meditations of a blueberry

Dear postpartum depression, You are not my friend. But I have come to realize that you are my constant companion. Not a welcomed companion, mind you, but a companion nonetheless. No matter what I do or say, you will be there. At what point do you cease to be postpartum depression and just become depression? Because if I'm being honest, you have always been there in some capacity since I was a teenager. Sometimes laying in wait for the perfect moment to show yourself again, letting me believe that you have gone and I have won. Sometimes hiding in the shadows, reaching out with your long fingers caressing my soul and whispering your evil little nothings. Sometimes screaming your lies in my face while your talons dig deep into my heart and mind. Sometimes I've been able to ignore or fight, and sometimes I've succumbed to your attempts to discourage and destroy me and needed someone to come help me fight you. But now, I've realized that you are alwa...

My body is not perfect. My skin is not tight and smooth. I have lumps and bumps in all the wrong places. My muscles do not make themselves known by sight alone.  My belly wiggles and jiggles when I move. I have rolls on my back and rolls on my belly. Thanks to my diastasis, my belly pouches out, likely making strangers wonder if I am currently pregnant. Even my breasts are not immune and due to aging and pregnancy, they are larger and no longer as perky as they once were. Stretch marks stretch across my belly like some sort of weird road map to nowhere, some of them still angry and red, some turned silvery. My hair has strands of silver and white peppered throughout it. No, my body is not "perfect." There are "rules" to having a perfect body, even a postpartum body, and mine does not follow them. It must be tight. It must have curves in all the right places and none in any of the "wrong" places. It must not show any signs of aging or any signs that a ...

My body is in a holding pattern. Six months later and my body is still very much postpartum. And why shouldn't it be? Six months ago my body was growing an 11 lb 6 oz baby. My fourth. My third large baby. Of course my body has not "bounced back." It shouldn't. And I shouldn't expect it to. My body has done an amazing thing. It has grown and nourished 4 babies. It has stretched to unbelievable sizes to accomodate large babies. It doesn't need to bounce back. It needs to be loved. It needs me to love it. This body is mine. It's not perfect but it's mine. It's a soft place to land for my kids. These strong arms lift up and fly my kids around the room. These legs carry my body about my day. This still round belly is the perfect place for the baby to snuggle into. Eventually I will heal my diastasis. I may or may not lose the weight. I may or may not fit into my smaller clothes. It doesn't matter. The future doesn't matter. I will not put my ...

When you are pregnant, you are not only adding a tiny human to your family. You are adding love and laughter and joy. You are adding anxiety and frustration and tears. You are adding moments of sunshine and moments of rain. But most of all, you are adding laundry. Yes, laundry. It is amazing how much laundry one tiny human produces. And if you don't keep up with it, if you let it go a few days without thinking about it, suddenly Mount Laundry becomes a new planet and you can't even find the washing machine because it is covered in tiny baby onesies and mismatched socks and muddy pants and underwear that makes you question if your child even wiped when they went to the bathroom that day. And then it becomes baskets upon baskets of clean laundry that require folding only to be unfolded when the bigs attempt to put their own laundry away and then worn again and the cycle repeats itself again. It's like Groundhog Day but with laundry. And while laundry does work just like t...

Yesterday marked 10 weeks since my sweet Miss A joined us earthside. 10 weeks of wonder at being the mama of baby girl. 10 weeks filled with bittersweet moments. 10 weeks filled with firsts. 10 weeks filled with lasts. Her first smiles were my last first smiles. Her first laughs were my last first laughs. Her first coos were my last first coos. It's a funny thing, this last experience of having a new baby. Even though my soul knows my family is complete, I feel an ache in the deepest depths of my being knowing that these are my last firsts. I find myself longing to experience those first slippery moments of newborn squish again or to feel those sweet kicks in my belly that only I felt. And yet, I do not actually want to be pregnant again. In no uncertain terms, my body says no. But then there are those moments where I feel The Ache. I've read about The Ache before (if you haven't, click here and do it --I'll wait). I've heard my friends who are past the baby stage...

Miss A is almost 7 weeks old. Last week, we had our final midwife appointment. It was  bittersweet. I've come to think of my midwife as a trusted friend. For over 4 years, she's been a part of my life and has seen me through some of my most vulnerable times. At my appointment, I got the glorious news that there are no signs of uterine prolapse. Hallulujah! But all is not good. My ab diastasis has worsened to the point of possibly requiring surgery. And I developed an umbilical hernia. Of course pregnancy couldn't just leave me with stretch marks and extra weight. But  suppose that's what happens when you grow an 11 lb 6 oz baby. Don't get me wrong. My body has done amazing things. It has grown, birthed, and nourished 4 beautiful children. It provides warm, soft hugs to those children when they are hurt and lifts them up when they fall down. It has carried those children when their legs get tired. It has stayed awake when it so desperately wanted to sleep to comfort...

After 5 pregnancies and 4 babies, I am well aware of how the body changes postpartum. My body grows large babies and stretches unbelievable amounts. I know that it takes months to lose the belly. How in the days immediately proceeding birth my body feels oddly empty as my organs begin to rearrange into their usual places. The way it takes weeks for the uterus to return to prepregnancy size. How weeks and even months post birth my ligaments are still loose from the effects of relaxin. How the postpartum hormones can make the mind crazy. It still manages to surprise me each time. 3 weeks ago, I started this postpartum journey for the last time. I am well aware that I'm postpartum, but for some reason, I keep forgetting. This birth just went so much better (birth story to come soon, I promise!) and my body literally feels 100 times better than it has felt after any of my previous births. Even my postpartum belly has gone down a lot faster than previously. Instead of looking 7 months ...

Sometimes I lay here in bed, basked in the sweet silence of a sleeping husband and baby, and reflect on my day. I try to be positive about it, but sometimes that negative mom guilt takes over and a parade of thoughts barrage into my brain. Did I yell too much? Did I feed them healthy enough food? Should we have gone outside more? Should I have played more with them? Was I present enough? Did I check my phone too much? Did I work too much? Did I worry about if the house was clean too much? Did I not clean enough? Did we laugh enough? Did we read enough? Did I tell them I love them enough? Was I enough?   It's hard, this mom thing. There's so much information out there about what you should do, what you have to do, what you musn't do, what you must never do, and most of it is conflicting. Do this, do that, but don't you dare even think about this (and if you do for heavens sake don't tell anyone). I wonder if my mom felt this much pressure when we were kids, or i...

I have a 31 year old and 11 weeks postpartum body. I have a body that carried a third baby for 9 months. I have a body that grew and birthed its second 10 pound plus baby. I have a body that is still healing from the effects of pregnancy. When I look in the mirror, I see exactly that--a postpartum body that just one year ago was much stronger and less squishy than it is now. Some days, I'm okay with that. Some days I can look in the mirror and say, "Wow! Look at what you have done!" When E asks why my belly is still big, I can smile and not be offended on these days. On these days, I can see the beauty in the changes. And then some days I need a reminder to be gentle with myself as I push at my still round tummy and that overwhelming feeling of "ickiness" starts to come over me. It's hard to see some of the changes that came with this last pregnancy--the angry looking red stretch marks that grew longer and darker, the abs that separated more, the weakness t...

How I've been feeling lately... Broken. I feel broken. Just a few short months ago, I felt strong. Able to do anything. A warrior. Today, I feel broken. Last week was not a great week in the blueberry household. We had a huge bill to fix our car, so huge that we've had to cancel a lot of plans for the summer (the Edmonton half included). And my week ended with an emotion filled doctor appointment that has me waiting for a lot of further testing. I wanted to crawl into a dark hole and never come out. Either that, or curl up with a huge bottle of red wine, chocolate chip cookies, and Dirty Dancing. Why do I feel broken? On top of my knee issues that I'm (still) dealing with, I have an ab diastasis. If you don't know what that is, it is when your abs separate (usually in pregnancy). It means that my core is incredibly weak and has caused my back to overcompensate. It has likely also contributed to my knee issues. Oh and, unless I am actively engaging my ...

I have two amazing and beautiful little boys. I have a husband who is supportive and loves me for who I am. I have family who loves me even though they know my worst traits. I have friends who stick by me and hold me up when I need it, even when I don't deserve it. By all measures, I should be the happiest girl in the world. But I'm not. And I don't know why. Don't get me wrong, there are moments when I am so utterly happy. Moments that the fog lifts and my world feels perfect. But they don't last. Soon enough, the fog returns, clouds darken my skies, and the moment ends. I find myself saying and doing things without thinking more often. My patience has grown so thin that the slightest transgression from my toddler has me losing it. I snap at my husband and friends for no reason. I feel so alone. And I hate it. If I'm being honest, I have been feeling this way for months. I've tried to bring it up with friends, but didn't want to face what they might...

My inspiration. I have boys. But that doesn't mean I don't need to worry about them having a healthy body image. I need to be a good role model for them. I need to show them that a woman does not need to be a size 6 in order to be beautiful. To do that, I can't be obsessed about my weight. I can't let them see me worrying about the extra bulges under my clothes or that I can't fit into those pre-wedding jeans. I can't let them hear me complain about the jiggly belly or stretch marks that pregnancy has left me with. I need to embrace my body so that they can one day embrace their wife's postpartum body. I need to remember that this jiggly belly produced two beautiful boys, and that one of them was over 10 pounds. I need to remember that though my breasts aren't as perky as they once were, they are making enough milk for a 19 pound three month old, and a two year old, with enough "left over" to donate to another baby! Over the 27 months I hav...