I’ve been back to work for just over a month. I’ve been pretty vocal about my sentiments towards this past maternity leave. It never truly felt like a “leave”. And just as my maternity leave felt far from normal, it feels like nothing has changed with this transition of going back to work, yet so much has. Without hesitation, I’m asked daily by others on how it’s been being back at work and I respond with either “it’s fine” or “it’s good”. When in actuality, it has been hard. I avoid the question as much as possible because just thinking about how to answer it is exhausting. I’ve been avoiding it, which I recognize is not doing me any good – avoidance does not solve anything. I guess that’s why I’m here.

I’ll start with the fact that Matt and I have been parenting with little to no help for the past 9 months. We don’t get a breather or a moment to ourselves. Our days are a blur and with the both of us now working full-time, we’re running on little to no fuel. Exhausted is an understatement. There’s no secret recipe to making it work (as much as I wish there was). Both of our days are filled with back-to-back meetings and deadlines. It just means, our kids are probably getting the shorter end of the stick here. I mean, they’re changed, fed, and entertained too. In between meetings, you can find us singing lullabies with Aliza, practicing our learning how to read and write with Amia, changing diapers, attending to school-kid related activities. Don’t forget the laundry (which often gets forgotten in the machine), the attempted healthy cooked meals (feels like we’re always in the kitchen), the endless amounts of dishes, the tidying, the vaccuming (because having kids at home 24/7 literally means there are crumbs EVERYWHERE). We’re literally pulled in multiple directions at once. We can feel it in our bones. And then to find time for ourselves? We make it happen, but that’s exhausting too.

And yet throughout all of this madness, I’m still trying to keep up with my passion projects. Within the last month I have to be honest, I contemplated taking a step back from my blogging, vlogging, radio, and all the other fun stuff. But I feel as though I’ve built this amazing momentum for myself and I don’t want to let it go. Believe it or not, this work gives me a real high in life. It’s fulfilling and I know I have full freedom to kind of do what I want. So, before I officially begin my work day, I jump on my socials and do what I need to do and usually catch-up at lunch time and then of course in the evening. I miss doing this work full-time but I’m a committed professional as well. Which leads me to my next point…

As my return to work date was approaching, I kind of went in with a mindset that I wouldn’t pour myself into work the way I normally would. Well, that didn’t work out. I have a serious problem with always giving 110% of my dedication to anything I do. And when I don’t, I feel like shit. This is a serious internal struggle and borderline battle. Since being back, I’ve actually enjoyed the work that I’m doing and I’m working hard on getting to the next point in my career – is it wrong to want it all? 

To answer that, NO! It’s never wrong to want what you truly want! What’s difficult is to balance and manage how much pressure and stress we put on ourselves if we don’t deliver. I literally think of myself as being a failure if I couldn’t just do it all. But I’m human and I’m a constant work in progress — no one is perfect and especially during these times, it’s difficult to know what the right way of going about life is. I’ve had days where I do want to throw in the towel and just give up. But is it giving up? Is asking for a helping hand giving up? Is sending our kids back in to the real world giving up? It’s not, but it took me a while to get there. So if there’s a few things that I could leave you all with as tips to get through a transition (whether it be work or ANYTHING), here it is…

1. Listen to yourself: Are you pushing yourself over the edge? Recognize the signs. I’ve had to step away from social media or my computer and that’s okay. It doesn’t insinuate any sort of weakness. Talk to your supervisor. Speak to a professional. I can’t stress enough how difficult parents have it at the moment. We need to be honest with ourselves and just listen to our mind and body.
2. Hold yourself accountable in a kind and compassionate way: Always hold yourself accountable BUT set realistic goals and expectations for yourself. Plan out your days. Know what you’re getting yourself into the night before. Sometimes just knowing what my schedule might be the next day prepares my mind. 
3. Who are you doing this for?: Whatever your work is or your passion project, make sure you’re doing it for yourself and not to please others. Sometimes (and I am guilty of this), we get caught up in the numbers or the sheer need of pleasing and surpassing others’ expectations. Always check-in with yourself first. 
4. MOMS! We’re literally on this wild ride together. This is not a time to roll up our sleeves to prove to anyone about who’s doing this better. We should be showing up for one another and asking each other how can we help? I know I tend to show my sense of humour (majority of the time) on my platforms, but deep down it’s not always funny. And we need a solid support system, an environment that allows us to share our vulnerability without fear of judgement. I’m always here, holding that utmost space for all of you. 

And finally, as a final last tip type of thing, remember to take a few minutes for yourself. I’ve been committed to getting up, showering, and putting on some real clothes every work day while working from home. There’s something about this that makes things feel somewhat normal. I feel refreshed and ready to tackle the day. I do have the urge from time to time to just roll out of bed, but I know if I did this everyday, I would fall down a deep dark hole. Whatever it takes, just honestly take a few minutes to catch a breath for YOU. And as a final final final reminder: YOU ARE DOING A PHENOMENAL JOB! Don’t doubt yourself, ever. You got this! 

xx Meenakshi

Observing. Until recently, I never paid attention to accessibility or convenience in public places. I used to access the automatic doors nonchalantly. Unknowingly press the handicap button to open doors. Funniest one: take the stairs wherever I could because elevators make me feel claustrophobic. Fast forward to today, I now think twice before leaving the house to venture out with my almost 5 month old. Not because we don’t want to leave the house, but because I need to ensure that we’re well equipped to tackle the obstacles ahead in our day’s excursion. What if there’s no nursing room (this “what if” is ALWAYS a major concern)? What if beb has a major poop explosion (this has happened)? What if there’s nowhere to change the little one? All the “what if”s” that a first time Ma could possibly think of literally seep through my mind. And I don’t believe I’m wrong in thinking this way because I have been in situations where the place in question has no means of accommodating me or my little one. About a month ago, I shared on my Facebook the horrible experience I had at the passport office. I won’t get into the details of that experience here again, but in a nutshell, it was not pleasant. Waiting for over 2 hours to be attended to. No place to change the little one. No place to feed the little one. No proper place to sit with the little one. No courtesy. When we were first attended to for our initial application screening, I jokingly (well, deep down I was quite serious) said, “Oh, is there a priority for women with young kids?” The person behind the counter just chuckled. Okay then.

So, I’m not trying to come across as a “negative Nancy” here by complaining about all the wrongs that I have been encountering lately; I’m just trying to create some awareness about the struggles us new Ma’s (and experienced Ma’s) tend to experience. Another struggle. Parking lots. How many parking lots do you know of that have priority parking for pregnant women and/or women with young children? I’ve seen a few lots, but how many spots? In my opinion, not enough. Isn’t that a bit ludicrous? Actually, what’s extremely ludicrous is how I went to the mall with beb the other day and the automatic sliding doors had a sign saying, “It’s cold out and for that reason the automatic sliding doors are out of service.” Um, pardon? So, you expect me to open a door and struggle to wheel in the stroller at the same time? The worst is coming across a handicap button that fails to open. This one makes me sad/angry. So, all that being said, how do we make this society realize the obstacles that exist for women who are either pregnant or have young children? Actually, how are people who rely on accessibility assistance coping? Seriously makes me wonder and question our true concern for those in need.

In any case, at almost 5 months post-partum, personally I’ve started to stop caring as much. Caring less in the sense that if I need to feed my child, I will find a quiet private corner and feed. Or, if I need to change her soiled diaper, I will lay down a blanket and her “on-the-go” change pad (so convenient!) and change away. But the issue of accessibility still angers me – something needs to change. Ma’s need to unite to make a difference; who is with me?

Understanding. The understanding component stems from me being more observant of my surroundings lately. I now understand how challenging Ma-hood is. Not just on an emotional and physical level, but psychologically it can take a toll on you. If we stay home, we go crazy. If we go out, we also go crazy, well more so me. But I choose the latter. Getting out and seeing other faces make both of us happy (I think). And as the days go by, I’m more understanding of Amia’s needs – when she needs to nap, play, or needs a change of scenery. Slowly a routine is forming; although, there are some days where she throws me off. But this “understanding” would not have happened without observing her ever changing personality and behaviours. Unfortunately, she didn’t come with a manual (I remember my parents used to say this – actually, they still say this). Both, Ma and Pa are learning and are more understanding of the time we spend with Amia now. These months are pivotal as Amia is growing and developing, so as much as it might feel like a mission to head out that front door, I make every effort to make it happen. Whether it be to a mall that doesn’t have working sliding doors to wheel in a stroller or running an errand where there are no proper amenities, I understand that we both need that fresh air.

Appreciating. Oh, how this sometimes gets ignored. This is probably the main reason for writing this post: to emphasize how we sometimes take the little things for granted and forget to appreciate all components in our life. Personally, before becoming a Ma, I never appreciated my independence; how easy it was to just make plans, jump in my car, and head on out. I never appreciated the automatic sliding doors before. I never appreciated just carrying my tote purse (although sometimes heavy because my whole life used to be in my purse). I never appreciated taking the time to do my hair, my make-up, or putting on a clean pair of leggings. I also never appreciated my pre-pregnancy body. This is real talk. And this is definitely not a negative connotation towards Ma-hood. I’m just expressing how I never truly appreciated these little facets that made up my life. Now, spending almost all of my waking time with another little human has opened up my eyes and undoubtedly made me appreciate what I used to take for granted. On a sentimental note, Amia has made me appreciate the importance of life and this new role of Ma-hood. Her existence keeps me going everyday (despite the lack of sleep, but we’re working on this). She’s made me appreciate my new self and this new chapter and that Ma-hood comes with its ups and down, challenges, and struggles. My little warrior has given me a new purpose. I don’t necessarily care for doing my hair perfectly every day, or putting on the best of make-up, or wearing the best of clothes – I do take a day every so often to pamper myself, but every other day is dedicated to my one and only and I’m perfectly content with that. I’m not sad or depressed about the fact that I didn’t appreciate certain things pre-Ma-hood. I do miss that life sometimes: the simplicity, the fun, the “me, myself, and I” phase. But now I can’t imagine my life any other way. I mean it. Every morning, I look forward to seeing Amia’s smiles, hearing her babbles, getting her all dressed up. It gets to me a little sometimes, but that’s okay, I think it’s normal. And that’s when Pa plays a crucial role by keeping me sane. So, all that to say, seriously, appreciate the things and people in your life – whether it’s something new or old, embrace it all.

A bit of mixed thoughts with this post, but I hope I connected the dots as best as I could. I have been battling with getting some sleep for the last couple of weeks. But I really wanted to touch on some of the challenges and realizations Ma-hood encompasses. Hold tight for the next post, I think I’m going to expand my thoughts and go back in time with the next one. For now, take a few minutes to reflect and appreciate the goodness in your life; it’ll make you smile, I promise.

– Ma

As it stands, I’m not sure what the blogging etiquette is just yet. Time is key. And so is sleep. My thoughts tend to keep me from getting sleep, so I write at night. But this habit is catching up to me. And, inevitably the days are getting busier with our little warrior. At roughly 16 weeks post-partum, I can confidently say I’m getting a hold on Ma-hood. My c-section wound is almost healed and faded. I’m able to care for Amia on my own. Things around here are slowly starting to feel “normal”.

On a personal note, I’m in a much better place as well. But from time to time, I still struggle with my inner battles: emotions, pain, and my patience. My last visit with the doctor was in late December. She was happy with my progress. Despite my positive healing, I was given strict orders to still avoid heavy lifting for at least two more weeks. Patience, Ma. As much as I felt ready to pack-up Amia and head to mommy playgroups or go to the mall or just step out for a coffee – I couldn’t, not just yet. By this time, Pa was back at work. It was just Amia and I at home for 8 full hours. For those that don’t know me, I am not a home body (my parents can attest to this). So, staying cooped up for an entire day at home was, for lack of a better word, torture. Don’t get me wrong, spending the days with Amia are the best. But the days felt monotonous; get-up, play, feed, nap, and repeat. Literally, I would be checking the time on my phone like a hawk thinking to myself, “Ok, it’s noon, I have 4 more hours until Matt gets home!” For whatever reason, this comforted me.

Amia was handed off to Matt the second he got home. Poor guy probably didn’t even get a chance to wash his hands. But Matt didn’t mind. He would take Amia and start talking to me about his day at work. And then I would get mad. Not at him specifically, just at the situation and circumstances. Matt had the ability to take a warm shower, leave the house, converse with adults, drink a hot coffee, eat a hot meal, and come home to just tell me all about it. My day was the complete opposite. I couldn’t shower. I couldn’t have a hot cup of tea. I couldn’t eat when I wanted to. I had a baby glued to my breast, for what felt like all the time. I was struggling. And because I was struggling, we were struggling. Our evenings together felt cold and bitter. I would get angry. Amia would be fussy. I would let out my frustration on Matt. He wouldn’t listen. It was rough.  If there was one piece of advice we received pre-marriage, it was to never go to bed angry at one another. Well, let’s just say given our situation, that piece of advice was not being adhered to very well. I was tired from my day with Amia. He was tired from his day at work. We were both tired. Add in my animosity. It was a disastrous recipe.

I know I’m getting pretty detailed with the struggles between Matt and I. But I feel it’s important to talk about this aspect of parenthood. Parenthood seems to be advertised as solely just about raising kids. False. Parenthood is also about the parents and the major adjustments happening on the whim (literally). No book, prenatal class, or person (not even your own parents) can prepare you for parenthood. You just have to live it to experience it. Having a baby is a beautiful moment and journey. We were always told this. What no one warned us about were the challenges. I’m not sure why it’s not talked about as much as it should be – it’s real and can take a huge toll on a relationship. Having a baby is not all “rainbows and butterflies”. This tiny human relies on us to be fed, to be changed, to be clothed, to be transported safely to where ever we venture out to. That’s a lot to ask for from two people who have no clue what they’re doing. We’ve had our meltdown moments. We’ve also had our moments where we’re not on the same page. So in parenthood, along with the precious moments, the dreadful crappy moments exist too. Irrespective of our disagreements, Amia needs us. Matt and I have learned to talk things out. We’ve learned to both be open minded and understanding. We’re learning – parenthood is just one huge learning curve that never really ends.

As the days go on, things are slowly getting manageable. I’m trying to change my attitude and view on how things are. As much as the days might feel daunting and repetitive, I keep telling myself that these are precious days. In fact, I don’t have to tell myself, I see it firsthand just how special my days are with Amia. Despite the lack of hours of sleep, it’s the most heart melting feeling waking up to Amia’s babbling first thing in the morning. So, when Matt comes home now and tells me about his day, I share mine too. I tell him about the new things Amia started doing. So, instead of being frustrated or bitter with each other, we share what’s on our mind. We’re not just bettering ourselves for each other, but for Amia too – we want her to know that throughout the chaos of raising her, Ma and Pa had fun with it too.

Positive side note – since starting this post (yes, it takes a while to get one posted) I have ventured out with Amia on my own. Such a good feeling. It’s an accomplishment to have my independence back. I’ve met friends for lunch, went to the mall (finally!), and for the first time went to a mom’s meet-up group. The mom meet-up group very much opened up my eyes – I am not alone. Hearing about other birth experiences and learning about post-partum services – things I wish I had known before delivering or even before getting pregnant. But now I know where to turn to should Matt and I have another child. Regardless, today, I’m feeling better and very optimistic about the months to come with Amia.

So all in all, like I said in my previous post, my patience was truly tested throughout my post pregnancy recovery experience. But I’ve realized my patience is being tested every single day. With Amia. With Matt. With myself. Bettering my patience is a work in progress. Parenthood is a work in progress. Life is a work in progress. What works one day, never seems to work the next. But with lots of patience, perseverance, dedication, and lots and lots and LOTS of love, we will be just fine. I am thankful for Matt and his unconditional love and commitment. No doubt, he is my rock. I am trying to be a better person for him. He does a lot for us, and sometimes I forget. So this time, I leave you with yet another task; this time it’s for the wives: give your significant other an extra snuggle today; sometimes we forget (at least I hope it’s not just me) that they’re human too. Love you, Pa.

-Ma

Here goes. The mom blogger in me is coming out. What makes this blog space different; probably nothing. But for a while now I’ve been meaning to start a blog. I have finally built up the courage and dedication to express my inner thoughts. I’ve been inspired to write and learned that life is too delicate to not share our experiences.

So, here I am, a new Ma. My inspiration to start writing is my little warrior (I’ll introduce her in a little bit). Throughout the past year, she has changed me. She has made me realize SO much. She has especially made me realize that she has one awesome Pa (not that I ever had any doubts, Pa). So of course, a special shout-out goes to Pa for supporting and encouraging me to start my blog. I won’t get into why I titled my blog the “Untold Thoughts” or why I refer to my husband and I as “Pa” and “Ma” – truthfully, I haven’t figured it out yet; it sounded good so I just went with it.

For now, let’s start from the beginning…

I am Ma, Meenakshi Sharma-Vadnais, and my husband, Pa, is Mathieu Vadnais (Matt). We became Ma and Pa on January 4, 2016 – the pregnancy test was positive: “Pregnant 1-2 weeks”. WOW. We were both shocked in a VERY good way. We weren’t actively trying but we also weren’t actively taking preventative measures. Matt and I got married in March 2015. We weren’t living together before marriage, primarily because we weren’t allowed to. My background is Indian (South Asian). My parents were born in India and immigrated to Canada many years ago. Although my parents knew that within the Western society it is socially acceptable for a man and woman to live together before marriage, they weren’t ready to allow the same for their only Indian daughter. We respected their wish. To be honest, it didn’t bother me. If anything, it made me look forward to the special moments to come. That morning when I first woke up next to Matt, as my husband, was the most heart filling feeling. Every morning for the rest of my life I would be so fortunate to wake up to my best friend, my husband, my soulmate. The first thing Matt and I wanted to do as a married couple was travel, so that’s just what we did. In May 2015 we rented a car and drove to New York. In October 2015, we took a month off from work and ventured out to Dubai, Maldives, and India (one day I will sit down and write about this trip of a lifetime). Even after we found out we were pregnant, we still wanted to travel. So to celebrate our one year anniversary in March 2016, we visited Quebec City. Matt and I are very laid back; we like to have fun and be adventurous. So all that to say, we couldn’t wait to start our next biggest adventure: parenthood.

I must say, my pregnancy experience was different. In my opinion and from my research, very unorthodox. The biggest difference and lifesaver: NO MORNING SICKNESS. Instead, I developed a cherry angioma (skin growth) under my left eye, had countless nose bleeds and headaches, swollen gums, and extreme lower back pain. This is not a complaint. I loved my pregnancy and would go through it again in a heartbeat. I felt so proud and determined while carrying my baby. Right from the moment I knew I was pregnant, my little one empowered me. I continued going to the gym and joined a prenatal yoga class. This was probably the best decision I made. The yoga not only required me to stretch my muscles and joints, it kept me sane. My work days kept normal; I stayed motivated and determined to complete all of my projects (this meant lots of meetings and long ones too!). I ate good and bad (I developed a serious sweet tooth during my pregnancy). I did have a couple of scares: the first at around 17 weeks which sent us to the ER. All was fine, normal cramping. The second time was around 32 weeks, I thought my water was leaking; turned out to be a false alarm, just slightly peed myself (also very normal). Even though the pregnancy was going as per the “normal” medical standards, I was always worried. Worrying about the safety of my baby in my womb, about what I was eating, or why baby hadn’t kicked in a few hours. I guess you could say my “motherly worry syndrome” (yes I made this term up) kicked in immediately. I always tell my mom to stop worrying and she always responds back saying that she can’t help it. I get it, totally get it now, Mom. In any case, I didn’t let this feeling take over my life or anything, but it was always at the back of my head. What helped to kick the worry feeling to the curb were the moments. The unforgettable precious moments throughout my pregnancy. Like seeing the reaction on my parents and in-laws faces when we told them that they’re going to be grandparents (first time for my parents!), or finding out the gender of the baby, or feeling that first kick – these moments are unbelievable and indescribable. I’m trying to hold back tears as I write this part. Carrying a child brings so much joy to everyone around you. It’s a feel good feeling knowing you and your baby are loved so dearly by your family, friends, and co-workers (since the majority of your week days are spent at the office). I miss it.

We found out on Mother’s Day with our families that Matt and I were having a baby girl. I knew it, not because I peeked at the envelope we received from the ultrasound technician, but because it was just my gut feeling. Maybe I’m being a tad bit biased because I always wanted to bring a girl into this world. I haven’t mentioned this yet, but I am a feminist. By feminist, I mean I believe in equal rights – I’ll save my political thoughts for another post. Regardless of my views, I want my girl to break barriers and climb to the top. I purposely refrain from calling her my princess (you may have noticed); she is my warrior. She will be a fighter, an achiever, and above all, a good human being like her Ma and Pa. I want her to discover this beautiful world and allow her experiences to shape the person she becomes. And more importantly, I always want her to know that Ma and Pa will be here to guide and support her throughout her life.

On September 19, 2016, our baby girl, Amia Vadnais, was born and decided it would be fun (AH it’s like she already knew Ma and Pa were fun people!) to share her birthday with Pa’s. Oh the birthing story (one of the main reasons why I’m writing this blog). Let’s talk about the birthing experience. Before even carrying a child, the thought of labour terrified me. The pain. The endless hours of pain. And then, more pain. I didn’t even know what the pain would feel like, but I was already scared. All in all, I was NOT looking forward to the labour. Serious kudos to the mama’s who truly embrace birth. I wasn’t one of them, mentally and physically I hated it.

Baby was due on September 14^th. I was SO certain our little one was going to make an early appearance. I walked and walked and walked. I did squats. I ate spicy food. I tried just about anything and everything in hopes she would arrive on time. My water broke on Sunday, September 18^th. At first, I didn’t even realize what was going on – I thought I was peeing myself, again. Once we arrived at the hospital they took a swab and sure enough it was amniotic fluid that was leaking (nope, there was no big splash of water). My water broke but I wasn’t contracting. The doctor told me I could be admitted at that moment and start the medication to induce me or I go back home and wait it out but return within 7 hours. Matt and I chose the latter. It was a surreal feeling. These were the last few hours of just us. So, we soaked it in. We chilled out at my parents place and at his parents place. We finally made our way back to the hospital around 7 PM. We were both waiting for this day to arrive and it was finally here. I think we were both shitting our pants but we won’t admit it to one another. We settled into our room and I remember just thinking to myself as I slipped into that nice cold hospital gown (can you sense my sarcasm?), “Here we go!” The nurses came into the room, started poking me to get the IV line through my vein, started asking me the standard questions, and finally handed me a pill to take to kick-start this labour.

After ingesting the pill twice, it wasn’t working. Finally, the nurses started me on Oxytocin. I stopped dilating at 7 cm. My epidural wore off. I needed another one. The pain, oh the pain I felt. I remember looking at Matt with tears in my eyes just sobbing and saying I couldn’t do this anymore. The helpless look on his face broke my heart. He just held my hand tighter and continuously reminded me that I could get through this. Over 24 hours later, the call was made – I needed a caesarean section. I couldn’t believe it. No really, I felt like my body just gave up on me. I promised myself I would not have a birth plan but I didn’t actually think this could happen to me. I was so overwhelmed and scared with all of the nurses and the three doctors in the room, all prepping me for surgery. I remember my parents came in and as soon as I saw my mom’s face, I just cried. I wanted my mom. I needed my mom. I didn’t want the surgery; I wanted my mom to fix this. At this point, I was very drugged up. I had the epidural put in for the second time plus the spinal freezing. I was being wheeled through the halls to the surgical room with nurses surrounding my stretcher. I cannot and will not forget one of the anesthesiologists. I am a huge believer that there is always someone watching/guiding over us – that day I saw and felt it. She talked me through every single thing that was going on as I was lying on the surgical table waiting to be cut open. Matt wasn’t in the room with me yet as he was getting ready for the surgery too. I wish I could remember the name of the anesthesiologist. I wish I could personally thank her for showing her true compassion and care. She held my hand and consistently reassured me that everything was going to be ok. Bless this lady. The curtain was placed in front of me and I waited. I waited to be sliced open. To be honest, I don’t remember when Matt entered the room. At this point, there was only one thing on my mind, my baby’s (sorry Pa!) and her well-being. I never told the nurses or the doctor’s, but I could see the entire procedure unfold in front of me through the reflection from the bright surgical light above me. So through this reflection, I anxiously waited to see my little warrior enter this world.

The first cry. I was so relieved to hear that first cry. I cried. I looked at Matt, he was in tears too. I cried more. The nurses brought our little warrior over to us and I was able to have her bare skin touch mine. With all the chaos in the room, that moment of having my baby on my chest felt serene. The nurses had to take her away after a few minutes. This hurt. I had to be put back together. I say it like this because literally that’s what the doctor’s had to do. All I wanted to do was hold my little one against my chest and feel her fresh new skin on me. Putting me back together felt like it was taking an eternity. I was finally wheeled from the surgery room to the recovery room. The nurse started working on getting my baby to latch on to my breast. I wasn’t even fully aware of what was going on, still drugged up with barely any sensation in my lower body.

I couldn’t get up after the surgery. Of course not, I just had a major abdominal surgery. This was frustrating. But I didn’t let this restriction stop me from enjoying my little one. I cuddled her and cuddled her some more. About 12 hours after the surgery, the nurse encouraged me to get out of bed and walk a little. I had to do this to avoid clotting. So, I walked. I felt fine. The next 12 hours, I was able to take a shower, eat solid food, and walk to the washroom on my own. This didn’t feel so bad. Recovery was going pretty well at this point. I was putting a lot of my attention towards grasping breastfeeding. Amia was borderline jaundice; my milk supply was not fully in, so the nurses advised us to supplement a little. We did. There’s a reason why I call Amia our little warrior; through drinking my breast milk and the formula, she gained enough weight and didn’t get jaundice. I was doing well. Baby was doing well. So, we got discharged two days later. We could’ve stayed an extra day, but by this point, Matt and I wanted to be in the comfort of our own home, so we left.

I always used to wonder about what it would be like bringing a baby home. Just think, you leave your house for the hospital as two people and arrive back home with a third little one. It was a heartwarming feeling bringing Amia home for the first time. Actually, grateful is how I felt. Grateful that everything went fine and we both left the hospital healthy.

Now the reality. Like any new baby, they’re demanding. The days and nights are mixed up. They just want to be swaddled and held. They need to be fed around the clock. This is the norm and exactly what I was expecting. What I wasn’t expecting was the post pain from my surgery. No one told me that with all the pain medication in the world (I was given Morphine when discharged from the hospital) that it would still hurt. I think it was the third or fourth night home and my parents came over. As soon as my mom hugged me, I cried. I cried because I was in excruciating pain. Matt had to walk me to my bed. That’s where I stayed most of the time. My bed. So where did baby sleep? Our bed. We started co-sleeping because it was the most convenient for us. I was still trying to get a hold on breastfeeding. The goal was to get Amia back up to her birth weight. She was (and always will be) my number one priority and my little warrior was doing great.

About a week post-surgery, I started feeling a little off. I was eating right. I was resting. But for some reason, I didn’t feel right. I started getting uncontrollable body shakes and the sweats. I thought it was just my hormones balancing themselves out. But the pain at my incision started feeling worst. Walking was painful. I went to my family doctor on Thursday, October 29^th. My dad drove me to the doctor’s and I remember sitting with him in the waiting room holding back my tears. I was scared but I was trying to be strong. My doctor prescribed me antibiotics because she suspected that my incision was infected. I was scheduled to go for an ultrasound the following day. I never made it. At around 2 AM on Friday morning, we were up feeding Amia. I handed her off to Matt to burp her. I noticed a strange smell. I brushed it off thinking it was Amia’s diaper until I looked down and realized my incision was oozing of a brown/yellow liquid. I’m being too conservative – my incision was gushing. I immediately got up and stormed to the bathroom. I panicked. Matt put Amia down. She was whaling. I was crying. Absolute panic. Matt brought over towels to cover the incision. We called the hospital and were told to go in. We arrived at the hospital at 3 AM and immediately were admitted. The infection caused my incision to open due to a build up of abscess fluid. That smell. I cannot forget the horrible smell that was draining. Once again, my arms were being poked around by the nurses to hook up the IV, to take blood, and to inject me with pain killers. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and scared. Because my wound had opened, the doctor could not just re-stitch it and send me off home. The wound needed to heal from the inside out. What? So, off I went being wheeled through the hospital halls in a stretcher back to the birthing unit. I was initially put back on the birthing floor so that Amia and Matt could stay with me, but because there was an influx of women giving birth, I had to be moved to the general surgical ward. Great. During the day, Matt would visit with Amia. But we didn’t keep her at the hospital for long. My parents would visit. My brother and his girlfriend would visit. Everyone was keeping me in good spirits. But I wanted none of it. I was fed up. I wanted my Amia. I wanted to hold her, cuddle her, feed her, show her I was there for her. I felt so disappointed with myself. It wasn’t fair, this wasn’t right. I was in pain both emotionally and physically. Every 12 hours the nurse would come and pack my wound. This basically meant that pieces of sterile gauze were literally inserted into my wound so that the outside would not heal before the inside. I wish this torturous pain on no one. It was difficult to stay positive. After four courses of antibiotics, numerous trips to the doctor’s, and with a few bumps along the way (the infection came back a couple of times), we made it. My wound is finally closed. Still healing. But closed.

Fast-forward to today. I think through this entire process, I could earn a medical certification. I don’t mean to sound egotistical but I’ve researched and asked a lot of questions to try and understand what happened. To understand what went wrong. The past three months have not been easy. Not for myself. Not for Matt. Not for Amia. Not for my family. After I was discharged from the hospital the second time it felt like we were starting back from square one. We had to try and re-establish ourselves. I was determined to still breastfeed. While I was away from Amia in the hospital, I would wake up every four hours to pump in order to maintain my milk supply. I’m not exaggerating when I say it felt like we were going through hell. A nurse would come in everyday to the house to pack my wound. I dreaded it every single time. I couldn’t bend. I couldn’t lift. I couldn’t shower. I felt dirty. Emotionally, I was a wreck not just because of my hormones, but because I was deeply suffering. No one warns you about the post-partum emotions (on a side note, I’d like to create some awareness regarding post-partum recovery). I felt helpless and useless. I would cry inconsolably to Matt. Partially because I was in pain but also because I felt like I had failed. Failed as an individual and as a mother. From someone who was independent to now having to depend on people to help me with the most simple of things was frustrating. I have learned to appreciate the littlest of things like taking a warm shower to the bigger things like seeing Pa hold down the fort. Truthfully speaking, Matt kept me going. He saw me at my worst and didn’t let me fall. He picked me up when I felt the most shattered. I was drained emotionally, mentally, and physically but he kept pushing me to be strong and reminded me to stay positive. I was ready to give-up breastfeeding, but he didn’t let me because he knew it was important to me. Because out of everything that I couldn’t do like lift my daughter or get up to change her diaper, I could feed her. Breastfeeding was our time together. As much as I was frustrated (I still get this way) with the whole breastfeeding concept, there was a small part of me that enjoyed it because I could do it without anyone helping me. So Pa, thank you. Your presence and love helped me get through this difficult phase and without you it would not have been possible. You are my true soulmate.

For my first post, I think I’ve said enough so I’m going to wrap this up. A gentle disclaimer: I didn’t sit down to write this post to seek attention or words of empathy. . Maybe somewhere, someone is struggling with a similar experience OR dealing with a situation where they feel like there is no end. Patience. My patience was truly tested through this ordeal. I have learned that with time and lots of patience there is light at the end of the tunnel. I have also learned the value of family and friends. During tough times you truly realize who steps up and shows up. I have learned who my support system is and that their love and concern has also helped me heal. Amia is growing beautifully. We have our moments of frustration but we get through it. I love her. Matt loves her. And she is loved by so many. Like I said before, I intend on writing more and my inspiration to write is my little warrior. Whether it be about Ma-hood or other aspects that interest me, I will start sharing my thoughts, so stay tuned. Until then, as I sign off, I leave you all with one small task: give your mother’s a big hug the next time you seem them. They do a lot for us. I get it now, Mom and I love you.

-Ma