New Babies!

Today I became an aunt. I still don’t know the little guy’s name, but I love him so much. And I must say, this was a much more pleasant birth experience than my own 3. Instead of pushing and sweating – and yes, tearing – I got to experience the joy and burst of new love from the comfort of my own home, and shower, and bed (my warrior SIL was in labor for about 24 hours). But I must say, my brother’s wife’s stoic beauty and grace through the ordeal of childbirth make me a little worried that this baby and I will not share his paternal family’s line of dramatic neuroses. But that’s okay, I love plenty of non-neurotics…like…umm…well anyway, I’m sure baby and I will get along just fine. And I have confidence that even if he’s not genetically pre-ordained for therapy, my brother will work his magic to make sure he fits in with the rest of us anxious, crazy souls…

Can I tell you something triggering? When your brother’s wife spends 24 hours in labor but the pictures of her immediately postpartum make it seem like she went for a 10 min light jog. If that. And when your whole family keeps commenting on this miraculous beauty and you know – since your nephew’s birth is of course all about you – that these are passive aggressive remarks about how impressively large and unattractive you were in her shoes…

I don’t think we talk about postpartum pooping enough. All the Colace in the world can’t take away that fear, am I right? After my 1st baby I was so scared, so torn up, and so stopped up that it took 8 days before the trauma of what I consider to be my second labor. Honestly, this bowel movement was so terrifying and painful that when I was pregnant with my subsequent babies I spent little time worrying about having the baby and instead dedicated this time to fretting about the 1st poops. Luckily, the 2nd and 3rd time around I took my Colace game very seriously…

While I do not envy all the brave mamas who have endured what is already a traumatic experience of childbirth, but during a pandemic, and while the idea of my poor SIL contracting with a mask restricting her O2 makes me have sympathy nausea, I must admit, I’m just the tiniest bit jealous that postpartum she can blame any anti-social desires on the rules of Covid. Because nothing was more awful for me than having to share my baby – and my soft postpartum body – with our entire world for the bris/naming of each child. And how lucky for them that anyone who DOES meet my nephew is automatically required to wear a mask. When I ran that idea past my husband, he wanted me to schedule extra sessions with my therapist. And my SIL can just expect everyone will use hand sanitizer before coming near her baby. I mean. How lucky is that?!

Published by imworriedmytherapisthatesme

I'm a history-PhD-turned-stay-at-home-mom of three. When I'm not microwaving Trader Joe's meals for my kids, breaking up fights and wiping butts, I like to paint and write. To cope with the endless hours I'm spending with my son doing virtual school, I've abandoned my gouache paints for the more portable, less messy tried but true, paper and ink. While he learns to read to 20 floating heads on his screen, I sit on a tiny chair, at a tiny table pretending to be a productive adult.

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