I'm Wilma. Girl. No dragon tattoo. I love theatre, fashion, music that makes me orgasm and taking pictures. I have split myself between three places (London-Stockholm-Tallinn), but my current hub is Tallinn. Wherever my circus goes, there's always a party. If the party does end, I watch cat videos and blog about it all. Check out my yearly summaries below to get to know me a bit better. Header: Mandel Photography

If you have any questions: hemafruu@gmail.com.

Sunday, December 26, 2021

3/3 Post-partum tantrum

Now it's time for
 How I acclimated of being alive after all that was

I avoid talking about being a mum, because it is not what defines me. It might come as a shock, but my kid is not the most important part in my life, I am. 

By no means I was ready for my bizarre postpartum experience. 
Since until the very last minutes, even seconds, I was hesitant that I will actually see my living baby and experience being a mom. It's a IVF thing, that only fellow lab mice understand. 
Uncontrolled pregnancy, uncontrolled labor, accompanied by uncontrolled feelings afterwards.

The stigma of “how you should be feeling”

The breastfeeding horror (look chapter 2/3) was like gasoline for my already unmanageable chaos. Flopping my boob out, so that others could evaluate how good of a mom I was. The whole discourse of "Breastfeeding is best" (read with psychedelic sect voice) was horrible. Breastfeeding debacle spoiler alert: I'm still breastfeeding, but it's a miracle that I didn't quit.

Pebbles cried two months straight at first. Oh dear lord, how sweet it is to use the past tense in the previous sentence. 
Sleep derivation, mastitis with 40°C fewer. 
I felt like I wanted to throw her against the wall. I regretted having a baby. I called Fred to work hysterically crying. 
Guilty. Insecure.

Instead of healing from a huge trauma, I entered into a another one.

Unabashed visits to the therapist

My therapists saved me helped me to save myself. No need to go to detail, but she will always be one call or email away. 
After the healthcare system gave me loads of anecdotal information, I got guidance and opinions I needed. 

She asked me to continue my "One picture a day" blog posts, so that I could see that after a terrible day a better one appeared.

Waltzed through my home, fixed all my problems. 

Or actually no. But I did come out from a very dark hole. After two months of hell, we lucked out with Pebbles being a very very very chilled baby that sleeps a lot, 
cries  little and is just very cute, which has made my experience easier. 

Oh, I went back to work, when Pebbles was four months old. That helped to diminish the depression, since problems started when I was only a mom and nothing else.  
I truly dislike the narrative of maternity leave being a vacation or saviour of the reality. Being alone with the baby 8 hours straight is very overwhelming,
I feel burnt out at the end of the day, difficult to maintain patience. 

The routine. Taking myself back.

We are very strict with routine, 7PM Pebbles goes to sleep so that Wilma & Fred can have their time together. Talk. Cuddle. Be silent. Whatever is needed. 
Yes, I am very much in love. Yes, Fred is my Johannes to my Alma.

Now Fred takes Pebbles in the mornings and is home-officing as she is crawling around. He let's me sleep until his first Zoom call at 10AM, just when Pebbles takes his first nap. It is very important to me that I have never ever missed a shower since giving birth to Pebbles. Not making sacrifices has given me balance.

At first, I was pressuring myself to be a superhero that vacuums, cooks, works out and *insert housewife bullshit here*. It has helped my mental health that our house overall is clean, has always been that way. We don’t have shit lying around, because babies actually don’t need anything besides some loving (although the baby companies’ marketing department think differently). Also we hired help to clean the house every now and then.

Not giving any advice to others

Every journey is very personal.  No matter what choice you’re making, it’s not the right one in somebody else’s eyes. You can research so much stuff and not be any clearer about the topic. 
If you are not feeling happy, and are experiencing anxiety or losing control. If you are basically struggling, it’s completely understandable. There’s help around that.

Whatever you do, please keep your support system (if you have one) close. Kiss, hug and have sex (if you feel like it, after your vagina fell under a train) with you significant other. 
Your relationship comes before the baby, the latter will benefit from it.
*look at me ignoring all the single parents out there. also, I promised not to give advice, but I still did*

My body looks more or less like it did pre-pregnancy, there’s just a crooked C-section “smiley” scar on my belly. I do weigh more, like double digits more, but I let my body to take its time to heal. I don’t mind. I’m not heavily body focused. I do make more fat jokes than I should, but Fred holds me back there. I do feel insecure sometimes, because I cannot wear 100% of my wardrobe and some of you know how much I love my clothes.

My depression triggers

I do genuinely feel great. But so many people around me feel the urge to tell me "Just you wait!", "Soon they will walk, then it's hell". 
And. Then. I. Cannot. Breather. Anymore. Please stop.

Like celebrating wins is not acceptable. Good parent = questioning all the time if you are one. 
Just saying that I'm a fucking awesome mother. But furthermost, I'm one kick-ass Wilma Circus.

Disclaimer: this is not how I look every day (shocking, yes)

Photos: my personal fairy Getter Raiend

Story inspiration: Wilma Circus & the Uterus

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