These days I avoid mirrors at all costs. This includes shop windows bus windows, and anything that will reflect my image. I’m not happy with my appearance at all.
I see the fatigue all over me, I miss sleep we were such great friends. But it alludes me at every turn now. But the sleep or lack there of is really not what bothers me. The wee one likes to eat, and I wouldn’t give her up to have sleep back. Don’t get me wrong.
It’s the weight loss that has me really avoiding things. Like mirrors, and having my picture taken, and really enjoying myself. My face looks like someone elses someone I don’t recognize. Clothes that once looked so good, now just don’t seem right. My collar-bone seems to poke out from everything, like a giant scarlet letter yelling out to me from my shirts. I eat, I don’t understand why it just doesn’t stick to my bones anymore. Whirr Whirr goes my metabolism.
My hair, oh my beautiful lovely hair is no more. I haven’t had a cut since a month before she was born. So that would be almost 6 months, and I was religious every 2 to 3 months. It was the only way for it to stay looking good and doing something for me. Now I wake up and throw it in a braid or pony or bun. And I’m still shedding since the hormone drop off at her birth. It’s still tough watching handfuls cascade down the drain. Sometimes I think I’m going to go bald at some point. And no I’m not going to get a mommy cut, if at some point I get to trim some ends off. I can’t do it, this is the longest it has ever been. And it would make me cry more than watching it collect in my brush.
Maybe I should start eating sticks of butter?!
I read a blog today, that struck a chord with me. It was by LeChicken, I can’t truly relate to her pain. But I can with how she hides it. I’ve been doing a great job of hiding my emotions as of late. It may seem all rainbows and unicorns, but that is what I let you see.
I don’t need you knowing that I’m hurting. That I’m still dealing with PPD, in my own way. Some days I wonder how the hell I make it through this sleep deprived haze. It is not as bad as it was, but I still have days that I cry. And I do this when she is sleeping so she doesn’t see. I don’t want her to get upset. No particular reason for this, except for the demons that I’m still finding a way to slay.
And it makes it harder when Miss A has in the last few days, changed all her routines. And has resorted back to only wanting to be in my arms, for sleeping purposes. So not only am I back at square one to what she wants. I’m very much becoming the incredible disappearing woman.
The nights are the hardest for me. At 2 in the morning when she doesn’t want to go back to sleep, and I have to rock her for an hour. Knowing full well that in less than an hour and a half she will be back up to eat. I just want to scream and cry. I ache all over in places so unexpected. My hips are sore from the constant swaying, my back, my shoulder oh lord my shoulder. And for the love, I crack and pop. You would think I was 90 if you were to hear me get off the couch.
I’m grateful for each new day… Doesn’t mean it stays that way all through the day, but I’m hopeful. Everything changes in the blink of an eye, the ebb and flow of being a new mother. And one with a full plate and little support.
Still gives me a feeling of not being alone, when I come here and write. And I read that others are suffering the same plight, in some form or another.