TMI? GUILTY AS CHARGED

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Stitches?

Hours of labour?

Complications?

Is it necessary to share with the world, literally, the ins and outs?

Have you discussed your labour with a complete stranger?

In minute blow by blow details?

Does anyone know how that little firecracker was conceived? Did you go there?

Have you been on the receiving end of this?

Did you drift to a vacant stare, wildly blinking to pull yourself back to the moment?

Or were you genuinely enthralled?

Maybe you are you a polite head shaker, just waiting for your chance to explain that your story was so much better/worse?

I admit it.

I am a talker.

I am a sharer.

But is this OK?

I say…HELL, YES!!!

Recently I shared a post about my experiences. I cried writing it and I received so many incredible responses from many women keen to share their stories. You see, giving birth is the most incredible thing I have ever done. It was also the most terrifying and the most painful. Apologies if you are awaiting the big day and don’t want to hear this, but sorry, my love. It hurts. It hurts like a bitch. But you will get through it. And I pray with every ounce of my being that you will have a beautiful, little baby in your wide open arms and heart…and legs…yes, sister…breathe…just breathe…

After the birth of my first, I saw women everywhere on the street with children and I was astounded.

She did it.

She did it.

She did it, too.

It all felt so secret cone of silence stuff. But I NEEDED to talk.

It didn’t go to plan. Mind you, my birth plan was to sneeze and walah! But, truly, that little man turned my world upside down. Poo, pain, mucus and nipples, became our regular dinner conversation. I wanted to make eye contact and chat to strangers at the park, the clinic, the supermarket; as I clutched my poo and vomit machine closer. I felt cheated that I had just experienced the most amazingly,traumatic moment of my life, and yet I was meant to just drift away into ‘mummy mode’; euphoric and saintly, composed and sweetly slipping silently into my new role.

Good Lord.

I slipped nowhere except back to the loo to check the damage….again!!!

How the hell would these ‘bits’ ever function again normally in my lifetime?

Luckily for me, I had a great network. Friends and family heard my story; and then heard it again. Slowly, slowly, I didn’t feel the need to explain to the telemarketer that I couldn’t talk because I had recently given birth. Finally, I began to believe that my nipples might actually remain attached. Husband began to appeal more to me than just another set of hands and I didn’t cry real tears when the dishwasher failed to turn on properly overnight.

Life slowly became ‘life’ again.

In short…

If it helps? If you’re normally a ‘talker’?

TALK!

Talk to your midwives, your midwives, your maternal health nurse, your GP.

Talk to your mum, your sister, your girlfriend.

Talk to your partner.

Hell, talk to the no name pharmacist if s/he has one of those friendly faces.

Talk to them all again.

Talk until you feel ‘purged’, or a little more at peace with being a mum.

And maybe, one day, you will feel weirdly excited at perhaps the thought of having another. Shit scared of course, because now you ‘know’, but brave enough to start the conversation. Hopeful and excited.

Next thing, your little baby will turn 3 and you know that your body is back to ‘normal’ and there will be no more night feeds or ‘up the backer’ nappies or ninja stealth, carpet crawl, bedroom exits. I miss those milk drunk eyes and the first steps and the cute onesies, but oh am I ready for the next part…I think…

So far, so good(‘ish), guys.

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