postpartum round three

***post written a few days ago***

Today’s postpartum post brought to you by a Hanes white v-neck, pair of black Old Navy leggings, pearl earrings, pink lipstick, a rockin’ top knot, and an aloha-print ring sling holding close the third sister.

The third time is so different. Baby-wise, this girl is a dream. Our first two were… a bit higher on the maintenance scale. We braced ourselves for the same, but instead were given the sweetest, most content baby on the planet. Probably not, but we’re claiming it for the Groves 5. Today marks week 4, and aside from her head cold that keeps her in my arms through the night, Melia girl is easy peasy. Granted… I’m much more relaxed as a mom, and don’t count it as difficult to have a baby who loves being cuddled. The sling is my friend, and after being held a bit, Melia is usually fine to sleep on her own.

The rub, in this third season called ‘postpartum,’ is loving on my older two VERY active and still very young, little girls. Third baby transition has been easier in some ways because the older two play well together, but now that the help is gone and JD is in the busiest season EVER, I find myself in a juggling act between three beauties who desperately need my attention. In some ways I love it. I’ve been promoted to mama of 3 and with that spiffy new title, I feel like I can conquer the world. As mama of one and then two, I was often terrified to go on solo outings with the littles. Yesterday? I took all three to a craft store with small aisles, picked up fancy fabrics for photo shoots, changed a blowout and cleaned up pee all over the van. Never even blinking. My friends, that’s progress. In October I’m piling the three sisters and myself for an airplane ride to Cali to welcome my new little nephew into the world. I think I might be turning into a masochist…

BUT.

There’s always a BUT, isn’t there?

I’m rapidly realizing I’m not enough. Yesterday I yelled at my girls. I hate that. The older two suddenly need tons of discipline and it takes all of me to put the baby down and tend to their needs. I need a break more often than I’d like to admit, but I’m terrible at asking for help. Many offers have come, and at some point I’ll figure out how to take people up on it, but this little pride demon lurks within and shoos help away before I even ask.

I can do it all by myself.

I’m 4 weeks postpartum, I should be all ready to go now.

The reality is, life is much more manageable if I do ask for help.

In fact, the only way I’m writing this now is because I punched that little pride demon in the face and asked a high school student to watch the older sisters for a couple hours. Just making arrangements for a couple hours away was enough to make me clean our house, make lunches, read stories, and take the girls shopping (I’m flying solo today – JD is gone all day and well into the middle of the night for a football game).

I know a routine is coming. Next week El starts preschool (*sniff*) three times a week for three hours each day. JD’s schedule will even out. My body will work its way back to normal. I’ll probably at some point cook a meal. Hormones will regulate so that life won’t always look so HUGE.

Postpartum is always a bit tricky. With each baby has come a settling down of sorts. Life continues, but just a bit differently.

My friend Jess says the third baby grounds you a bit.

I see her point.

Fellow Young Life leaders pop in to visit and share stories about all their time with students and I LOVE it, but there’s a teeny piece of me that mourns the loss of availability to teenagers. With the third baby, there’s no more question of where my focus lies. While we’re elbows deep in youth ministry, the reality is, I’m no longer a full-time youth leader. I still go to Young Life club and youth group, because it’s something that JD and I get to do together, but it’s different now. I am thankful that God has given me the opportunity to have relationships with other leaders, but I can’t just pick up and have coffee with a student like I used to.

Life is louder, but it’s also more quiet.

Today I read this, by Oswald Chambers:

Be rightly related to God, find your joy there, and out of you will flow rivers of living water… Stop being self-conscious, stop being a sanctified prig [oh Oswald], and live the life hid with Christ.

My life with Christ has never been more “hid” than it is now.

I’m not teaching twice a week, meeting with students regularly, involved in 5,000 ministries… I’m just… quiet.

My life hid with Christ revolves around daily asking for new mercies and grace to nurture, shepherd, protect, love, and discipline the little babes He’s given me. And you know, make lunch and fold laundry. Being rightly related to God is mostly lived out in front of thee babes and a handsome man. There’s no faking or putting on a show. It’s probably the most real I’ve ever been.

Grace isn’t a concept or a nice idea, it’s a necessity.

It used to mess with my identity, this new life. {Sometimes it still does, but I usually remedy it with the blog or photography}. Now that I have three?

I’m all in.

And that’s just fine with me. Even if I AM covered in baby poo, forget the middle girl’s shoes at the outlets, and get called the crazy lady with all the kids…

Having Two

On Thursday it will be three weeks. Three weeks as a family of four. Three weeks knowing and loving a sweet baby girl named Claire. Three weeks having two daughters.

Elianna, mommy-deprived as she is, lacks no attention from her gma’s and daddy. Some days I think she doesn’t notice her mama is constantly attached (literally) to a real live baby. Other days I see it in her eyes. A sort of wistful longing that she endures with grace and understanding. Emotionally, this is harder for me than physical recovery and a stomach bug.

If only I could recover faster. If only I weren’t so very tired and could get some energy to really play with her.

But she’s a trooper.

I think she understands.

And boy does she love her sister.

Every morning she bursts into our room asking to see “baby Cares,” and isn’t satisfied until she has palmed every inch of Claire’s body. We struggle through the concept of being gentle and slightly wince at the grips that are a bit too hard, but mostly we love. Love watching our girls interact. These small weeks of recovery will soon pass, and before I know it, our wee bundle will run around with her firecracker of a sister and I’ll know that El will always be grateful. Well, at least most of the time.

I have such a strong place of affection for each girl in my heart. They are different places, one not greater than the other – though one more developed I suppose, and in these places I like to rest. At night when Claire wakes me for a meal or outside in the afternoon drawing pictures with chalk on cement squares with a girl in pigtails, I rest in pure affection and love for them.

Postpartum, round Deux

I must start this post by saying this time around is so much easier than the first. I know how to breastfeed, I have been prepared for sleepless nights since entering the third trimester of pregnancy, I’m much more comfortable and relaxed about a schedule and how things are done, my labor was easier, and my head is not all zoo-ey. Not to mention that so far, Claire is pretty chill. We had a harder day today so I’m not going to pin her as *easy* yet – but she is mostly amiable and sleeps well.

But this is still postpartum, after all… and there’s a reason it comes with a reputation.

My nurse, who has never had babies, asked what it felt like to not be pregnant anymore. I exclaimed that it was wonderful – I felt empty and lighter and my rib was no longer numb. She mentioned that women who get postpartum depression miss being pregnant, and I laughed it off because truly – I dislike being pregnant. I know there are women who LOVE being pregnant, and I applaud them – I am just not one of them.

But – I totally get the depression thing – or at least the sadness that accompanies postpartum for many women.

Having a baby is a tremendous event. Nine months of anticipation, baby showers, foot massages, compiling baby clothes of all sizes, taking belly photos, preparing for the birth, etc. And then the labor and delivery with all the text messages and phone calls, pictures and videos, balloons and flowers and and and so! much! joy!

It’s awesome! With many !!!! and perhaps some capital letters to go with it – AWESOME!!!!!

And then you bring this new little bundle of love home and it’s still all kicks and giggles even if the baby’s screaming, because God gives us incredible hormones to help bond baby to mommy. A day or two later, reality hits, and even though the help is incredible and exactly what you need, there is still a toddler who needs mommy time, the struggle to fight engorgement, a daddy who gets a nasty virus and is bedridden for 4 days, the extra care required for recovery, lots of laundry, and of course – this new baby who has all these secret tricks tucked inside that work JUST FOR HER and YOU – the mommy – and the daddy – and the grandmas… have to pull all these other little tricks out of your sleeve until you find the match.

When Ellie was born, I read lots of books. They were really helpful – and also really stressful. This time, I’m staying away. Not to say I won’t take a peak here and there, but I trust my intuition as a mom and am trying to sort through this without the added “the book says I shouldn’t be doing this” guilt. El taught me to be a good mom. Her cues (though I keep forgetting it took a few weeks to sort out) are fairly obvious and I learned to read them well. To this day, she often asks for a nap or bedtime, partly I think, because we were quick to put her down when she initially showed signs of tiredness. Well – that was because she screamed her head off twelve seconds after getting overtired…

Enter baby number two. With all different cues and preferences… and not to mention an entirely DIFFERENT personality. Claire is mellow, but holds her own when she’s upset. If sister is in her face too much – she lets her know (not that Ellie listens ;)). If she’s pooping – she lets us know. And dear goodness if she’s hungry – she lets us know. She’s a great sleeper – if she’s in our arms… and therein lies my struggle.

And by struggle I mean the crazy, perfectionist, controlling monster that lives inside me rears her ugly head and I start juggling the whole “it’s-cute-that-she-sleeps-on-us-but-I-don’t-want-to-make-this-a-habbit” thing. And really, it’s no big deal. She sleeps, right? And it’s soooo adorable. And let’s be honest – the child is just over a week old.

I’m learning patience with myself as a mother all over again. I told myself I wouldn’t be as controlling – and I’m definitely not as controlling as the first time – but there is still a learning curve with a new baby and I’m like a lion on the hunt to figure out this new kid. Who, by the way, is awesome. Seriously.

LOVE HER.

Can’t get enough of her snuggles and milk drunk faces.

I could just eat her all up… and I think El feels the same way, because sometimes she tries to.

Postpartum

I try to be an honest writer.

This is going to be an honest post.

… An honest reflection of the postpartum experience thus far. The books didn’t warn me about this part…

The first few days after giving birth are a mixture of euphoria and adrenaline. While JD slept (un)soundly in the pullout chair next to my hospital bed, I stayed awake excitedly listening to Elianna’s soft breathing and bubbling. Nurses came in and out, and I was tireless. If Ellie cried, I wasn’t bothered at all. The mothering instinct kicked in full force the second she wriggled out of me, and I was ready to take motherhood by storm.

Home from the hospital and adrenaline quickly died. It didn’t matter that my entire body ached and I felt exhausted, though, because Euphoria was still my best friend and I told JD I could have 800 babies. I literally began planning the next time we could give Elianna a brother or sister, because babies are JUST SO GREAT!!! Mom and dad tell me I’m doing amazing. I decide I can go on an outing four days after giving birth, so we went to a 4th of July BBQ for a few hours.

This is when adrenaline and euphoria died.

The next day was spent in bed with flu-like symptoms (thanks to breastfeeding and engorgement and all kinds of other goodies). Ellie was taken care of by her daddy and grandparents, only seeing me for meals. I slept, and Ellie Joy fussed due to the gas caused by the stool softeners given to me by the hospital (I am thankful for them though – who wants to worry about going poo after shooting a baby out of your body?).

After a day of fussiness I am determined to get Elianna on a routine. With the Baby Whisperer in hand, I print out three copies of Elianna’s schedule and post them around the house for everyone to see. I watch for signs of tiredness, hunger, gas, overstimulation, and everything else babies experience. This is the day that all euphoria, every last drop of it, goes away and my enemy the Overwhelmed One kicks in. At the end of the day I am more exhausted than before, because I have just realized that every three hours I must feed, change diaper, play (ok, stare), and put Ellie to sleep. And then the cycle begins again. And my life is over. The clock and I have staring contests. This does not bode well for my soul and it is decided in my head that Elianna will be our only child.

I wake up crying the next morning, because I just can’t bear to nurse Elianna any more. Too much pain. My whole body aches and I have a low-grade fever. I take Tylenol with Codine (prescribed to me in the hospital) and Motrin. The rest of the day is spent in bed. Our friend Robin, a lactation consultant, is called frantically. The moms confirm that Ellie has a good latch, but because of 40 minute feedings and some irregularity on my part, well, the bosoms are SORE. My day in bed is met with honest reflection and evaluation of our lifestyle and what is manageable for our baby girl. It is decided that I do not need to give Elianna a bath at 5:30 every day. Nor do I need to be overly concerned if she falls asleep in someone’s arms rather than her crib. And motrin works wonders. These realizations give me great relief and I sleep the day away.

Robin comes to check Ellie and I out. We’re doing well. A few complications to be aware of, but there are no infections. The evil being known as Mastitis has not come knocking at our door, yet. Life becomes less complicated in my mind and I decide to give motherhood another try. Two days into the epiphanies, and we’re doing much better.

I am still a little hermit. Not because I do not enjoy my friends and visitors, but because I am exhausted and the idea of visitors overwhelms me right now. I didn’t think it would take this long to recover. I believed I was immune from a fussy baby, sore breasts, achy body, and the “weepies,” as we’ll call them. I’m not sure why I believed this, but I did. Thought that if I did everything right, then everything would go well. It does my heart well to know this is not true… and that having the weepies is ok.

(By the way, my parents and JD are closely monitoring my weepies to ensure it is not postpartum depression – so I am in good hands).

In the midst of all this – the tiredness, emotional roller coasters, overwhelming thoughts of “Oh sweet mercy she’s here forever AND SHE WON’T STOP CRYING,” concern about my body’s recovery, and sometimes dreading the next three hours because our veracious eater is going to go at it again – in the midst of this, I have come to know a love and joy that is greater and more pure than anything else in the world. I am in awe of my daughter, her beautiful blue eyes, adorable chubby cheeks, reluctant wail, and silky black hair. She has turned me into a new woman, a better wife (parenting has bonded JD and I even more!), and a greater lover of Jesus.