I’ve never been one to keep track of dates. Important reminders like Thanksgiving being the fourth Thursday of November or the fact that New Year’s Day is just a week after Christmas slip my mind like water through a sieve. If you know when the Harvest Moon rises or when Daylight Saving Time begins, you might just be a calendar enthusiast or perhaps have a bit of Nostradamus in you. Without my digital alerts, I’d be oblivious to birthdays, anniversaries, and those infamous giveaways on talk shows. Yet, there’s one date etched in my memory after three pregnancies in three years: the six-week postpartum checkup.
This is the appointment where your OB-GYN scrutinizes your most intimate areas under an unforgiving light while casually firing off questions about your mental state, like how many times you’ve stumbled down the stairs in a delirious haze or how closely you relate to horror films. As you subtly hint at a prescription for Tylenol PM for Infants, your doctor beams with congratulations for your new arrival, then delivers the unexpected line that you’re absolutely unprepared for: “You can start having sex again.”
In that moment, your “Gone Fishin’” sign is ripped away. It’s like your body has been hit with a tidal wave of reality. If this visit comes after the birth of your first child, your partner is likely there, beaming as if he just won the lottery. However, his joy quickly transforms to concern as he witnesses your descent through The Five Stages of Grief, all while you’re still in the most uncomfortable position imaginable.
Denial
“I think there’s been a mistake. I just gave birth to a human being! Look, there she is—she literally tore through my body like a Trojan Horse. Are you sure you’re a real doctor?”
Anger
“Why am I even here? A colleague told me I’d be receiving happy pills today, not be told to engage in bedroom activities with… (subtle nod towards your partner). And can I please have my underwear back?”
Bargaining
“Okay, let’s negotiate. You ease up on those stitches, and I’ll recommend you to all my friends with yeast infections. Deal?”
Depression
Silence envelops this stage as you contemplate the fact that even your few moments for a shower and a status update on social media have been snatched away.
Acceptance
You slowly nod, shifting your gaze between the doctor, the baby, and your husband, realizing they’re all conspiring against your personal anatomy and your sanity.
When you finally leave the office, you might still be wearing the oversized maxi pads you pilfered from the hospital, trudging away with a defeated gait. Your husband, however, seems buoyant, likely humming something sultry by Marvin Gaye.
At this point, the calendar resurfaces in your mind. No matter the day of your postpartum check—whether it’s a Tuesday in May or a Friday in December—that date may as well be etched on your tombstone. This is the day you feel like a part of you has died. Friends and family will solemnly reflect on your struggles: the sleepless nights, the unkempt appearance, the stretchy pants, and the cereal-based diet. All of this while your doctor cheerfully declares you ready for sex and exercise. It’s enough to break anyone.
A nurse once warned me about this six-week postpartum window, a time when colic peaks, postpartum depression rears its ugly head, and the casseroles and help from loved ones begin to dwindle. The pressure intensifies when your partner’s affection turns into longing glances that you simply can’t reciprocate right now. It’s not that you don’t love him or appreciate his support; it’s just that your body feels like it’s been through a war zone. Your hormones are in chaos, nursing has left your erogenous zones feeling neglected, and the thought of lying down without falling into a deep sleep seems impossible.
But alas, if you continue to dodge those advances, he might start to suspect you’re off to join a convent. Deep down, you know that reconnecting could help you feel a bit more like your old self. You’ve navigated pregnancy and childbirth without any casualties, so perhaps there’s hope for a similar outcome in the bedroom. After all, isn’t marriage about compromise and taking leaps of faith?
But it’s totally reasonable to say that sweatpants are here to stay—for now.
For more insights on navigating motherhood, check out this blog post and consider exploring this reputable retailer for at-home insemination kits. If you’re looking for comprehensive information on pregnancy and home insemination, March of Dimes is an excellent resource.
In summary, the postpartum experience is a challenging yet transformative journey, filled with emotional highs and lows. Embracing this phase with humor and understanding can make the path a little smoother.
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