been one of the greatest experiences of my life. My heart breaks for any new momma who don’t have family close by or family at all to come help her during this important and intense time. 

What I hear from people who say they could “NEVER” live with their mothers is either they think the interactions between them and their mothers would be too stressful or they have an intense need for independence. It’s as if they have something to prove.

Imagine that! American mothers feeling they have something to prove! 

If only I could make all these new mommas understand, the most important thing you can prove as a new momma is that you are willing to ask for help and accept it when it is offered.

Maybe your mom does stress you out. But guess what? At 2 AM when your boobs hurt, you can’t stand up straight, and the baby won’t stop crying, you’d accept help from that bitch in middle school who called you fat to your face if she could get the baby to sleep. How much worse could your mother or mother-in-law or grandmother be?

It’s not as if I don’t understand the emotions behind choosing to go it on your own. EVEN in my postpartum paradise, I’ve struggled with asking for and accepting help. With all three boys, I’ve had trouble with passing them off to my mother while I got much needed rest, especially that first night. With Amos in particular, I pushed myself so hard to still do everything for Griffin AND take care of a newborn I teetered right on the edge of postpartum depression.

Luckily, I had wise and wonderful friends and family who put the smack down on my hormonal butt and sent me to bed.

We all want to believe that as mothers no one can meet our children’s needs the way we can and, in a certain way, that is true. However, the awe-inspiring nature of motherhood is not only found in the relationship with our children but also in joining the women who have come before us on this amazing journey.  

Not only joining them, but accepting their love and support and help as we take those first precious but difficult steps. 

What was your postpartum experience?

Felix's Birth Story

The word STORY seems a bit of a stretch for something that took less than two hours but nothing about this child's arrival fit the mold so we'll just go with it. 

Let's begin at the beginning. Both of my other births began in the morning after a nice full night's rest. Not this one! I woke up around 12:35 am with a hard belly. I thought maybe I just had to pee but knew it was odd because I almost never have Braxton Hicks contractions in the middle of the night. On the walk back from the bathroom, I realized the hard belly was accompanied by the slightest bit of cramping. 

So, I laid down and waited to see if I would have another one. Sure enough, a few minutes later the hard belly made another appearance - this time with WAY more cramping. I decided to download a contraction counter app and call my midwife. 

"I can't get out of my driveway," she replied when I told her I was in labor. 

Oh, right! I forgot to mention. Our entire area had received historic snowfall the day before and looked like this!

I told her that was fine and that we'd just go to the hospital. For a lot of reasons, I really wasn't that upset about not having a third home birth. I love my doctor who took amazing care of me during the loss of our baby. Also, due to that loss, there was a much bigger fear factor going in to this pregnancy - probably bigger than I had even admitted to myself. Not big enough that I would have volunteered for a hospital birth mind you but big enough I hadn't constructed a complete mental block to one either. Plus, with all the snow, I knew it was a real possibility and had been mentally preparing for a trip to labor and delivery.

ACTUALLY preparing, however, was another story.

Once I realized I had absolutely no clue what to do before you go to the hospital to give birth, I called one of my best friends who has had four natural hospital births. Alas, she didn't answer. So, I called my friend Annie, who had planned to come to town for the birth. She DID answer but was snowed in as well.

She asked if she should just text with Nicholas the rest of the time.

"Well, I haven't actually woken him up yet," I responded.

I think I knew once I got up and started moving around things were going to get REAL real fast. (Spoiler: I was right!) So, I laid there a few minutes more and searched Pinterest for hospital bag packing lists. Yes, I'm serious. 

Finally, around 1 am, I went into the den where Nicholas was sleeping on the couch and said in a soft voice.

"Nicholas Holland. Guess who has two thumbs and is in labor?!?"

He sat up startled and guessed correctly!

I told him we needed to pack a bag and call my parents. Both of our cars were still snowed in and we would need my stepfather to drive us to the hospital. Luckily, we remembered our other two children sleeping peacefully and called my neighbor (shout out to MVP neighbors Kate and Tish who answered middle of the night calls for help!!!) to come sit with them.

I called my doctor and told her I was in labor. I also politely accused her witchcraft since she had predicted the baby would be born at 39 weeks and 2 days and I woke up at 12:30 am at 39 weeks and 2 days IN LABOR! She told me she'd meet me at the hospital but she had surgery at 7:45 am. I told her not to worry we'd be done by then. 

We got our bag packed (After Nicholas exclaimed "I need a list!" and I offered up my previous Pinterest search.) and headed out the door. 

By this time, my contractions were basically doubling in intensity and the breaks in between were shortening dramatically. As a result, everyone was getting on my damn nerves. My family chatted in car on the way to the hospital like we were going to a stinking cocktail party.

I finally screamed (lovingly) NO TALKING.

We got to the hospital and went to the wrong entrance (because HELLO! we had no idea where we were going!). They offered me a wheelchair but I walked to labor and delivery, which I'm sure helped things progress even faster than they already were. We walked through the doors and they had me sign a paper. Nicholas told them this was our first time at the hospital but that we had had two home births. Then, I had to go to the room by myself and assure the nurses I was not being domestically abused, using hard drugs, or had suffered any miscarriages. 

Once Nicholas and my mom got back in the room, I relaxed a small amount and had the fleeting thought that I could actually get an epidural if I wanted one. I couldn't seem to get in front of the contractions and I couldn't get comfortable and I wasn't sure how long I would last like this.

About that time my water broke and I realized I was going to have this baby in a manner of minutes - not hours as I had originally thought.

There was meconium in my fluid so they had to call in a NICU team to make sure the baby didn't aspirate any of the fluid. Then, they said they wanted to hook me up to a fetal monitor. I politely declined. 

They checked the baby's heart rate and then checked me.

I was 8/9 cm dilated and fully effaced. 

For those of you not versed in labor lingo, that translates roughly to PARTY TIME!

The nurses then told me my doctor was still 10 minutes away and to breathe through any desire to push. If I'd had the strength, I would have laughed in their faces. There is no stopping the barreling train that is a 9 pound baby, y'all. It's that simple.

So, I started to push, which is the exact moment I realized that one of the nurses WAS TRYING TO INSERT AN IV IN TO MY ARM AS MY BABY'S HEAD WAS CROWNING.

I started yelling, "Please stop! I cannot handle that right now you have to stop!"

I had the IV (and a lot of bruising) so I can only assume she did not. Fortunately, there's really only one thing you can focus on as your baby is exiting your body and it ain't a pushy nurse with an IV.

Two pushes later and Felix Robert Holland arrived at 3:02 am - approximately 17 minutes after we arrived at the hospital. He weighed 9 lbs and 6 oz and was 21.25 inches long.

They immediately assured us that he didn't aspirate any meconium and was doing great as he cried his little heart out. 

My doctor arrived minutes later pointing to her shoes and exclaiming, "I didn't even lace my shoes!" 

I delivered my placenta (after refusing help from my doctor and a nurse offering pitocin) and then asked my doctor when I could go home. She said after the baby was cleared by the pediatrician we were free to go and she'd tell the nurses to start prepping all the Against Medical Advice waivers I'd have to sign to bust out of the joint.

My main nurse Emily was really lovely - although thrown a little by many of my requests. First, I refused to let the baby leave the room and asked that his little baby checkups be done while I was holding him.

Then, I asked to take a shower to which she responded, "I don't know if it even works! Most people can't walk because of the epidural!" I told her I felt gross and could walk and needed a shower. She asked a ton of questions about my previous home births and midwife. I also asked for the head nurse who actually delivered Felix to come back so I could thank her. It just felt strange after treating my midwife like part of the family for years to not have had at least a conversation with her. 

Around 7 am the pediatrician finally arrived. He is one of the longest practicing pediatricians in our area and has great - if not a bit stern - reputation. He advised me that while he didn't recommend leaving the hospital, the baby looked healthy and it was fine to do so as long as we saw my pediatrician within 24 hours. 

So, around 8 am, we loaded up our beautiful baby boy and headed for my mother's house where we spent the next week snowed in (good timing after all, Felix!) and recovering.