I am the wife of a soldier in the United States Army. My husband has been going through the process of a medical discharge for the past six months. We waited and waited while computers crashed and paperwork was misplaced, and suddenly, over the holidays we were told that everything had been settled and it was time to start clearing. My husband has been working every day to tie up loose ends and clear out of the Army while I stay home and feed the baby. We are stationed at Fort Irwin, which is literally smack dab in the middle of the Mojave Desert. It is a lonely place, with the nearest town being 40 miles away.
I am still recovering from the birth and learning about how to care for a newborn and we have a little over a week to move to Phoenix, AZ. My husband cooks dinner for us at night (something that I used to do every night) and cleans up. He takes care of the cat litter, the garbage, and some of the laundry while I try to get the hang of breastfeeding. During the day he has been getting the signatures required in order to leave, making arrangements for the movers and storage facility in Phoenix, enrolling our son in the Army's insurance program, and grocery shopping. He sleeps in the spare bedroom so he can get the sleep he needs to make it through the day while I feed the baby through the night. I miss him next to me at night.
The Army will be moving most of our household goods, while we just have to take care of all of the baby's belongings, our clothes, and our irreplaceable items. We have a daunting six hour drive ahead of us with a small trailer, a newborn baby, two cats and the bare necessities. We have some minor packing and cleaning to do before we go. I am anxious to get to Phoenix where we have an amazing support system of friends and family awaiting us. I will miss the wonderful friends I have made here, but I am anxious to get out of this place. We have been here for over two years now and I have had enough.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Begin at the Beginning
I have been on this Earth for 30 years. Never in that span of time have I realized the true meaning of the word tired until now. My husband of three years and I talked about it and made the consensual decision to have a baby. We tried for a couple of months and were successful! This was one of the happiest days of our lives! I had a smooth pregnancy, with no complications and hardly ever any discomfort. I did a lot of yoga and ate well, indulging in my cravings and smiling, flattered, when people told me I was "all baby". On New Years Eve my water broke and we called everyone excitedly and ran to the hospital. That's when everything took a turn for the worse.
I had what is known as a "Traumatic Birth Experience". It included 26 hours of hard labor, being pumped full of pitocin and pain medication through an epidural, third degree perennial and rectal tearing, postpartum hemorrhaging and three hours of reparation surgery. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. When I look at my beautiful boy I know it was all worth it, but I will never forget it (as some women say they do).
We brought our baby boy home a few days later, both of us having the bare minimum of experience with a newborn. My mother was here to help for a couple of days, and I wept when she left. We were on our own. This brings us to now. Our son is three weeks old today. I have big black circles under my eyes, moss growing on my teeth, a pad the size of a diaper in my underwear, and an uncomfortable case of hemorrhoids. The longest stretch of sleep I have managed to get is four hours. I am determined to breastfeed, which is proving difficult (for lack of a better adjective). My cub wants to eat approximately every two hours. (ALWAYS - DAY AND NIGHT).
I do not want to scare people with this blog. I am not by any means trying to deter people from procreating or to defile the beauty that is birth and life. I just want to share my joys and sorrows and maybe find some kindred spirits out there that are having a difficult time themselves. So please join me on my journey, new mothers and fathers, when you are sitting up in the middle of the night by the light of the monitor with heavy eyelids and a baby on your breast.
I had what is known as a "Traumatic Birth Experience". It included 26 hours of hard labor, being pumped full of pitocin and pain medication through an epidural, third degree perennial and rectal tearing, postpartum hemorrhaging and three hours of reparation surgery. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. When I look at my beautiful boy I know it was all worth it, but I will never forget it (as some women say they do).
We brought our baby boy home a few days later, both of us having the bare minimum of experience with a newborn. My mother was here to help for a couple of days, and I wept when she left. We were on our own. This brings us to now. Our son is three weeks old today. I have big black circles under my eyes, moss growing on my teeth, a pad the size of a diaper in my underwear, and an uncomfortable case of hemorrhoids. The longest stretch of sleep I have managed to get is four hours. I am determined to breastfeed, which is proving difficult (for lack of a better adjective). My cub wants to eat approximately every two hours. (ALWAYS - DAY AND NIGHT).
I do not want to scare people with this blog. I am not by any means trying to deter people from procreating or to defile the beauty that is birth and life. I just want to share my joys and sorrows and maybe find some kindred spirits out there that are having a difficult time themselves. So please join me on my journey, new mothers and fathers, when you are sitting up in the middle of the night by the light of the monitor with heavy eyelids and a baby on your breast.
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