Little L was six weeks yesterday, and so is my scar. I went to see my GP on Monday, and here is the verdict: Everything hunky dory, I can get pregnant again. Hooorray! Only kidding.
Six weeks of sitting on the sofa, stuffing my face with chocolates and ice cream – all with the excuse of having had a caesarean – have come to an end. In fact, I couldn’t move much right after surgery. But even though I could have been more mobile recently, I just haven’t upped my speed or the amount of moving around at all.
Little L was five weeks last Tuesday, and somehow it feels as if she’s been with us forever. Life without her is a distant memory and seems as long ago as a restful night. At the same time everything is still brand new and she surprises us every day with another trait of her personality shining through. I could gaze at her for hours and hours, feeling so blessed and lucky to have her. Of course, she is the most perfect, amazing, beautiful and smart little creature the world has ever seen, and I am almost bursting with pride. Vowing to respect her privacy, I have to fight against the urge to plaster this blogg with her pictures.
We are having a couple of exhausting days. Lots of screaming – or should I say shouting? barking? – as soon as I try to put little L down for only a second. The only thing that seems to sooth her is my nipple in her mouth, her little body clutched closely to my chest. We went from feeding every three to four hours to nonstop feeding. And as quickly as my sleep deprivation increases, my sanity goes out of the window with every new feed. Only a few weeks into little L’s life and I already feel like a failure. Why can’t I give her what she needs?
When you are about to have a baby, everybody is trying to warn you about sleep deprivation. But I didn’t really understand what they meant unless I got there. And maybe this is a good thing; as to me having very disrupted nights feels like constant torture, like someone hitting me constantly on my head.