What is Happening to My Body

The fourth trimester is ending but the carnage continues

Artist’s rendering of the pram-bridge incident. (Drawing by Kelsey Breseman)

Yesterday, I rode a bike for the first time since giving birth. It was a quick run to the butcher shop — only ten minutes — but a little thrill to realize I could sit on the seat. Six weeks ago, it would have been out of the question.

The distance, though short, is still at the limits of my walking range. I could probably do it, but I’d need a bathroom stop, and I know my hips would ache when I got home.

A month ago, I walked too far and peed myself all the way home: a private horror, in my long, thick skirt in rainy London streets, but humbling nonetheless. The pelvic floor does not brook with my delusions of recovery.

I feel unprepared for the injuries dragging on. Pregnancy already feels like forever; you wait impatiently for the birth; and then you still don’t get to be the self you’re used to.

I had imagined, in late pregnancy, that birth would mark the start of recovery — pregnancy itself being quite enough to heal from — but failed to account for how far the birthing act would drag back the starting line.

There is progress. In the days after birth, I was completely numb between belly and thighs. A couple of weeks later, I could confidently make some mind-muscle connection.

I could do kegels lying down, then standing up, one second growing to five. I only nearly shat myself going for walks — a triumph I’d really like to take for granted.

My physiotherapist says this is normal, which isn’t really heartening. “Do your pelvic floor exercises as much as possible,” she tells me, so I count out baby’s potty time in kegels. I can do them while walking now, which is huge progress.

The mums group from our antenatal classes meets up in the sunshine: a balcony overlooking the canal. I mention my plans to have more kids to one of my compatriots, and her jaw drops.

“You’re really going to go through this again?”

I shrug, glib. “I’ve already destroyed my body. Might as well amortize the cost.”

It’s a joke, sort of. I hear the next births are easier.