In a couple of weeks…

Posted by E-George on October 10, 2008

That is the supreme answer for everything in this new world of Babydom, I’ve learned.

“When will I stop feeling so damn sore in places I didn’t know I could be sore?” In a couple of weeks…

“When will I stop practically blacking out every time Evelyn latches on to nurse?” In a couple of weeks…

“When will my milk supply level out so I don’t look like a lopsided porn star?” In a couple of weeks…

“When will I be brave enough to try clipping her fingernails myself?”  In a couple of weeks…

OH, the list goes on.  Evelyn is approaching 3 weeks old, and it’s been a hoot and a horror simultaneously.  A hoot in that she’s such a really nicely tempered baby – save for those moments when she’s hungry or needing a new diaper.  A horror in that I’ve become a TMI factory with respect to some difficulties with our nursing that were compounded by the normal features of post-delivery recovering.  Feeling overwhelmed would be one way to put it.  Feeling alien in my own body is another.  This was a feature that I never thought to research, and no one ever discussed with me, but in talking with other experienced mothers, I’ve come to refer to this first 3-month post-womb period as the Fourth Trimester.   So far, it’s been a series of discomforts and incredible pains that often feel completely dehumanizing.  So much so that I finally couldn’t figure out what to do next to make (at a minimum) the nursing aspect go better and I asked my mother to come stay with us for a few days.  It’s made the world of difference to have her here, too.  My mother, holding the impressive credentials of a woman who birthed and nursed five (5) of her own babies, was also the president of the local La Leche League – or, as my father called it, the Titty Committee – and has a Santa-sized sack of tricks to try to make the nursing go better.  Slowly, we’re making progress.  And, just about when I think I’m going to lose what’s left of my brains Evelyn nurses herself into a boob coma, leans back into the nursing pillow with that one-of-a-kind loopy baby grin and a milk beard, and I’m completely besotted.

That’s why God made babies cute.  For those times when the pain seems too overwhelming to keep going.  And damn, if my baby isn’t cute.

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