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Feeling imperfect after childbirth.
By Anita Doberman |
June 27, 2008
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Read more: mamma mia, childbirth, big families
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It’s appropriate. Writing my first column for The Imperfect Parent a few days after giving birth to our daughter, our sixth child, when I feel rather imperfect physically, mentally and emotionally.
The last few days I have experienced the full gamut of emotions, from sheer joy to overwhelming fear, euphoria, debilitating pain, boredom, anger which quickly became rage, and sadness. I am waiting for madness to visit me and I am sure it won’t be long before that happens. My husband seems to think that I have already experienced it, but I think he is wrong, which he would surely attribute to my madness, if he were foolish enough to say anything.
I know, it’s “normal” to feel upside down after giving birth. I experienced some kind of post-partum depression with each one of my children, even our adopted son. The first few weeks after my kids were born, I could consistently count on a good cry between the hours of 4 p.m. and 6 p.m., like clockwork. I definitely feel the hormonal warfare that rages on in the new mom’s body after giving birth.
But to be fair, it’s not all about the peaks and valleys of estrogen and progesterone, outside factors contributed to make me feel out of sorts.
Take my hospital stay. A nurse observed me while I tried to pee for the first time after my fifth c-section. Even though I begged her for some privacy, trying to hold on to the illusion that someone in that hospital hadn’t seen my open gut or my vagina, she refused to oblige and watched me intently while I focused all my will power on the simple task of urinating after abdominal surgery.
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Next, the lactation consultants squeezed my nipples into a sandwich in twenty minute sessions to help me with the proper latching technique for breastfeeding. With each one of my children I had a difficult time breastfeeding, at least for the first few weeks. Perhaps my boobs don’t get the memo that it’s time to toughen up when these babies come, so it’s a matter of forcing them to shape up and withstand the power of the sucking infant one sore nipple at a time.
Then to ease my fairly hypochondriac personality and my tendency to worry about all sorts of illnesses and worst case scenarios, our daughter was born with a heart defect. We couldn't get a straight answer for hours, another sure way to get high blood pressure and an accelerated pulse and to feel depressed.
So, you may wonder, why go through it – especially so many times?
The simple answer is that I love big crazy and chaotic families. The longer answer is that my desire to create my own little clan comes from the loud and tight knit Italian family I grew up in, in Rome, and that I left when I immigrated to America, and still painfully miss every day.
Living the single life in New York City, working in Investment Banking for a few years (where I was by far the worst analyst they had at the firm) and even attending graduate school were experiences that taught me about good drinks, bad dates and friendships, but which didn’t fulfill my desire to have the family I left behind.
When I met my husband, who is a now ninja with the military and told me on our first date in a smoky pub, in front of a large glass of Guinness (I knew we would have lots in common right there) that he couldn’t see having more than one child, I knew I had found the one to overpopulate the planet with.
After our first daughter was born, I realized that despite the difficulties of motherhood I loved every minute of this crazy ride. So I decided to try again and convinced my hubby by telling him that we could have crazy sex or at least some sex until I got pregnant (it didn’t take very long that’s why he fell for it each time).
Post-partum depression, sleepless nights and a permanent state of chaos couldn’t stand in my way of creating a large, loud and hot tempered clan – so far my kids seem to have had no problem inheriting the Italian temper.
In my own imperfect and inadequate ways, with my two year old recognizing the McDonald’s arches from miles away – bad, bad parent – with my husband gone for most of the year to Iraq and the other locations Uncle Sam sends him to, and my consequent increase in yelling and chaos, I try to give my children the kind a family that is full of love and Italian spice.
I still enjoy going out on occasions and dressing up, I am Italian after all, but these are perks rather than the bread and butter of my life which revolves around my family. And it makes for great writing material and reasons to drink strong beverages at night.
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| Anita Doberman is an author, journalist and radio host. She is the mother to six children, five girls and one boy, and is married to a pilot with the United States Air Force. She loves to hear from readers. To find out more about Anita go to www.totalmomsolutions.com and don't forget to visit the blog at www.outoftheblue.typepad.com. |
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