motherhood

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POSTPARTUM: The Trimester That Knocks You On Your Ass ~ Guest Post

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But in all seriousness, what I could really use was a shower.

The kind with warm water and soap.

In the weeks following the birth of my child.

By myself.

For longer than 90 frantic seconds while an infant in a bassinet on the floor next to the toilet wails and makes me cry and leak all at the same time until I step out of said shower dripping wet to pick the infant up and put her to my breast before sitting on the lid of the toilet, still crying, with my still-slippery-soapy body getting suds all over the place.

Dear Jack

My Jack,

It’s hard to believe that six years ago I was being admitted to the hospital to prepare to welcome you into this world. All five pounds of YOU. Our little bundle born in a cozy Auckland hospital room, who took your first steps in our little bungalow in Highland Park, had your first swim in the salty seas and have taken more airplane rides than many. One of your first words was ‘guitar’ [dee-ta] and you’ve loved music since the womb.