Separated at Birth

What an amazing weekend.

I started out bummed because my son and I would miss out on the Saturday football game and volleyball match on campus. After a trial run of getting the Little Guy in the car by myself — which wasn’t completely successful – I opted for staying home. I was bummed to be missing the Mid-American Intercollegiate Athletic Association Conference Championship Volleyball match, but our safety is most important.

So, we made the most of our day at home together. He giggled at the vacuum as I zoomed it around the living room nabbing his renegade Cheerio’s and the winter-is-coming cat hair. He was fascinated by Wolf Blitzer’s beard as he ate some peas, carrots and green beans for lunch. We took a nap together on the floor, played with his toys — on the floor! — practiced standing while holding my fingers, then holding the chair. We had fun. And then, when it was time for another nap, I carried him upstairs, placed him in his crib and stood, amazed. I was overwhelmed. I walked over to my bedroom, sat on the bed and cried tears of joy for probably five minutes. I had never done that in this house. I hadn’t done it without pain before – ever.

Can I say again, this transformation has been AMAZING! As he slept I did some chores upstairs. And when he woke up, we went down the stairs together again. As we went down the stairs, one at a time, he giggled and stared at me. I wonder if he really does realize this is all new. All different. Better! (He’s done it each time since, too.)

This weekend was just what I needed. Spending Saturday at home with my son, doing chores that I actually was glad to be able to do on my own and then Sunday with both of my guys, working on making our place feel like home, was good medicine for me. I felt my spirit recharging as I unpacked, folded laundry and even scrubbed the bathroom. Who would have imagined that being possible?

I got down on myself for awhile just before my mom left. I started to feel angry about what we missed out on in those early days. Jealous of families we saw who, to me, appeared perfect. I even have caught myself thinking “I hope she’ll be OK” when I see pregnant women. It’s as though the better I get the more I realize how bad the situation was. My mind often drifts to the others I have encountered online who are facing the struggles I did. I hope they have the support and love of family. I hope their doctors are willing to listen, as mine eventually was. I hope they have access to treatment that will heal them.

To be sure, I still have a ways to go before I could hike or run, jump or carry something much heavier than my Little Guy (13 lbs, 10 oz. — yes, he’s nine-months old. We know he’s small. But lucky for me, right now!). As I type this I am pain free. That’s an improvement even over last week. My physical therapist, Amy, has helped me strengthen my right side, where both the SI joint and muscles at my groin have been moderately to severely uncomfortable since surgery. They are the last remnants of the agony I often felt in the days, weeks and months after my son’s birth when I sustained a separated pelvis during labor. (My treatment for diastasis symphysis pubis, a pelvic reconstruction surgery, occurred Aug. 24. After nine weeks in a wheelchair I began physical therapy.)

Now, if I feel my hip catch or my back start to hurt, I know to stop what I’m doing, stretch and pay attention to my posture. Once the muscles regain strength, they will hold everything in place and the join won’t slip anymore. Talking with a good friend today, I described the feeling as similar to when you need to crack your knuckle because your finger feels stuck. But it’s magnified by maybe 1000 because the joint is so much bigger. I’m learning so much about my body, and learning to stop and listen when it’s telling me something.

I’m working out the kinks in my body a bit at a time and my guys and I are working out the kinks in our life so we can learn what normal is supposed to be.