If you have just stumbled across my blog and don't know what the heck I'm writing about: I started to tell my daughter Adeline's birth story and it ended up that I had waaaaay more to write than I had previously thought. I decided to present it as several consecutive posts which you can find here: Part I, Part II, Part III, and Part IV. Thank you to anyone who took the time to read my story. I'm so happy I finally got around to telling it. xo, Ariel
So...the home-birth with Addie didn’t work out the way I thought it would. The complete OPPOSITE way in fact. I struggled with that for a long time—probably the first five or six months of her life. By then there was so much more time I'd experienced the real Addie--not some abstract baby I could barely picture during my nine months of pregnancy, nor the comparatively short thirty-five hours I was in labor with her. The insane, no-sleep newborn months were behind us; and Addie was now laughing, sitting up, eating solid food and sleeping through the night. I think it was by that point that I realized I was no longer depressed.
It bothered me a little when I would share my birth story and (totally well-meaning) people would say, “Well, all that mattered was that you and the baby came out healthy.”
Yeah, that is all that mattered in the grand scheme of things. Six months down the line with a little perspective in my pocket, I would whole-heartedly agree with that statement. I was very grateful that she was healthy, but sometimes it felt like my sadness was disqualified or inappropriate. I know in hindsight that I had post-partum depression which no doubt amplified my feelings toward the traumatic labor and birth. I didn’t talk about my depression with my midwife or a therapist (which I regret), but the daily heaviness I felt bearing down on me gradually faded away. So many women experience PPD though, and now I always encourage anyone to see a doctor immediately rather than waiting for it to go away like I did.
6 months old
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Addie’s birth gave me two incredible gifts: herself (certainly!), and for the first time in my life, acutely instilled in me the fact that I cannot control certain circumstances in my life. Shit happens, even when we don't want it to. I could have told you this before she was born, but I didn’t really accept it myself. In the case of my pregnancy and labor, I did EVERYTHING in my power to make sure it went a certain way (even turning my baby around by force when she was so obviously comfortable in breech position) and then it went the polar opposite direction anyways. I used to beat myself up for the way things turned out--crying, agonizing over what I could have done differently, apologizing in long letters I wrote to Addie.
Then for whatever unknown reason (enough time?), it became clear to me: it wasn’t my fault.
If I could not control it, I certainly could not have caused it.
I hear this statement All. The. Time. in meetings but I never really applied it to myself. I had always believed that if I worked hard and exerted my will strongly enough, I would get my desired results. That it took me twenty-four years to learn this was simply not the case was...well...I guess I'm a slow learner.
The two most important lessons I've learned directly from Adeline's birth that have helped me to live a happier life:
-the only part of life I can control are my own actions and reactions
-accept life on life's terms
her first birthday
I know this post may read as super-cheesy but what can I say? Becoming a first-time mother profoundly changed my outlook on life. I'm still learning new things about myself every day I spend with her, and for that, I'm so happy there is no ending to this tale. :)
