The day after Silas' birth I drew a hot bath and closed the bathroom door. I poured an herbal healing tea into the water and just started sobbing. I cried because I was in the physical space of his birth and was overwhelmed by the magnitude of what we had just done. I cried because for the first time in nine months I was completely alone in a room. I mourned the end of my pregnancy and with it the feeling of mastery that I had gained in regards to my physical being and actions. I cried because I saw in the mirror a body that I didn't recognize. Not the beautiful fullness that had come on gradually that I had nurtured and thought was perfect, but also not the pre-pregnancy body that I had comfortably known for so many years. I had expected the postpartum period to be filled with tears, I just didn't think they would be own. But, they were good tears. Cleansing tears.
It's so easy to feel lost. To feel as if I spend a majority of my time nursing my child and the two hours in between just waiting for the next feeding. But, Silas and I are slowly finding a rhythm to our days. My focus is to allow this time to be what it is. To not feel as if I'm not doing enough or that I should be doing anything at all. To just allow this time when I have a babe in arms to be just that. It's a challenge, though.