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So much to reflect on, thank you for inviting (triggering, a bit?) my own memories and experiences giving birth and in the days after. I've told my girls about how in the 5 years between having my first and my last, maternity wear had finally evolved. I went from wearing tent like clothing that was somehow still styled for a toddler (one dress had little boats on it) to wearing grown woman clothing that fit and celebrated my body. I remember also just saying to myself (and those close to me) that "no one told me" about all the fluids leaking from so many places, the full body takedown when my milk came in, the drama of my uterus returning to it's normal location (at one point, after having my first, my uterus apparently was MIA - I swear they even had the janitor come in to see if he could find it). It was a very strange time - isolating in a profound way (me inside a body that was behaving so unpredictably, with no one helping me understand or being on my side), and celebratory (all the happiness - a baby girl!, a big sister!, everything went well!). With my daughters at the ages where they could embark on this journey, I have so much to remember and keep present in my mind. Congratulations on beautiful Hayes! And thank you for such a moving piece.
Lisa, this entire comment is a gift. The boats dress! The missing uterus! The janitor! I'm laughing and crying at the same time because it's absurd and also completely real.
That phrase "no one told me" I hear over and over from women. And it's not just that no one told us, it's that we're actively kept from knowing. As if the information itself is somehow inappropriate, when what's actually inappropriate is sending women into one of the most profound physical experiences of their lives completely unprepared.
And you've named something so important: that isolation inside a body behaving unpredictably with no one on your side, happening simultaneously with all the celebration and joy. Both things true at once. That's what we need to be able to hold and honor for our daughters.
Thank you for trusting me with these memories. And for being the kind of mother who will keep them present so your daughters don't have to say "no one told me."
I’m so moved by this piece. I am reminded of my corporate days as a new mother hearing from my boss that someone had complained about me leaving my pumped breastmilk in the refrigerator, even though it was in a small bag. I’m sorry I was trying to keep my baby alive and that inconvenienced anyone grabbing their lunch.
Congratulations on the new joy in your family. Your daughter is so lucky to have you.
Tara, this made my heart hurt. The absurdity of someone complaining about milk for your baby being in a refrigerator - as if feeding your child was an imposition on their lunch hour. The audacity of that complaint, and the fact that your boss thought it warranted passing along to you.
This is exactly what I'm talking about - how we're expected to keep all evidence of our bodies, our babies, our actual lives tucked away so no one has to be reminded that we're human.
Thank you for sharing this. And for doing what you needed to do to keep your baby alive, regardless of who it inconvenienced.
What a true and amazing piece! We are trying to progress…marry the beauty and the struggle of birthing. In our so-called “modern” society, it is two steps forward, one step back…a kind of crawl. But the beauty of birth, babies and life, still shines in a new mother’s eyes. Congratulation on your beautiful new grandbaby!
Thank you for this - "marry the beauty and the struggle" is exactly it. We've spent so long either romanticizing birth into something ethereal or medicalizing it into something clinical, when the truth is it's both magnificent and hard, transcendent and messy. The fact that we're even having this conversation, that we're insisting both things can be true at once, feels like progress worth celebrating.
And yes! That shine in a new mother's eyes. I saw it in my daughter's face just days ago. It's ancient and brand new all at once.
So much to reflect on, thank you for inviting (triggering, a bit?) my own memories and experiences giving birth and in the days after. I've told my girls about how in the 5 years between having my first and my last, maternity wear had finally evolved. I went from wearing tent like clothing that was somehow still styled for a toddler (one dress had little boats on it) to wearing grown woman clothing that fit and celebrated my body. I remember also just saying to myself (and those close to me) that "no one told me" about all the fluids leaking from so many places, the full body takedown when my milk came in, the drama of my uterus returning to it's normal location (at one point, after having my first, my uterus apparently was MIA - I swear they even had the janitor come in to see if he could find it). It was a very strange time - isolating in a profound way (me inside a body that was behaving so unpredictably, with no one helping me understand or being on my side), and celebratory (all the happiness - a baby girl!, a big sister!, everything went well!). With my daughters at the ages where they could embark on this journey, I have so much to remember and keep present in my mind. Congratulations on beautiful Hayes! And thank you for such a moving piece.
Lisa, this entire comment is a gift. The boats dress! The missing uterus! The janitor! I'm laughing and crying at the same time because it's absurd and also completely real.
That phrase "no one told me" I hear over and over from women. And it's not just that no one told us, it's that we're actively kept from knowing. As if the information itself is somehow inappropriate, when what's actually inappropriate is sending women into one of the most profound physical experiences of their lives completely unprepared.
And you've named something so important: that isolation inside a body behaving unpredictably with no one on your side, happening simultaneously with all the celebration and joy. Both things true at once. That's what we need to be able to hold and honor for our daughters.
Thank you for trusting me with these memories. And for being the kind of mother who will keep them present so your daughters don't have to say "no one told me."
Okay, now I'm crying. Thank you, my friend! Your words are such a salve.
I'm so glad, Lisa. This is exactly why we tell these stories. 💛
Yes to this! Let the blood show, it’s our badge of honor ❤️
YES! That's exactly it, Angela - a badge of honor, not something to hide or sanitize or apologize for. We earned every drop. ❤️
I’m so moved by this piece. I am reminded of my corporate days as a new mother hearing from my boss that someone had complained about me leaving my pumped breastmilk in the refrigerator, even though it was in a small bag. I’m sorry I was trying to keep my baby alive and that inconvenienced anyone grabbing their lunch.
Congratulations on the new joy in your family. Your daughter is so lucky to have you.
Tara, this made my heart hurt. The absurdity of someone complaining about milk for your baby being in a refrigerator - as if feeding your child was an imposition on their lunch hour. The audacity of that complaint, and the fact that your boss thought it warranted passing along to you.
This is exactly what I'm talking about - how we're expected to keep all evidence of our bodies, our babies, our actual lives tucked away so no one has to be reminded that we're human.
Thank you for sharing this. And for doing what you needed to do to keep your baby alive, regardless of who it inconvenienced.
What a true and amazing piece! We are trying to progress…marry the beauty and the struggle of birthing. In our so-called “modern” society, it is two steps forward, one step back…a kind of crawl. But the beauty of birth, babies and life, still shines in a new mother’s eyes. Congratulation on your beautiful new grandbaby!
Thank you for this - "marry the beauty and the struggle" is exactly it. We've spent so long either romanticizing birth into something ethereal or medicalizing it into something clinical, when the truth is it's both magnificent and hard, transcendent and messy. The fact that we're even having this conversation, that we're insisting both things can be true at once, feels like progress worth celebrating.
And yes! That shine in a new mother's eyes. I saw it in my daughter's face just days ago. It's ancient and brand new all at once.