Week 1: The classic week for "The Baby Blues."
I woke up one minute after barely pushing myself into my parent's BMW, fighting off a severe contraction that sent me into a foreign dimension, to see my little peanut for the first time. He was the most beautiful thing. The undersized body parts were to die for. I was still processing the fact that I was a mother (which feels unreal.)
I was super keen to bring the baby home that I didn't take my first few days at the hospital for granted. My baby was being bathed, diaper changed, and nursed while I rested and ate. A VIP service. Plus, my room was a sea view. So imagine waking up early, the cool sun creating glistening highlights over the sea, drinking anise, and holding your milk drunken baby with the other hand. Talk about romanticizing the moment.
But getting back home was hard. I was clueless about everything and spent all my nights sleepless, which made me irritable, restless, and overwhelmed. At night, I cried to sleep, wondering what my life was now, and mostly worried about caring for my baby and returning to work if I could ever manage to balance. I was scared of my present and future altogether. But I'm still holding on. Hopefully forever.
Week 2: "I think I got the hang of it. I think. Help."
This week's news, brought to you by Moi, was rambling yet pretty sweet. For starters, for the "pretty sweet" part, I witnessed my husband meet our child for the first time, it was was very emotional. I have played that moment in my head many times that the actual one was still unexpected. Secondly, there was a point where I felt like I was handling it well, then a baby-related disaster stricks, and I call my mom at midnight for help. I was told there was an all-you-need baby checklist that you need to follow:
Feed.
Need to burp.
Change diaper.
Dealing with tummy troubles.
And if the baby still cries, another box to check off the list is the call for an older maternal figure to help out a new mom in crisis. Between sleepless nights and endless baby kisses and cuddles, the latter always wins. And following the famous proverb, "no pain, no gain," the start of the breastfeeding journey was no joke. Breast engorgement and nipple soreness were huge discomforts. It was like walking on a foot with a torn ligament, excruciating pain. But as an anonymous person once said, "I make milk. What's your superpower?"
Week 3: I'm bored.
The third week was moving slowly and ticking more toward the stillness status. I spent the days at home, encircled by four white walls and a window facing our neighbor's fat house, which was high enough to cover the sky, so much for a good view. Thoughts aside, most Arab women, especially new moms, spend their postpartum period in their mothers' households, where they are cared for and provided with quality time to adjust to the baby and rest. In addition to that, my mom likes to keep me held inside. Doing it the old-fashioned way, like her mother once did and the many mothers before them. I had to stay home at all times, not set foot in the outside world, eat postpartum-specific meals that were utterly not appealing (visually and flavorwise) because they helped clean the inner contents of the uterus after birth, and learn how to be a new mom to my baby.
It was like jail, but with a comfortable bed, a TV, and surrounded by loved ones who offered their help 24/7. However, I did get some fresh air as my husband offered to take me out on quick outings and errands to get a new reset.
Other than that, I was doing nursing chores on repeat. I was like a broken record. I fed, burped, changed diapers, and put the baby to sleep, mostly being put to sleep by my mother.
Week 4: The one with the baby fever.
Have you heard of playful aggression? If not, the term refers to aggressive behavior (e.g., the urge to squeeze, pinch, or bite) toward seeing something cute. This is exactly how I'm acting up with baby Rashid.
Thankfully, I'm at a point where I started to have control over my new life as a fresh mom. I love it. My take-home message is that: things do get better. We are both happy, adapting to our new roles as mother and baby and getting every chance to bond.
This week was spent mostly behind screens, watching Korean dramas and other movies, and went stroller hunting at Mothercare with my husband where we purchased a Yoyo stroller after receiving good recommendations about it. It’s so adorable it reminded me of my baby doll stroller with colors that look like ketchup and mustard. Though baby Rashid's stroller has nothing on my doll's condiment inspired colors.
Week 5: Let’s make-over.
They say a woman who finishes her "Nifas" is like a new bride. This is where a list of personal self-care errands is checked off. It was time to do things I couldn't do when I was pregnant, like a Morrocan bath and a hot stone massage while I finally lay on my belly.
I also unpacked and prepared a nursery corner for my baby at home (since I never had time to do so while pregnant). The unpacking part was challenging. I entered my apartment with clothes and tools displaced everywhere as if a bomb had sent everything off. Talk about a place that a man has settled in for too long. It turns into a man cave, where clutter is a rule. But I wouldn't entirely blame it on my husband since we're both taking the opportunity to renovate the apartment for us and our new little resident.
Week 6: Venturing ahead.
Recalling the times when I used to tell my patients to follow up on their 6-week postpartum checkup, I made an appointment to follow up with mine. I was told that the postpartum period would take more than six weeks. You'll need a whole year to recover, mentally and physically. Especially for a first-time mom, the pressure is real. You feel overwhelmed and need more time to venture ahead. Into my home without the help: my gorgeous mother and lovely sister. Despite the anxious thoughts for tomorrow, a baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankroll smaller, home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten, and the future worth living for.