re: Men are from Dust, Women are from Ribs

marineparkimma

Tue, Apr 12 2011, 8:07 pm

Men are from Dust, Women are from Ribs: How to Deal With Postpartum Stress

by: "marineparkimma"

How does a brand new mother avoid the pitfalls of the dreaded PPS, or postpartum stress, that is may be the other gift you get to take home with you from the hospital?

Sit back. Relax. Enjoy my story. This WILL help!

Once upon a time in the land of Brooklyn, New York a seasoned mom-to-be awoke in the middle of the night...

I felt warm, comfortable, and happy. And wet. I opened my eyes with a smile. I carefully rolled my legs off the side of the bed, in a manner that would not disturb the various sized sleeping figures sprawled across our two full-size beds. I placed my feet in the exact spot where I had meticulously laid out a heavy towel, anticipating its need, only hours before. I stood up and realized with a loud splash that the towel was no longer there and my amniotic fluid was slowly flooding the right side of the parquet floors I had just polished, by hand, one week ago. I carefully made my way to the bathroom and began to shower and attend to my toiletries with stealth and speed, knowing full well that the slightest sound would wake the fourteen-month-old and alter the course of history that would inevitably follow if I did not proceed as planned. I mentally considered the placing of that heavy towel, now folded over on the wall bar reserved for hand towels and pushed aside the uneasy feelings of impending foreboding. I gently unlocked the gate at the top of the stairs, and relocked it as I wobbled on my way down. My husband would need a good night’s sleep to prepare him for the next day’s mission, although he was already well-seasoned to these temporary responsibilities.

I prepared, as discussed and agreed upon the previous day, all the necessary plastic flatware and plates to be utilized for all the meals in order to avoid unnecessary hazards and messes, along with the phone numbers for the local kosher pizzeria and fast-food glatt take-outs that would suffice for the thirty hours of my absence. I arranged the breakfast cereals in full view and laid out in age order all the freshly laundered clothing on the sofa for immediate and no-hassle use. I quickly glanced once more and reveled in the neatness and cleanliness of the house that only lasted from the moment I went to sleep until the morning when everyone else awoke. I chuckled at the memory of the first time I pre-prepared forty aluminum pans of food in an effort to ease the postpartum responsibilities. I was young and innocent, then, Now the years have experienced and honed me to perfection.

I could do this in my sleep.

I called up the car service and removed from the refrigerator my sealed pareve meals of gefilte fish, rye bread, and fruit that I had prepared in anticipation earlier that week and placed them in my packed knapsack that was, thankfully, still in the hallway. I locked the front door securely and proceeded to climb into the waiting car and recited my prayers as we headed to the hospital.

Thirty eight hours later saw a cold, early evening. Amidst confusion and delight, my husband and children made the pilgrimage in our old station wagon, against my better wishes, and picked us up and brought us home eight hours later than agreed. At first, I was accosted by a most horrid odor that left me gasping for air. I lovingly placed my new bundle in the cradle and shared a moment with my husband. As he began to bond with our new daughter, I turned my attention to the others. With a growing sense of unease, I began to undress one of the “cleaner” looking children. Her breath was coma-inducing. The corners of her eyes had not seen water since I last washed her and she constantly blinked because of loose eyelashes blocking her field of vision. Her hands were an unusual shade of purple with a deep cut on the side of her index finger and she wore dirty clothing from the hamper. I took a deep breath and turned to face the view I had been attempting to avoid; the living room, dining room, and kitchen. The sight of our never used dairy china, in its entirety - complete with tea set accessories and serving platters - held my attention longer than the burnt frying pan with the spatters of oil and some kind of batter, that held aspirations of being a pancake, decorating the top, side, and bottom of the oven in an intricate design pattern. I continued to disregard the lone remainders of diaper droppings reminiscent of a changing gone bad and hinting at an impending rash for one unfortunate fellow. Even the soapy, milky, marinara coating of the parquet floors could not deter my fixation with the tableware. Nor could the painted designs of stick and bubble figures playing in the sun and grass all over the once white walls avert my gaze from that table. I tried to deduce from any and every angle how those delicate dishes, which upon closer inspection were now reduced to broken and cracked sunflower ceramic, had made its way onto the dining room table. I sat on the wet, torn leather sofa and closed my eyes.

I opened my eyes with a smile.

I carried the children up by groups of two up the stairs and bathed them together in pairs. I prepared for them their usual sipping cups and bottles with sweet, warm milk and allowed them to choose one video of their choice. I began to shower and attend to my toiletries with a stealth and speed knowing full well that I had only moments to spare before the next feeding. I snuggled up and proceeded to enjoy the coupling of nursing. I felt warm, comfortable, and happy. And wet. She had not been changed.

One hour later, after detailed discussions, laughter, storytelling, prayers, and tucks the house was quiet once again. I licked my teeth and headed downstairs. I was not interested in explanations, theories, or excuses at this point. I just wanted to start cleaning. I thanked G-d for the Jewish laws of purity that forbids physical contact between a husband and his wife after the birth of a baby, for I was able to channel my belligerence into household duties...

Three hours later I propped myself up in bed in a comfortable and relaxed sitting position with my baby blissfully latched on and ready to empty the second fount after another heavy diaper change and a loud burp. I closed my eyes for the first time since I had left home almost two days before; sleeping in hospitals was something I was never able to do.

My husband carefully sat down, in a manner that would not disturb the various sized sleeping figures sprawled across our, now separated, two full-sized beds and desired to talk.

I mentally refused to listen.

It was not so much that I was totally beyond exhaustion, for I knew that we all would not get up before midday tomorrow. But rather, or more so, because he deserved the silent treatment. Men were not from Mars and women were not from Venus. Men are from dust and women are from ribs. He took my silence as a cue for him to proceed:

“The baby was crying. No - screaming. I didn’t understand why you were letting him cry for so long. I saw the light from the downstairs hallway and called out to you in a loud whisper to hurry up with his bottle and went back to sleep. You never showed up and I didn’t want him to wake up the kids. So I climbed out from your side and slipped on water all over the floor. I called out to you and was very annoyed at this point. I grabbed the heavy towel that I put on the bar before going to sleep, after one of the kids had left it on the floor last night and used it to soak up the liquid. I went downstairs and realized that you left without telling me!

“How could you leave me a NOTE?!?

“So, I fed him the bottle and then called the hospital. They were very busy and couldn’t tell me anything, so now I’m worried. I finished davening and started on tehillim. I called again and they said that you’re in the delivery room and I should call back. Everybody started to wake up by then. I couldn’t find any clothes for them and dressed them in whatever I found in those pop-ups in the bathroom. One wanted scrambled eggs, someone else wanted pancakes, another wanted this or that... and I didn’t want to upset anyone because they were already nervous that you weren’t here and we hadn’t heard from you yet. I used all the plastic goods to make arts and crafts and puppets and stuff with them, so that the smaller ones would stop crying. You finally called in the middle of my frying and made me make a mess. How long were we all on the phone? At least two hours, right? After brunch, I put videos for the bigger ones and let the younger ones color. The baby didn’t nap and just got into everything... I started to make the phone calls to let everybody know and then you called again and told me you were ready to come home. I don’t want you getting into a car service with a newborn and coming home like that. First of all, it’s not safe and second of all it’s not fair to the kids and me who want to be a part of this. This isn’t the first time and I always come to get you. Anyway, you said they won’t let you leave before twenty-four hours minimum, so I’ll be by you the first thing in the morning. Nu, so you had your day, I’m sorry it was so lonely. And I had my day, and I’m sorry it’s a mess. I tried to do what everyone wanted. I didn’t wash anyone before bedtime because I didn’t want to take a chance of anyone catching a cold when we come out to get you. Anyway, we told stories and took bets on who the baby looked like and they finally fell asleep at around midnight and because you kept calling in the middle of the night to shmooze with the answering machine, we heard your voice and you kept waking the baby up and everyone missed you all over again. We didn’t get out of bed before twelve thirty in the afternoon. I called you right away and apologized for us running late and I ordered for them hamburgers. No one really ate any fleishig, so it was okay for them at around three to eat milchigs and so I ordered a pizza and they gobbled a whole pie. I didn’t have time to eat the whole day or to clean up the mess because I knew you wanted to come home already, so I figured we would eat together alone and I would take care of all this later and hire someone for the day...

“I didn’t get to wish you a mazel tov in person and talk to you about this whole thing in person, but now we have plenty of time.... Right?

“Hello? Are you listening...?”

I was fast asleep.