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Week 1: Home

   Name (s): Alysse, Aly, babe, beautiful, and mommy (!!!) 
  State of mind: Clusterf***
  Hair: I would say messy bun, but not in the cute way...more in the "Holy hell what happened to you" way
  Fashion: compression knee high socks, shorts, depends diapers with overnight maxi pad insert, nursing tank top, and a tired bland expression.
  Reality: new mother

  First of all, I have to mention that when the nurse was discharging me and explaining what my mental state might be postpartum, I laughed. I began to regret it 4 miles from home as I start crying and couldn't stop. "You might experience the need to cry one moment and not the next." Welp, this was full on tears. Waterworks. The let down! 
  It wasn't pain either, at least not in the sense of physical pain. Sure, that was there, but this was, "I need my mommy and I need her now," kind of pain. And, when we pulled up into the drive, I saw her come out on the porch with her camera, I fucking lost it. I wanted this to be perfect for her, but mostly I just needed her. 
  As white boy tried to open my car door, I reached out and slammed it shut. I couldn't do this. My body was wracked with pain and so much emotion, I couldn't stand the thought of continuing this journey. But, in an instant, mom showed up...she embraced me and all the emotions that were pent up or didn't birth with the baby and placenta were coming out now. Hormones were leaking all over the place, and I just needed to be a baby again. I might have ruined her picture, perfect moment, but when I told her I was sorry her words of, "I'm not. I am here for you. You! I love our baby, but you are first my baby."
  After that, I was able to make it into the house that was my new normal...post pregnancy body and all.
  To say it has been a whirlwind, would be a vast understatement. A mother...me? God decided I was capable of being someone's mom. Ha! I still find the whole thing absurd and laughable, but He didn't...obviously. And now, here we are.
  One thing I have learned for sure is this: what ever pre-conceived idea I had before Owen showed up either left the building or I threw out as fast as I could. This shit is hard and not romantic. There is nothing romantic about sleeplessness and frustration while holding a human that was birthed 5 days back. Nothing. Nothing glorious...nothing glamorous, and everything I imagined to be the right or most perfect way was a joke...and perhaps the universe is laughing at me now. 
  Take breastfeeding. Nature's sure sign that you are a mother. Right? I mean all of nature does it.  Something I have decided long time back if I ever had kids, I would do. I mean, I have been spouting the notion of money saver breastfeeding practices since I found out I was pregnant. Well, let me just say this shit is whack. And so damn hard. I had one breast that eeked out colostrum and one that was behind, a hungry, screaming, tired newborn who couldn't figure out how to latch, nipples that are on the smaller side, and patience that was wearing so very thin. What to do?
  My mother, God truly bless her, sat up with me and watched me struggle. No. Helped me in my struggle. She watched as I took Owen in the football hold, the cradle hold, the backwards-upside-twisted-one leg up-hold... just to get him to latch as I squirted sugar water down his throat. Nothing was working. Nothing. I was defeated.      
  Wits end was reached. 
  So, I gave in. I went rummaging in the back room and found a can of sample formula that was sent to me in the mail. I searched the other room for a bottle and found one in the pumping box. I had more. Lots more, but I donated them. I wasn't going to need them. I was wrong. And, in an instant, I had a quiet baby. 5 hours. 5 bloody hell raising hours of his screams were satiated in an instant. And I felt defeated. 
  I have had many friends breastfeed and many friends not. I have had many friends who couldn't breastfeed and many friends who didn't want to...and I compared myself to all of them. All at once, I was them. I am them. And I struggle with the defeat. I have had support from my mother, my husband, and very close friends and family. I have come to no conclusion except this: my son will be okay; I will be okay; all will be okay. And dammit...he will not starve! 
  We are finding our place. We are struggling, but we are surviving. I couldn't do it with a more wonderful man at my side. Covid has definitely put major dampers in our daily life and who we see and the fact that we are pretty much quarantined, but we are surviving. 
  Struggles? Galore! Regrets? None. At least no glaring ones. All in all, week 1 has been an eye-opening, life-altering, mind-numbing helluva ride. Ready for the next week...and the next...and the next.
  

  

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