How are you?

ascoves
3 days ago
5 min read

It's time

It’s time.

The sounds of labored breathing.

The beeps the heart monitor makes next to you.

The loudspeakers going off, yelling the words “CODE” and various numbers. You don’t know what any of it means.

The wheels squeaking slightly as they roll over the floors.

Nurses yawning.

Doctors whispering.

The smell of burnt coffee in a Styrofoam cup.

The ice cubes you’re allowed to chew on.

The pain.

The fear.

The anticipation.

The joy.

It’s time.

The baby’s coming.

Every woman’s story of labor is different. Some are humorous, with funny anecdotes about what the soon-to-be mother yelled at her husband, or how loopy the laughing gas made her. Some are scary. She almost didn’t make it. Some are heartbreaking. She didn’t. Some are beautiful. The tears when you finally get to see him or her for the first time. Does the baby look how you imagined? What color hair? Whose nose does the baby have? Listen to those little sounds. Look at those tiny fingers. Did the baby just smile? I swear the baby smiled. Wow. So little. So perfect.

You’re tired.

You’re in pain.

You’re bleeding.

You’re sore.

But look at what you did.

You did it, Mom.

You did it.

I hope you didn’t do it alone. I hope at least in that moment someone was there. I know I wasn’t alone that day. When I first held PJ in my arms, I couldn’t believe it. I was finally a mom. After years of wailing on the bathroom floor after another negative test. Years of praying. Years of hoping. It finally happened. I looked up at my husband.

“Do you want to hold him, Daddy?”

Our little family.

My little family.

I couldn’t have known then that one day I would be doing it alone. I couldn’t have known then that I wouldn’t just be a mom. I would be a single mom.

Sacrifices

The aftermath of having a child.

You sacrifice your sleep.

You sacrifice your body.

You sacrifice your mind.

You do it willingly.

You do it for your child.

I Thought I Was Dying.

I was struggling with intense dizzy spells, shaking as I fell asleep, an elevated heart rate, extreme weight gain. I used to drive to the grocery store to use their blood pressure cuff just to make sure I was okay. I was diagnosed with PPA a few months after my son was born. It most likely wouldn’t resolve until I stopped nursing, but formula is expensive. So I kept nursing. I nursed for hours, and then I drove to the store to make sure I was still alive.

I was.

But more importantly, my son was.

And that is all that mattered.

Scars

Sometimes my C-section scar still stings. Isn’t that interesting? Over six years since my abdomen was sliced open, and sometimes there is still pain. I know some women who say theirs hurts worse on a full moon. It’s not a jarring pain exactly, just a slight tug or dull ache. My scar is starting to fade nicely now. Although it’s surrounded by stretch marks.

When I was married, these scars didn’t bother me. I could learn to love them because they brought me PJ. I convinced myself that my husband could learn to love them for that same reason. The loose skin and extra weight gathered over the incision site could be beautiful for the parents of the child, right?

But what about other men?

How could they learn to find scars appealing that they didn’t benefit from?

I apologize for them now. Almost every time. I warn the men I date that there are permanent marks on my body that are anything but beautiful.

I’m sorry you have to see them.

I’m sorry I have them.

What an ugly sight you have to endure.

I often think about how my ex-husband never had to do this. He never had to apologize for his body on a date. No proof of a life lived with someone else. No scars. No physical reminders. No fear that the person you’re dating will leave you once they see how damaged, how hideous certain parts of you are.

Single Dads

You have a kid? That’s so cute.

You’re such a good dad.

That’s kind of hot.

Aw. You brought him to the park?

You’re so great.

He deserves a break. He does so much.

Look at this picture of him and his son! I’m in love.

His mom must be a bitch.

Single Moms

Used car.

Damaged goods.

Gold digger.

Whore.

Nasty woman.

She’s dating instead of taking care of her child.

What kind of mother are you?

She spent the entire weekend without her kid.

Living off her baby daddy’s income.

Pathetic.

Failure.

Slut.