Beach Family

Nine weeks postpartum we decided to join our friends in a large beach house in Duck, North Carolina. The week before our departure, I was in extreme panic mode. My mind swirled around all the problems this might cause. "She's nine weeks old. What if she cries the whole time? How will she handle the five hour car ride? Why does she require so much stuff? How will all of this stuff fit in our two door Wrangler?" and so on. It didn't help that some of my mom friends told me they would never have considered a trip with a baby that little. It also didn't help that some of my non-mom friends told me they would be annoyed if a baby cried their whole vacation.

We had already paid in full. There was no backing out.

And I'm glad. It was one of the best things we did this summer. Not only did Elliott amaze me with her flexibility, but I really needed the vacation. The ocean heals my soul and I felt rejuvenated when it was time to go home.

What surprised me the most was the experience of Communal Parenting. Every morning, 7 am on the dot, we'd wake up and head to the kitchen and the family room. Children played together while some parents supervised and some parents made breakfast. Beach and pool time sandwiched synchronized naps. Post bed time drinks were the highlight of the day. Wine in one hand, monitor in the other we sipped our drinks while talking on the deck overlooking the ocean. Then we went to bed to repeat it all the following day. 

We all got it, we understood the reality of parenting on vacation. Even those on the trip without children were supportive of our new reality. We cheered each other on during meltdowns and nap fighting. We partnered in the duties of parenting, cooking, and cleaning. We shared tricks of the trade in the evenings and most of all we were there for one another.

This must be what it was like to live in a village, you know minus the iPhones and French Presses. It made me miss the village life I never had. The support, understanding, and companionship of fellow moms and dads was not only heart warming, but necessary. We need each other. It truly takes a village, even if that village meets once a year for a week.



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Leaving Baby Camp and Entering the Real World

Baby Camp: the post delivery hospital recovery room 

It's All About Perspective

Picture it: a small 12 X 8 ft room with a bathroom, bed, "dad bed" (love seat), and a view of the parking garage. Sure, it's a tight fit but it's full service. With television setup for the mom's enjoyment, it was perfect! OK, maybe not so perfect. OK... Fine... it was more like a Soviet apartment but with worse food. It was my Baby Camp. 

If you haven't given birth, Baby Camp is the 3 days stay at the hospital afterwards. These days are partially for everyone's health, but you get feeling they're making sure you don't kill the baby.

My husband and I had very different opinions on Baby Camp. To me, Baby Camp was a chance for me to test out this mom thing. Someone came in every four hours to see how you and the baby were doing, answer questions, and deliver pain-meds (THANK YOU!). Think about it, four hours leaves very little room to really screw up your child's life. You'd basically have to be Joan Crawford to really mess it up in four hours.

 Baby Camp was also an opportunity for someone to take care of me. I had pre-picked meals brought to my bedside every few hours. It wasn't five star dining, but it was one thing not to worry about. Shortly after we arrived at Baby Camp I needed to use the bathroom. With my wobbly legs and my fresh stitches, I was more than apprehensive about this task. Not a problem, the nurses helped me with steady hands, surprisingly strong bodies, and a reassuring tone as they explained the "down there" care. I knew once we left baby camp no one as knowledgeable would be around. It was a scary thought to leave.  It was a security blanket. 

Now my husband saw Baby Camp very, very differently. He had the joy of being 6'1" and sleeping on the ridiculous dad bed. He had to leave the hospital for every meal, being unwilling to pay for the prison quality cafeteria food. He was annoyed by the checkups every four hours disrupting valuable sleep. With the broken coffee machine, he had had enough.. To him, he'd joined the Night's Watch. He wanted out, badly. 

Should I Stay or Should I Go

As luck would have it, Elliott and I were recovering remarkably well. I felt good, she was latching, there were no health concerns for either of us. So when my doctor and Elliott's pediatrician suggested leaving one day early, my husband jumped at the chance to go home. I was on the fence. 

Yes, Baby Camp had its drawbacks, but I wasn't sure if I could handle motherhood and normal home stuff while recovering. I sure as hell wasn't going to cook or clean. I just pushed a baby out of my vagina. And Bill, I love him dearly, but he isn't one for household chores. 

So our conversation went like this:

Bill: Do you think we should go home?

Me: I don't know what do you think?

Bill: It's not up to me, what do you think? 

Me: I'm not sure, it would be nice to sleep in my own bed.

Bill: Yes! And we want Marley (our beloved boxer) to meet baby Elliott

Me: And I don't know, I'd like to shower and have some privacy.

Bill: Sounds like you want to go home. 

Me: Eh, I don't know. I also feel comfortable here.

Bill: We are going to have to go home eventually. 

To my surprise, he was right. I would have to go home and be a mom without the comfort of around the clock care. I took an inventory of how I was physically feeling, which was not bad at all considering what I had just done. Then I thought about my mental state; definitely not my normal self, but also in pretty good shape. 

Me: OK, what the hell let's rip the Band-Aide off and go home. 

Bill made a mad-dash for the nurse to let her know we would be leaving that day. We were discharged and home within the hour. 

The Fallout of the Baby Camp Breakout

I'm glad we left early. Getting home and into my own space made me feel more like a mom and myself. Without the watchful eye of the nurses, I was really able to embrace my new role. It felt really important to bring Elliott and my home together. It also gave me a chance to believe in myself and my abilities as a new mom.  Marley did not care about the baby at all.

Throughout my pregnancy, I envisioned myself as a mom. I saw myself holding Elliott on the porch, rocking her in the nursery, and snuggling on the couch. In those daydreams, I was in my home, not at the hospital. 

Coming home a day early also gave Bill a chance to take care of me.  He was able to nurse me back to health. He fixed all my meals, helped me get around the house, and took an active role in becoming a dad. He really bonded with Elliott those first few days at home, and watching that relationship take-off melted my heart over and over.

Stay at Baby Camp as long as you need.  However, you may be surprised how capable you are instinctively.  I was.  Having the baby at home was an immediate joyful experience and I'm glad we left Baby Camp a day early.  

*We did not actually make it upstairs to our bed for another two and a half weeks more about this later. 

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Of Course I’ve Cried

I am not a big crier. Sure, I cry at Love Actually or a lost loved one. But, for myself, I don’t really cry. Since becoming a mom I have cried, of course I’ve cried a lot.

Becoming a mom is the hardest and strangest experience of my life. Everyone says it’s hard, but admittedly I let that pass without much thought. My new life though, uncontrollable, chin trembling, crocodile tears flow like the Nile. Not to mention the pathetic silent, I don’t want anyone to know, late at night, rolling tears. There’s also the quick, I have to get this emotion out, 30 second cry.

There are three reasons why I’ve cried since Elliott; 1) sleep deprivation (it’s very real and very obvious why it is used in torture), 2) feeling overwhelmed (I now have to keep this human alive and there aren’t instructions), and 3) missing my old self.

Sleep Deprivation

On my birthday, Elliott, our new and adorable daughter, decided to cluster feed. After waking me up every 45 minutes to eat, and crying for 20 minutes after feeding, I managed a meager one hour and twenty minutes of sleep....total. The exhaustion was deep. I couldn’t form complete sentences, hold my eyes open, or think clearly. At 6:00 in the morning, my husband overheard the tears. An act of mercy, he took sweet Elliott downstairs for the entire morning, bringing her to me only to feed. Four weeks in and the sleep deprivation doesn’t get better, but you get better at handling it. I survive by napping when she naps and binge watching TV during cluster feeds. You learn survival techniques that work for you.

Overwhelmed

On the second night of Elliott’s life, I was running on pure adrenaline. After 36 hours of laboring at home, then 14 hours more at the hospital, and a NICU scare, Elliott was finally here and she was healthy! Having her in my arms was such a loving moment. Except now, I have to keep her alive, and I don't really know what I'm doing. I should've studied more. I stood there in the dark with crocodile tears as the despair raced through my mind: Is she crying because she’s hungry? Does she have a fever? Does she feel hot to you? What about her diaper? Is she too cold? Should she be up every hour? Is anything coming out when I fed her? Are my boobs broken? Seriously, these are real, and she had only been alive for 28 hours. This part gets easier over time. As you level up (on the job) you start to gain experience and confidence each day.

Missing Me

No one talks about missing your old self/life and I was least prepared for this. I loved my life before I became a mom. I did something to "treat yo self" everyday. My husband and I had enough flexibility in our careers and bank accounts to travel the world, eat out, and do what we wanted. My life is no longer my life, it’s Elliott’s. She is the conductor of every moment of my day and every thought in my head.

The first thing I noticed that was vastly different from the old me were the psychological and the physical changes. I now have obsessive thoughts about Elliott's well being and development. I'm constantly checking the temperature in the house, worrying germs, her weight gain (is it too much?), her sleep patterns (for the love of God why isn't there consistency), her mental development (Am I talking to her enough? On no, I forgot to read to her today). I’m telling you it’s a mind trap right now. The physical changes are enough to send anyone into a tailspin. My boobs leak all day long. I mean sopping wet, all the way down my shirt. I used to be very physically fit, but now my whole whole body feels soft, not just my core but my back, arms, and even calves. I miss my clothes and they way they used to fit. I miss not having to wear nursing friendly tops. I keep wondering if I’m ever going to feel like I used to.

I had all the time in the world for myself, I would soak in the bath for however long I wanted, now I am lucky if I brush my teeth before 4 in the afternoon. Now my showers, when I can take them, are cut to 5 minutes long because I cannot clearly see Elliott breathing through the shower door (see obsessive thoughts paragraph above) or because Elliott has decided she's hungry again, though she just ate 10 minutes ago.

My freedom is the last piece of missing my old self. I no longer can have that extra glass of wine after dinner, or book a weekend trip just to get away. When I go to bed, I am so exhausted I immediately fall asleep instead of cuddling with my partner. I eat my meals in five minutes flat. Even leaving the house to go grocery shopping feels awful because I'm not with her. 

These moments, when I long for who I used to be, cause the silent tears, the ones you don’t want people to know about. Because of the feelings of guilt, the idea that missing old me makes me a bad mom. I’m calling bullshit on this trend.

Moms we have to be honest about these feelings. They are normal and they are valid. We have just been through a huge life changing event, of course we have the whole range for emotions. By pretending that everything is puppy dogs and rainbows during the fourth trimester, we are doing a disservice to ourselves and each other. It's not reality. 

I am lucky that I have a tribe of very honest girlfriends that I can commiserate with as well as bask in the joy of motherhood. However, I know not everyone is as fortunate as me. So I’m asking, please when someone asks how it was right after giving birth, be honest. The new mom that’s asking needs to hear the truth. She needs to know it’s OK to cry. It’s normal. It’s healthy.

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