The great thing about any life experience is that it helps you relate with others. I couldn’t agree more with Vicki Iovine’s opinion in “The Girlfriends’ Guide to Pregnancy” that motherhood is a sorority and labor is the ultimate hazing.  Until experiencing it, I had little understanding for the help needed after pregnancy. My mother is famous for going out shopping two days after having a baby. I sort of figured that’s how “tough” women handled the whole thing. I was planning on having a similar recovery. I chose to go natural so that I could just leap from the bed after having the baby and go on my merry way. Well, fate thought otherwise. After loosing nearly a third of my blood in the delivery, my first attempt to leave the bed was followed by a dramatic fainting scene that involved my husband barely catching me, and then my unconscious body relieving itself of all the fluids it had intended for the twah-let! I was then labeled a “fall risk” and even given a bracelet stating it. I was not to leave my bed without the assistance of a nurse. A blood transfusion restored some of my energy, and turned my body from its ghastly yellow to a more acceptable pink. Regardless, there would be no “shopping” for me for weeks! My doctor instructed that for the next two weeks I was to only do stairs once or twice a day (I live in a two story home with a basement.) and that I should not drive. Great! So much for being “tough.”

Thankfully, I was the recipient of help. Three wonderful women, and a darling husband all contributed to making sure my two weeks of recovery went smoothly. This post is dedicated to them.

Sabina is my oldest sister. She’s one of my greatest mentors, and one of my best friends. She left her family of five to come out and help. She arrived on my due date, and we spent the next three days trying to induce labor. She commented, we should have bought a pedometer so we could have tracked how many miles we walked those three days. She kept my spirits up and was an enthusiastic divergence to my impatience. After I announced I was ready to go into the hospital, after 21 hours of contractions, she asked what I wanted her to do. I invited her to come. Thank goodness I did! Sabina was my doula, and both Tom and I fear to think how things would have gone had she not been there. Not only was she an encouraging, knowledgeable support. She was the one that jumped into action when the nursing staff was absent. She ended up changing the laundry on the bed every time it was needed, finding me a basin to throw up in, finding a bedpan when I couldn’t leave the bed, reminding the nurses over and over that I needed to get my penicilin for my Beta strep, and demanding that I be checked when after two hours they still hadn’t determined how far along I was. She was the one running out in the hall to try to get help after I fainted, and on several other occasions when the situation demanded some professional help. I was amazed by her tenacity and forwardness. She’s not typically that way, but when the situation called for action she stepped up to the plate. She was the symbol of strength that I needed to bear through the hours of contractions.

She left Tom to care for me the first night in the hospital and returned to our house to spend the night. The next morning she went about preparing the house for our return- freshening everything up,  leaving a sweet note on my dresser, posting a “Welcome Scotland” sign on the nursery, and even painting a wall I had patched in the wrong shade! When I returned home that evening, I burst into tears so abundant was the love I felt from her.

My Mom came the day after Sabina left. Having her own eight children she knew exactly what was needed. She was a whirlwind of help while she was here, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, making sure I was hydrated and fed, and most importantly sitting down to chat and sympathize when nursing pains brought tears to my eyes. She kept my plants watered- reviving several that had been a bit neglected in my final weeks of pregnancy, and even rearranged my living room. She was a listening ear, and a great source of conversation when healing restricted me to a rocking chair most of the day. She lovingly cared for Scotland, staying up late in the night to rock him during his fussy time so I could get some sleep. All this while still maintaining things at home. (One day my ten year old sister called to tell her she forgot her lunch!) I hated for my Mom to spend her rare time away from home cooking and cleaning at my house, but as is her style she approached it with enthusiasm and gusto. She cooked up new recipes, (including the most amazing orange rolls!) ran the stairs- to get exercise, and made use of Tom’s computer saviness to solve some of her technological debacles. I love my mother and admire her so much. Our week together was just what I needed to be reminded of what an amazing woman she is, and how much I hope to one day be like her. She has an absolute testimony of the importance of motherhood, and has always been proud to say “I am a mother!”

Tom’s Mother, Pam, came two days after my Mom left. She too made great sacrifices to come, leaving a father in rehab. By the time she arrived I was much more mobile but still low energy. She assured that I always got a good nap during the day, and that I could get to bed early. Unfortunately, her arrival also coincided with a fair amount of colic for Scotland. She patiently held and rocked and walked around as he arched his back and screamed in pain- unconsolable. She was often able to rock him to sleep, and was always eager to hold him so I could take a shower or get a few things done. We had several great conversations about the adjustments of Motherhood, and how one best meets the needs of one’s children while also attending to one’s own emotional and intellectual needs. She taught me how to keep Scotland warm while I gave him a sponge bath so he wouldn’t cry. She kept the ever flowing stream of laundry washed, and on the last day went through the house cleaning everything- and even washing my bathroom rugs! (I love that, I never get around to washing my rugs!) She delighted us with her red beans and rice and chicken enchiladas. She shared ideas for keeping life organized, and encouraged me to continue my own intellectual pursuits.

Each of these women represents a different kind of “mother.” They each came and helped in their own way, and all left an imprint on my mind of the kind of mother I would like to be. Looking back I wonder how women survive without help after pregnancy. I am so grateful for these three wonderful women who sacrificed their own time and responsibilities to come and be with me, to support me, to love me, and to help me.