Baby and Body: Month 1 Surprises

Big picture-wise, it turns out I wasn’t terribly delusional about what having a new baby in the house would be like. By and large, it’s been how I envisioned the experience to be – for better and for worse – just fleshed out in vivid colour and detail.

But as always, it’s the little things that sneak up on you.

The bleeding. Again, with the bleeding to lead off a post. After nine months of missed periods, your body makes up for it with the heaviest, longest period of your life. Asshole. Yup, even if you delivered via c-section you will still have to shed blood, mucous and uterine lining. A delightful trifecta called lochia because everything pertaining to your body, pregnancy and childbirth has to be the grossest sounding word possible – and it lasts for 4-6 weeks. It’s actually shocking how much you bleed at first. Sort of a steady stream with the occasional gush (especially when you nurse or when you get up after sitting or lying down for a while). Oh! And clots! Mustn’t forget those. Isn’t this a pretty and poetic post?

the afterpains. Turns out, contractions don’t end just because labour is over. Your uterus still has to shrink back down to its pre-baby size and does so by continuing to contract for 10 days to two weeks. Personally, I only noticed it for the first week or so, again, particularly when I was nursing. It’s weird – and almost a little bit triggering – to feel like the nightmare most beautiful experience of your life is starting all over again.

The tranquilizer dart effect. everybody warned me (with regards to breastfeeding) about being crazy thirsty and to arm myself with a giant water bottle. This has been true, I drink an unreal amount of ice water out of a spill-proof adult-sized sippy cup now, but it’s the insta-NyQuil effect that caught me off guard. I just realized that it doesn’t really happen any more, but for the first couple of weeks I’d be nodding off like a junkie the instant the baby latched on.

the adrenaline rush. I’m here to tell you that “sleep when the baby sleeps” is the biggest crock of shit ever. It may be good advice, but it’s not realistic. Not that I wasn’t tired, I was fucking exhausted a lot of the time, but I wasn’t sleepy. I was absolutely wired. For like, a solid week, I couldn’t slow my brain or my body down. There are scab-covered meth users taking apart old VCRs who are more chilled out than I was. There was CONSTANTLY something I needed or wanted to be doing for the baby, around the house, or for myself. I had to keep consciously telling myself, “you just had surgery” and it still didn’t stop me from cleaning my house.

And the truth is, in the twenty minute intervals when you’re not looking after baby or doing chores, sometimes you just want to have a bath, text a friend or browse Instagram to feel human and connected to the outside world instead of taking a pointlessly short nap. At one point I read a list of postpartum psychosis warnings signs and “feeling no need for sleep” was on there…as you can imagine, that really helped calm me down.

the crying hour. This refers to the hour of day at which I would spontaneously (but predictably) cry – not to crying for a whole hour. Because that would be crazy, obvs. This was quick and dirty…clock strikes 9 pm, bawl for 10 minutes, done. Like actual clockwork. And it wasn’t out of sadness or even frustration (though I did that too at times) this was just a sheer overflowing of emotion that needed to be released through the old eyeball valves. I would just look at Sloane and suddenly couldn’t stand how beautiful she was. The one thought I had over and over was, “nobody deserves something so nice.” It sounds so dumb now, and certainly not very poignant, but it was all I had.

the insatiable hunger. I have never been hungrier in my life than I was in the week after having a baby. Granted, in my case I had gone through something like a 24 hour fast followed by a couple days of barely eating. And breastfeeding makes you ravenous on top of all that. The first few nights we had her at home I was up multiple times in the middle of the night shoving whatever was handy in my mouth. Entire cans of Pringles were consumed in bed. I ate things like chocolate croissants (note the plural) and hot chocolate with whipped cream for breakfast. And I didn’t feel one tiny bit bad for it either.

the other craving. The same hormone that starts your contractions and gets your milk flowing also helps you bond to your baby. That oxytocin is a multitasking motherfucker. It not only helps you feel attached to – and in love with – your baby, but it also creates intense desire for further contact…effectively causing you to become addicted to your baby. I had heard this, but of course didn’t really get it until she was born and I found that I physically craved holding her. I would also smell her – like, really smell her – taking giant whiffs of her head.

I recently read Amy Poehler’s “Yes Please” and there’s a part where she says of her two boys, “I swear, if I could eat my children, I would. I’d consume them like some beast in a Hieronymus Bosch painting, but in a friendlier, more momlike way. Their little bodies make me salivate. It takes everything I have not to swallow them whole.”

That about sums it up.

Even when I was near my baby constantly, if she was in her stroller or car seat, after a while I would need to touch and cuddle her body-to-body to satisfy the urge. Doing so felt strikingly similar to the sensation of something like lighting up a cigarette after a long plane ride. One night, when I had gone for an actual nap and left Sloane and Andrew downstairs, I woke up and called down the stairs that I was awake and ready for him to bring her up to me. I went back to the bed, and in the (maybe) 5 whole minutes it took them to come upstairs I lost my mind. What was taking them so long?! I need my baby…Right. Now. By the time they got to me I had tears streaming down my face and could barely choke out, “I just missed you guys so much”. It’s crazy town. Of course, it was also around 9pm ish…


Northern route vs. southern route

Given the choice of delivery method, I’d go with the stork every time. But limited to the more barbaric options of squeeze vs. scalpel, the lesser evil is less obvious. I didn’t have a choice, exactly, since my c-section was unplanned – nor do I have a basis for comparison since it was my first rodeo (although it more closely resembled a circus). I’ll do my best anyways to attempt to sort out the pros and cons of a c-section delivery and postpartum recovery.


Although C-sections are generally considered safe, they do carry additional risks compared with a vaginal birth. It is considered major surgery and requires an incision through the abdomen and uterus to deliver a baby when vaginal birth is considered too dangerous or difficult. The necessity in my case was documented as “failure to progress” because my jerkface cervix didn’t dilate past 7 cm and the baby was engaged in the pelvis (resulting in a disturbing cone-head) but essentially stuck there. Basically, a c-section carries the same risks of any surgery including severe bleeding, scarring, infections, reactions to anesthesia and longer-lasting pain, plus it can increase your chances of requiring a c-section for subsequent deliveries – should you be that kind of a masochist.


C-section recovery is said to be longer and more difficult. I don’t know about the “more” part since I’ve never experienced a vaginal delivery, but I can firmly say that I wouldn’t describe my recovery as long or difficult. In fact, I keep saying that I feel like I got off easy. Within a couple hours of delivery I was back in my room and moving slowly but feeling pretty good. I had an extra night’s stay in the hospital along with a few added annoyances (a urinary catheter, continued IV fluids, compression cuffs on my legs, bi-hourly vitals checks).

Pain-wise, I’ve experienced worse. I’d say re-setting a broken bone trumps a c-section and both procedures come with a parting gift of far better narcotics (hello, Oxycodone) than you’d get with a vaginal delivery. That said, I never found I needed to take them every 4 hours as prescribed and after a few days I stopped taking them altogether and started hoarding the last 6 pills for a rainy day (jokes…sorta).

You can’t exercise for a full 6 weeks (not that you’d want to) but I’ve been quite active around the house and started going out for walks right away. Thanks to my trusty Fitbit, I know that since April 28 (3 days after delivery) I have walked no less than 5000 steps per day and have usually been clocking more like 7000-9000. I think that says something for how good I’ve felt. Right from the get-go my vitals have all been great and my incision has been healing perfectly – I barely even notice it’s there. Getting the staples out on day 4 was a cinch and the rest of the sutures will dissolve in 6 weeks.

Lastly, but certainly not leastly – I’d be remiss not to mention my unscathed nether regions. As my mom kept saying, “at least you can sit down!!” or, to put a finer point on it as my friend Bryan did, “hey, at least you didn’t blow out your vagina!!” There is definitely something to be said for this. Every day without tearing or stitches in your crotch is a good day in my books. And I haven’t had to deal with fear of that first post-baby poop or pain/stinging when peeing or bathing. With that, I can only assume it will also be easier to resume, shall we say, recreational activities, when I’m cleared for that.


For me, this would be the area where c-section loses some major points. For starters, you can’t drive for 6 weeks (!), nor can you lift anything heavier than your baby and you’re supposed to limit stair-climbing as much as possible. In other words, this would be a good time to have a chauffeur, maid and bungalow. Thanks to my parents living a block away from me, I have the first two pretty much covered since my mom walks over and drives me around for errands and appointments and has been picking up and dropping off my laundry (2 flights of stairs and a laundry basket would not be do-able for me).

Andrew helped me out by relocating all our shit to the main floor in the morning (bassinet, pump, pillows, diaper bag and a bag of personal stuff for me like my makeup, etc.) so that I can have everything on hand on one level of the house – and then trucking it all back upstairs for the night. Sure, it’s a bit of a fuck-around, but actually quite manageable once we got into the rhythm of it. Since we live close to where he works downtown he was also able to pop in at lunch sometimes to see if there was anything we needed. In this respect, I’m very lucky to have the support and resources that I do and I imagine most people would struggle more with the logistics of these post-operative recovery restrictions than I have.

The head games

I spent a while second-guessing the series of decisions that resulted in the c-section in the first place. Did I need to induce when I did? Did I need the epidural so early and did that stall my labour? Could I have tried harder? The size of the baby, the fact that she was cone-headed from trying so hard to get into the birth canal for so long and the impression my operating OB-GYN gave me afterwards all pointed to the fact that this particular baby was not keen on exiting through the gift shop, and the outcome probably would have been the same no matter what I did or didn’t do. But you wonder. It was a bummer that I was in such a daze immediately after she was born, but it is what it is. I did feel a little bit like I missed out on a part of the whole birthing experience (pushing is sort of key in the whole deal) but really it’s more that I traded one experience for another. Ultimately, there is no easy way to bring a baby into the world and we are very lucky that both she and I have had no complications or issues since leaving the operating room.

She’s perfect. And I’m getting there 😉