Hellobee

I feel like there are many scary “you don’t even know” type posts and anecdotes out there, and plenty of older generations with the “just you wait” stories that I felt like I fully anticipated that it would be a difficult transition into motherhood and parenting. My expectations were pretty built up in this aspect.

On the other hand, there are so many “you’ve never experienced a love like this before” sentiments out there to build up the excitement for your little one’s arrival. I had painted such a beautiful picture in my mind of my child being born, being placed on my chest and having a gentle loving entry into this world. We would have skin to skin, we would establish breastfeeding and take time as our new family of three soaking in those early hours.

Well, things didn’t quite go as I had envisioned.

I still am quite in love with our birth story. I am okay with the outcome of how my son was born via c-section even though it wasn’t the goal. I think our story is beautiful. However, over this first month and my transition into motherhood, I’ve noticed triggers and sadness coming up for me. At first, I just felt guilt and shame over these feelings because I never quite understood them. I didn’t know how to articulate or make sense of them.

Eventually ,the triggers formed a bit of a pattern and I finally understood what was happening in my head. It’s a difficult thing to convey because when you’re experiencing something that isn’t the “norm,” you feel guilty for or isolated in your feelings. This is why I’m choosing to share this story. Had I read something like this prior to our birth, maybe I would have better understood or better processed what I have been trying to make sense of over the past month.

In June a friend of mine told me something and I’m glad it resonated with me because in the end, I shared a similar experience to hers. She told me that when both of her children were born, she never felt that fairytale overwhelming flood of bonding and love they all tell you about. I remember tucking that information away in the “I hope I never have to pull this out” compartment of my brain.

When our little guy was born I felt so many feelings at once. He was a boy! He was here! The love my husband and I share quite literally made a person! He was cute, he was tiny, he was ours. I wanted to breastfeed, but there wasn’t really room on the table and I was in an awkward position. I started to feel sick. I started to feel shaky. I wanted my husband to take him because I didn’t want to drop him. I didn’t like my husband having to wear a mask. I wanted to be over with them. I started to feel more than I should in the surgery. I felt sick again. Drugs, drugs and more drugs.

By the time we were wheeled into recovery I remember saying I wanted to breastfeed. I hadn’t fed him yet. I was so tired. Drifting in and out of sleep. I remember my midwife trying to explain breastfeeding and falling asleep between words. I woke up and my husband was holding the baby. I don’t remember being wheeled into our room. I barely remember my parents visiting. I took a few pictures that evening. My eyes were glossed over. I remembered watching my husband hold him and taking a photo of them together and feeling so much love. Confusion. Overwhelm.

Basically, that first night after his birth was a drugged out blurry haze. The next morning I was processing a lot of emotions, and we started working on breastfeeding. I felt like I was bonding with my son for the first time. I was processing everything that had just happened. We had so much love in our hearts, so much gratitude for everything we went through and all of the love and support we were experiencing. We were on a high. I wrote this little note to myself.

I want to remember the deep love I have for [my husband] in these early days. His emotions during labour and how supportive he was. How emotional he was looking at birth and labour photos. How emotional he was falling in love with his son. How becoming a father changed him. How supportive he was helping me breastfeed and get a latch. Watching him have skin to skin and just being the best partner I could ask for. I am so thankful for him and that he is my husband and father of our son. I am so blessed. 

I want to remember it was weird for us to come out of this with my son that was in my belly and he is now this person we just named. He is this person we created. How loving him is growing and seeing him is a state of bewilderment and nearly confusing. How watching him feed makes me feel so good. And fall in love with his little cheeks and sucking motion. How my body feels like I was hit by a truck but exhaustion at 2am and still being up and needing to feed him makes me feel strong and I put him first. And how good it feels comforting him and how being a source of his comfort is the best feeling. How you just know how to soothe almost. How skin to skin solves everything. 

So in the initial days and weeks that passed I felt myself coming down off of that high and settling into our new normal. I started to wonder if I was feeling what I was supposed to be feeling. That reality was a bit different than the expectation I had built up. I had so much love, but was this unlike anything I’ve felt before? Was this what it was supposed to feel like? I kept feeling like I should be feeling more. That this wasn’t enough. Was I failing at my bond? I kept trying to figure out what was going on in my head because I loved him so much, but it just felt different and there was this underlying sadness I didn’t understand.

Then I read a few birth stories, and when I saw those “I’ve never felt love like this!” comments right after birth and people spoke about immediately latching and breastfeeding and that magical moment right after birth, it very suddenly hit me that I was grieving something I missed out on. That my experience was much different and in turn it really delayed our bond in some ways. That first night wasn’t ours. It was clouded by recovery and drugs. So while I had this immense, intense love with my son, it didn’t really begin until the next day, it grew with each passing day. It wasn’t that magical moment I had dreamed of, anticipated and expected. I didn’t get to feed him much until the second day, and the third day was when it was really established. My milk didn’t come in for five days. He lost more than 10% of his birth weight.

I was feeling guilt over the fact that I was feeling loss when I had a healthy son, a healthy recovery and a breastfeeding journey that was off to a good start. What was this sadness? What was I feeling?

Once I understood that the delay in our time together after he was born was a stark difference from what I imagined and the reality of our time after his birth was impacting me, I began to process. I shed many tears and was able to initiate healing.

I know I’m not alone in this experience now. I know this is normal. I know that this is a difficult time regardless of the love and joy you have at the same time. I know everyone has a different experience, no greater, lesser or better than the other. We are all learning and figuring this out in our own ways.

While it’s not the pretty story, it’s a real one. It’s ours. By owning my feelings and sharing them it allows me to further heal and begin to move on. Release shame and guilt. Bond more. Love more. Grow.

Did your bonding experience differ from your expectations? How did your birth story impact you in the month following your birth?