The point of a six-week checkup is to verify that after a pregnancy, labor, and delivery – a lady’s mind and body have ended up healed. Here’s my story…
I remember my distinct shock leaving my doctor’s office six weeks after having Evelyn. My doctor had said I was “all cleared,” ready for work and exercise, officially back to normal.
Carrying the 25-pound carseat back to my car in a body, which was still very squishy and tender, the idea that this was my “normal” was unnerving. Trying to reconcile a new mom’s every-two-hour-feeding-schedule with my work schedule didn’t add up either.
Then, I realized I had forgotten the important insurance paper that announced I was work-ready back in the office, and I had to lug the carseat and baby back up two flights of stairs to retrieve it. Apparently, my pregnancy brain had morphed into mama brain.
A year and a half later, I find myself at the six-week mark again.
I don’t feel anywhere close to normal. Our rhythm has been thrown off, and our house is in flux. Clothes are migrating in and out of our closets: maternity, out; newborn, out; winter gear, in; unfamiliar-middle-sized-curvacious-clothes, in. Dishes are stacked on my counters, ready to return to dear friends who brought us meals.
The hormones have been especially intense this past week. I pray it means I’m getting closer to equilibrium, but who knows. The truths I know in my head seem vague and shifty. The feelings the race through me are much more concrete than they should be. And often I base my days on the feelings rather than the truth.
The six-week appointment is the second time I’ve ventured out with both kids on my own. The first time was a quite a trek. It takes three times as long to get out the door. To be honest, we all look a little haphazard. I feel an odd combination of pride for arriving somewhere on time and clothed, and embarrassed for my unkempt hair and makeup, not to mention the possibility of spit up or poop on me somewhere.
I ended up in my doctor’s office with both babies for 2 1/2 hours while she was called away for a delivery. I sat wrapped in a thin white sheet, trying to nurse Tommy, while keeping Evelyn out of the biohazard can. BUT we survived, and that is good news.
photo credit: Amanda Elpers