Updated: Oct 6, 2021

Early postpartum is such a journey. Even if you have a smooth, unco

 

mplicated birth with no stitches, nothing visibly there to heal. You're still bleeding and sore, exhausted to your core. Your stomach muscles will still be separated. Your back, hips, pelvis will all be aching. Your organs are still all muddled up and in the wrong place.


The year after my second birth has been such a journey. It's felt like this big heavy bag I'm having to carry around with me, at all times. So I tried journaling. Not to put the bag down but to hopefully make it lighter.


This poem is the result. I hope you enjoy it.

And I encourgage you to journal about your own experience.

To make your own bag just a little bit lighter.

 

Cautious.

Life feels calm now.

This would change things.

But something feels missing.

Empty.


Two lines on a stick.

Not enough time to think.

You had been waiting for a long time too.

Here you are now.

Wriggling around inside

Making me your home.

I lie here and wonder who it is,

making all those movements.

I wonder what my life will look like with you in it.


Warm, soft hands.

Your hot little body on mine.

I love the weight of you cuddling in to me.

I love your softness.

I love your brave, your strong, your confidence.

Not yet broken by the world around.

No one has told you to shrink yet.

Watching you grow is like a magic.

Life feels like how it should do now.

No longer empty round the edges.


But I am broken.

They burn me.

They cut me.

They say the rest is just cosmetic.

They say it does not matter.

I hear it as if I do not matter.

As if my job here was to create and birth you and, now that you are here, it does not matter.

I do not matter.

It does not matter if I cannot look at myself now.

It does not matter if I cannot feel myself,

enjoy myself,

be in my own body.

It does not matter and I must accept it will not be perfect.


But I love you so.

Your warm, soft hands reaching out in the night.

I love being your safe place,

your comfort,

your home.

Being filled with such love and such sadness is hard and confusing.

You feel at home with my body but my body no longer feels like my home.

It feels scary and broken.

I do not know how to let both of those things be.


I do not know how to process,

to accept,

to let go and move on.

All I know is that I love you so very much.

How I would let them break all of me just to keep your warm soft self safe.

 

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