55 and counting

Its late afternoon, a tad overcast outside as is typical for Seattle-February days. I am relaxing at the dining table with my computer and some hot coffee. And my son is sleeping a few feet away, occasionally snoring in that adorable-baby way that brings a smile to my face every time. I feel at peace and content in this moment. Life sure is amazing, isn’t it :)

Let’s rewind a little… Just under 2 months ago, I was a whole week overdue and labor hadn’t started yet, so we headed into the hospital, confident that a quick induction later we would have baby boy sliding right out of me into his daddy’s waiting arms. I won’t go into details but the next 30+ hours would best be described as “Parenthood 101: the need to be prepared for anything”. After multiple failed attempts at induction (including something called the “balloon” aimed at mechanically coaxing open baby’s nature-intended pathway) punctuated by short strolls around the nurses’ station with my behind hanging out (my last ditch attempt to avoid above-mentioned balloon) and a short Morphine-assisted nap, we finally had to resort to an emergency c-section to make sure baby boy was safe. The 30+ hours weren’t as stressful as the 30-odd minutes between when his heart rate started to drop and I heard his first cry as they air-lifted him out of me. Feeling him against my skin shortly after, as Ganesh held him and the anesthesiologist tried to wipe my eyes dry, I was relieved and sure the worst had passed and things were back on track on the “plan” I had made months ago.

Como se dice… Wrong! The next 3 weeks involved him losing a lot of weight thanks to my body not producing enough (really any) milk, and several blood tests and ultrasounds for him as doctors kept seeing markers they needed to follow up on, to “make sure”. On top of that was my aching back and abdomen that made our three-storey home quite a challenge to navigate and carpal tunnel syndrome bad enough that I could barely hold him even a few minutes before my hands started trembling. Long story short, I found myself at the lactation consultant’s office at our follow-up appointment, gaming the postpartum-depression-screen, because being depressed simply didn’t fit with my self-image and so I was determined not to be! The next couple of days were hard as I struggled with feeling useless for my own baby - my husband and parents pretty much fed him, bathed him, did his laundry, carried him around and changed his diapers while I seemed to just spend hours each day pumping in a closed room to make <1% of the nutrition he needed each day, and sleeping long hours only to wake up still in pain and tired. Somehow this feeling of uselessness spurred anxiety about work as well. My team was doing fine without me as were passion projects that I had kicked off, what would I bring to the table that was meaningfully incremental when I returned? Add to this the images of ideal motherhood that social media was presenting me with and I was emotionally overwhelmed. I didn’t feel like myself and possibly hit my lowest point one day as I was pumping and reading on my phone about ways to increase breast milk supply. I came across a thread titled “Low supply… help!” and clicked expecting a soul I could relate to. The woman made “only” 2–3 ounces every time she pumped. I am not proud of it but I used the “b” word before I could stop myself (2–3 ounces was almost 20x what I made in a whole day!).

I had an amazing husband and incredible parents who dropped their lives in Bangalore without a second thought to come take care of me and my son. My son was recovering from the initial worries and starting to thrive, every smile such a source of joy to us. I had an amazing employer, generous maternity leave and a wonderful team that was supportive of me and kicking a%$ while I was out. And yet I was consumed with anxiety about not being an ideal mother, and allowing that anxiety to infect every other area of my life as well.

So as I endeavored to find my energy and confidence again and be a good mother, I realized three things:

1. Parenting Vikram is about Vikram not me. It is about what my son needs to be happy and healthy, and achieve his full potential. It isn’t about me being useful or adding value, but rather about me being present for him. So as my body healed but still didn’t make any more milk, I have started to find other ways to create bonding experiences for us that I hope will also be beneficial to his development. I now read to him every day (“Guess how much I love you” is wonderful by the way!) and sing to him everything from classical music in Sanskrit and Telugu about Lord Krishna to “I hope you dance” by Lee Ann Womack (which pretty much sums up my hopes for him). And then there are the more mundane but still meaningful moments when I do his laundry and clean his bottles or crib with an obsession that belies my many years of non-domesticity, and that I still spend pumping because 5 ml a day of antibodies is better than none. I still am checking work emails as I start planning for my return to work in some weeks but am trying my best to not obsess over “whether” I will add enough value when I am back, focusing instead about “what” I can work on and “how” I can add the most value.
2. In line with #1, neither is parenting a competitive sport, nor do my successes or struggles as a new mother need any “context” for me to emotionally process them. This means I can celebrate the 4 lbs I lost in 7 weeks even though that other mom seems to already be in pre-pregnancy shape after just 4 weeks & also that I need not diminish in my own mind the pain I felt during or after delivery just because I was not on bed rest like yet another new mom. While the perspective of context might help, viewing my experiences in their own space and without a need for validation has freed me up more mentally and emotionally.
3. Last but not the least, while my son is now undoubtedly the center of my universe, he is NOT the entirety of it. I wrote him a letter in that 41st week of pregnancy trying to describe my aspirations for him and while it turned out pretty verbose (typical me!), I realized the core of my hopes for him are simply for him to be healthy and happy, whatever happiness means to him! And I don’t think I can do justice to helping him discover what his happiness is without sincerely exploring my own… so be it my relationships, singing, writing, doing work that I am good at and enjoy or a multitude of other things I find joy in, I am more determined than before to spend time on them and have him observe me doing so, ideally even explore many of these together. After all as I read somewhere, children learn to do as we do not as we say, so I am going to take every chance to dance not sit it out!

My baby is 55 days old today and by the grace of nature, narayana and the flying spaghetti monster, he is doing well - the memory of that second blood draw where he was so tiny and too tired and dehydrated to even cry is so fresh in my mind, I still go silly with joy every time he outgrows an outfit and every night as I enter his “ins and outs” in the app and see he is progressing well :) I remind myself daily how lucky I am to have him and the village that is helping me raise him and to pace myself since we are just getting started… First 55, you have been quite a ride! Rest of our life, here we come!