Growth Spurts

Our family went through a giant growth spurt last Wednesday. We grew from three to four, of course, when Milo was born. I sensed, the next morning as the sun came out for Milo's first full day, that our family story had not only added another chapter, but that all the other chapters before would have new meaning when we looked back. I thought about the common memories my sisters and I have that have turned into family lore, as well as all the stories we heard about our parents' families growing up together. I felt great joy that my family had expanded and that Isaiah and Milo would soon have their own common memories.

It also seemed as if Isaiah suddenly got taller, smarter, and more independent the day his little brother was born. His legs look longer, his feet so big. He can now get up on our bed all by himself when he wants to see his little brother. He is talking up a storm -- more than usual -- and riding his little car around the house pretending he is visiting various places that he knows.

My growth spurt was less tangible, but no less immediate and raw. It was born out of that roller coaster of post-partum hormonal weeping that occurs when a mother's milk comes in. It began with tears over the fact that I wasn't pregnant anymore. I never thought I would miss being pregnant, but I kept so busy up until Milo's birth, that I never got time to be sick of it like I had with Isaiah. And actually, I had made a decision not to be sick of it when I went on partial bedrest back in January. At that time, my midwife had said, "You need to figure out what the universe and your body are trying to tell you." I decided then that I needed to be thankful for the pregnancy, and to cherish it. That made it harder when I looked down at my belly the morning after Milo was born and saw that it had shrunk even from the night before. Stepping on the scale and seeing such a low number never felt so bad.

Mourning over the pregnancy led me to mourn all the other things I seemed to be losing even as I gained a precious son. I would no longer have my wonderful prenatal visits with the midwives. I would no longer need to listen to my hypnobirthing c.d. which put me in such a deep state of relaxation. I would no longer be visualizing the perfect birth at home. And, the kicker: my amazing journey through Laborland, culminating with the birth of Milo into the water and those sweet sweet first hours he spent with us, was over and could never happen again.

I felt these things so heavily in the days after he was born, that I feared when I saw Rachel on Monday for my five day post-partum visit that I would just cry through the whole thing. Instead, I remembered what she had said about figuring out what the message was for me in this experience.

I realized that there are few things in my life that are sacred and nurturing to my spirit because I don't make an effort to seek them out. Both of my pregnancies gave me the perfect opportunity to take time for myself to reflect and focus on what is really important in my life, but in between I fell back into old patterns of living. This time I want to try to continue on this road of connection. Some people go to church for this, but I don't feel church calling me. I'm going to start gong to La Leche League meetings and try out the Mother's Support Network, both of which tend to attract people who are conscious and mindful of their childrearing and social responsibilities.

And hopefully, by connecting with other mommies, I can keep the spirit and power of the amazing birth of my second child, Milo, in my life. Thank you so so much, little one.