A perfect ten

Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It’s been 2 weeks since my last submission.

I blame it on the pregnancy fatigue. And work, which has been pretty busy as of late.

I’m now ten weeks along, and still feeling pretty good. I’ve had zero nausea; all my discomfort seems to have congregated to my boobs, which I literally carry in my palms when I wake up in the morning and walk to the washroom.

Over the last couple weeks, I’ve done some research, gathered more information, and done a lot of thinking. I’ve decided to stick with the care I’m under at my fertility center, but indulge in a postpartum doula for the aftercare.

The postpartum care that the midwives offer is what I wanted the most out of the midwifery practice. Someone to come over and check on things, offer support, help me where I’m struggling (cause I’m sure I will at times!), assist me with breastfeeding if I should need it, etc.

With a postpartum doula I get all this and more. She’ll also prepare meals if I need, help me with proper nutrition, tidy up, take the baby so I can shower, or nap, or run away.

Kidding.

Really I’m just adding to my village; tacking on someone specifically trained in postpartum care.

As a society, we don’t talk about the realities of life after giving birth, of the “fourth trimester”.

For some women, it can be anything but what society depicts. We grow up geared to expect fairy tales and nothing but bliss when becoming a mother. I’m not saying it isn’t blissful; I’m sure at times it is. I’m also sure at times it’s the greatest challenge of a woman’s life. I’m sure it’s harder than hard, exhausting, painful, terrifying, confusing. And, for some, a time shrouded by mental anguish.

The postpartum doula I have connected with just so happens to have suffered from PPD (postpartum depression), and is now a mental health advocate. In fact, it’s why she became a postpartum doula; she wishes she’d had one herself.

As someone who has a history of anxiety and depression, I find a certain level of comfort knowing I’ll have someone on my team who knows what that looks and feels like.

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had concerns that I could have a difficult experience mentally; but I think the more aware, educated, and prepared I am, the better.

I feel confident and content with my decision, and am now looking forward to my 12 week ultrasound in 2 weeks’ time.

But for now, back to 10 weeks.

Baby has had its first graduation: from embryo to fetus.

Congratulations, little tootsie pop.

That’s about the size of it now: a tootsie pop. Or, if you prefer fruit over candy, a strawberry. Which just so happens to be my favourite fruit. Especially in June in Ontario.

Certainly better than the other comparison that I saw of a prune. Although I’m sure I could use some of those poop propellers right about now (pregnancy constipation, amiright?)

And while we’re on the topic of fruit, let’s talk about my uterus.

(There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.)

Pre-pregnancy, a uterus is about the size of a small pear. At 10 weeks, it’s almost the size of a grapefruit. And it will grow to be the size of a watermelon before baby arrives!

Gives new meaning to the famous saying I carried a watermelon.

As for the little cap and gowned summer fruit, the bones and cartilage are now forming, and it’s able to kick its tiny legs. The organs are fully formed and beginning to function. Baby is practicing swallowing, webbing is disappearing on hands and feet, and fingernails and hair are starting to grow.

The wee stomach is now creating digestive juices, and the kidneys have amped up urine flow. The eyelids are fused shut and won’t open until 27 weeks.

It measures about 1.2 inches long.

Or, if you prefer:

Fascinating shit, said Captain Obvious.

But I mean really, it’s no bigger than my thumb and has organs. And urine. And is flipping growing hair.

It’s pretty miraculous when you sit and think about it all.

And sure, it’s full of bloating and discomfort, water weight, swelling, constipation, and a hundred other unsavory things… but what a damn privilege.

“We have a secret in our culture. It’s not that birth is painful, it’s that women are strong.” – Laura Stavoe Harm