Meanwhile, as you’re holding this new and wrinkled stranger, there could still be quite a bit of activity happening downstairs and this could be the first time you notice just how many people are looking up your birth canal. It seems perfectly normal and necessary during labour, with one person whipping away a tray of your own faeces and another commenting on your perineum, but it seems less normal when the baby is out and you’re trying to have a special moment while someone cups your crotch.
You will eventually make it to your hospital room and you’ll realise you’ve got some healing to do.
Giving birth is rough but the bodily sacrifice doesn’t end when the baby comes out.
Your poor old fanny is unhappy. She’s swollen, she’s sore and she’s not okay with what just happened.
Ask for ice. You’re going to need it. Ice is lovely down there. Make sure the nurses are aware of your need for All The Ice. Cubes probably aren’t ideal, but a nice ice block will soothe her woes. A lovely frozen condom will also do the trick. Ironic, isn’t it? Using a condom down there … at this moment … right now?
Those stitches are bitches as well. Ask ALL the questions on how to care for them while you’re in hospital. Write it down if you have to.
Drugs are wonderful. Don’t be a hero. It’s not fun to be groaning in pain every time you pick up your baby. Take as much as they’ll allow you to take and remind them frequently that you need more. Cosy up to a good nurse and see how much they’ll let you take home.
Take this from me: it’s easier to bond with your baby when you’re not in agony. If you want rosy memories of your first days and weeks as a mum, it’s not going to help if you’re wincing every time you move.
Then there’s the blood. Technically it’s called lochia, which means ‘relating to birth’—which is cute, considering it’s like a bad period that lasts for about six weeks and can drop out in chunks. When I say chunks, I mean quivering masses of tissue the size and shape of a lemon, just popping out of your vag into the shower drain like it’s totally okay and you’re not bleeding to death at all.
Those maternity pads are the real deal, by the way. Sure, you’ll feel like you’re wearing a small nappy but so is your baby, so #twinning! Keep wearing them long after the bleeding has stopped because the bleeding can restart with a vengeance. It’s not enjoyable to start haemorrhaging down your bare legs in the middle of Big W when you’ve got a trolley full of stuff and a baby strapped to your chest. Or so I’ve heard.
The bleeding will still happen even if you have a caesarean, so you can’t escape it, my love. No way, no how.
Let’s not forget the afterbirth contractions, which are straight-up cruelty. Birth contractions give you a baby, so at least there’s a reward for them. After-birth contractions happen as your uterus shrinks back down, and they can be just as strong, but the only reward is a punch to the guts.
They get worse with each child. Just so you know.
Then there’s the possibility—wait, probability—that you’ll wet yourself in the days following birth. Your poor old bladder has seen better days and your pelvic floor has a massive sinkhole right in the middle, so pissing yourself is a pretty likely outcome. No big deal, dear; if you’re wearing those surfboard pads, you should be right.
Pooing yourself is also something that could happen. But some might say a spontaneous and unplanned poo is preferable to having to push it out with force. That first post-birth poo is something you’ll never forget. Don’t be shy about taking all the stool softeners you can get your hands on. It’s best you get used to talking about poo anyway. Poo is your life now.
The hardest thing about recovering from a vaginal birth is just how crucial that whole area is.
Your minced-meat crotch is like a Jane Doe trauma victim who can’t even be identified by her loved ones because the damage has left her hideously deformed and unrecognisable. But old Ground Zero still needs to get up and wee and poo and hold your organs in; she needs to be sat on, walked around with and just generally put to work immediately. It seems so unfair.
On top of this, the whole area will feel crusty and dirty. The blood, the stitches, the wee and poo and did I mention the blood? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it’s a whole lot to deal with ON TOP of the brand-new person in your life that needs to be fed and cared for. You don’t even get half a day to feel sorry for yourself.
Recovery from birth can take a couple of days or it can take a couple of months. Or longer. Just because you see some mums striding along with their one week old in the pram, it doesn’t mean that will be possible for everyone.
For some women, every time they stand up their reproductive organs will settle onto their pelvic floor like a bowling ball sinking through a defective hammock, threatening to fall straight through. When you’ve got nothing but a battered and bruised cooch, stitched together with string, holding the whole show together, it’s painful. Really painful.
The poor old pet is going take some time to resemble herself. She’s going to be different for a little while. My friend Kerrie called her vagina The Predator because she’s a poet like that. Take it easy on yourself.