Greetings from a whirlwind of children and postpartum healing. I just wanted you to know that my silence does not mean that things are going badly. Things are actually going not badly.
Pepper is 11 days old. The scale says I have lost over 20 pounds, which I guess means all of that was baby and fluid and the remaining 30 must be straight up fat. I swore I would stick to the recommended 25-pound gain this time around, but because I’m such an overachiever I doubled it instead.
I wore my Belly Bandit for 3 days straight, but when we got home from the hospital I ended up having to ditch it because I couldn’t handle wearing the wrap and the Ergo carrier, with the baby breathing on my chest and the summer heat that still makes the house hot in the afternoon despite cranking the A/C down to 65 degrees. It was beyond claustrophobic. So I threw my vanity out the window and decided I would rather have a flabby stomach for a little longer than ignoring my fussy baby who just wants to listen to her mother’s heartbeat. I can address my stretched-out midsection in a few months when I start going back to the gym, but Pepper seems to require listening to my heart for a certain number of hours per day right now …
And that is fine with me.
The Belly Bandit totally worked for the days that I wore it. At first I couldn’t close it — I had to lie on my hospital bed and wrench it shut with all my might and it was still not really shut all the way. But a few hours later, I tightened it and I continued to tighten it over the course of those three days. I didn’t realize it would be such an ordeal to wear it while also “wearing” the baby … they should mention that somewhere on their website. Maverick helpfully pointed out to me yesterday that my stomach still isn’t all the way flat. Yes … yes. I’m aware.
We are all adjusting to this new juggling act, but it’s really going fine. The boys both have some angst, but they are handling the arrival of their sister a lot better than what I was prepared for.
Because I’m having major mood swings, I waffle between thinking I have the sweetest children on Earth and thinking that they are all purposefully trying to send me to the asylum. I’ll feel like I have everything under control and then the next minute I feel like I have no business being a mother. Hormones are exhausting. I mean, men probably find women exhausting, but they should try actually being one.
Tomorrow, Husband and I are going on an actual date. I’m going to put on actual clothes and leave the house with an actual purse. It’s my first step towards normalcy, and I can’t wait.