After becoming a mother, I was scared to take up writing again. Suddenly, there’s a whole new part of my life I can talk about. I say “part,” but in fact it feels more like my entire life has changed. Has been taken over, in a manner of speaking.
Taken over by a baby
Taken over by a chubby, cuddly baby. A baby who can laugh a lot and sometimes decides to do so at 5:00 a.m., but who can also cry up a storm. Who sometimes pukes on my freshly donned clothes or who, just when I’ve changed her dirty diaper, will poop all over again. Who sometimes wants to eat every hour, even if that means that I don’t have time to eat myself.
Remove beautiful for practical
I exchanged my beautiful bras for a type of feeding tops, because yes, they’re practical. I’ve stuffed all my T-shirts into the back of the closet because tops with buttons are far more convenient when breastfeeding. I won’t even mention trousers, because quite frankly, I don’t fit into them anymore. My breasts are two different sizes, and my belly button no longer deserves to be called a button: it now resembles the gaping mouth of a 100-year-old crone.
I want to feel like myself again
I don’t know what size clothes I have right now, but who cares anyway? I gave birth two, almost three months ago.
But sometimes it would be nice to feel like myself again. Sometimes it feels as if everything that makes me who I am, has gone out the door along with my placenta.
Just bin the placenta!
Because yes, there’s the placenta. Everyone is free to make their own choice, but I didn’t want to see that sloppy old thing. I have no problem with blood, but all I wanted was to hold my baby and I was happily prepared to forgo all the rest that comes with childbirth. I didn’t want to see anything, I didn’t need a mirror, no need to see the head already protruding slightly, and I couldn’t have cared less about the placenta either. I also stated that clearly in my birth plan: Just bin it right away!
"Look at your placenta! It's what gave your child life!"
But the obstetrician who was present at the delivery in the hospital would have none of that. “Look down there, you can almost see the head! Look at your placenta! So beautiful! It’s what gave your baby life!” After indicating several times that we actually didn’t want it, I decided to take a look after all. She also forced my partner to look at it. My sister was sitting in the corner of the room with her eyes closed. What a gory, bloody bag. I’ve seen it, now get rid of it.
Be kind to ourselves
For the time being, I am quite content to accept that I don’t know what clothes to wear, that I sometimes don’t feel like doing my hair or putting on make-up and that I want to go to bed at 9 p.m. on most days. The trite, old saying of “9 months in, 9 months out” naturally also applies to me. Even though I may not want to, we need to be patient and kind to ourselves. Just like we are to our babies.
Things will be all right. All those nasty self-doubts and worries? Just bin them right away. Like my placenta!
