Alien being

Here I am with a beautiful daughter, a wonderful husband, and an invasion of the body snatchers. I no longer looked like me, and now I was physically incapable of moving like me. Where did the dancer-me go...my hips refused to shake, my legs couldn't move one in front of the other, and my feet needed to be surgically removed from the pain. I stopped trying to figure out if the tears came from emotions or physical hurt.

I started explaining to those around me that I wasn't well - in a not so obvious manner. I slowly hinted at unfathomable feelings and stresses and tried to explain my physical inadequacies to my husband and family - even some of my friends. Some responded positively with recovery is slow, and you'll feel back to normal soon. Others patted my shoulder and said poor dear. And then there were a few who impolitely snorted.

Everday I woke up with my little lovely and smiled. I maneauvered myself with boppy on lap and baby latched and kept my eyes closed imagining blue oceans and warm breezes instead of searing flashes of pain and saddness. As long as she was happy and content I could hold on to my vision. But as all babies thrive there are good and bad days.

Those days and nights of crying and fussing with spitting up and red faced screaming were getting more difficult. My husband would offer to take her and rock her back to sleep, but I was insistent that I could be a good mom and settle her down. Sometimes I succeeded and was rewarded with baby snoring and contented sighs. Then I would collapse exhausted and worn, praying all the while that she would rest long enough for me to recover. Other times I would put my head down and hand over the squalling bundle in defeat. I swore she hated me already.

Getting out of bed at night to change her diapers or retrieve her from the bassinet became more difficult each night. We developed a routine of hubby getting her changed and handing her to me for feeding. I was lucky and blessed. When I couldn't get her back into the bassinet she would sleep in the crook of my arm. Even with the amazing help, inevitably the water I drank to keep hydrated while nursing had to release, and the trek down the hall, down the stairs and through the house to the one and only bathroom became a chore. Sometimes I would barely make it to the bathroom in time. Some trips I would have to crawl down the stairs because I couldn't put any pressure on my feet. I startde letting my husband sleep thru the changing and feedings since I had to move anyway to get to the bathroom. In my head it was senseless to wake him up if I had to get out of bed anyway. That was foolish.

My exhaustion was building.