I mean, of course, the best laid plans go awry, and frankly, we should planned our plan B way more carefully. Neither my husband or I had ever been in the hospital before, and we were completely unfamiliar with area hospitals, so when all of a sudden I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia and had rush to the hospital, we had no idea what we were in for. While I am grateful for everything the hospital did, the process of becoming a mother for me was no where near the empowering, mother-goddess experience that I had somehow come to expect. The stay before and after labor was degrading at best. The labor was traumatic: NOTHING like what I was taught to expect from what I had read or heard about. There was no rush of overwhelming motherly love; our baby did not have a halo or seem dreamlike in her debut. Other than sheer exhaustion and relief at the labor being over, I was mostly struck at how similar she looked to a very tiny, wet, old man who had just lost a boxing match.
|yeah...still super cute|
And now... well... she is still super cute, and she is kind of getting more fun, but caring for a newborn is really hard. It's hard to write about, though. There is so much pressure to only express bliss and joy at the arrival of your newborn, that I feel like expressing any kind of ambivalence or frustration makes me a pariah, or at minimum suffering from postpartum depression. But I can't be the only woman who feels this way. I find it very hard to believe that all woman give birth and meet the challenge with unendling love and patience.