Thursday and Friday went without too much trouble, however, and increased my confidence level a tad. Although I still feel anxiety, I know that I can hold out until my husband comes home. At least I hope I can.
My energy is still low, and knowing my history I know it's depression that's sapping my strength and not the baby. Not to say the baby isn't work. It's hard to imagine a more stressful job. But there are moments with him that make me at peace. He can be the most calming influence when he's quietly staring at me with those impossibly large eyes.
The difficulties so far have been far harder than I could have ever imagined. I never thought it would be so hard to recover from the birth. The pain was intolerable at times, and always intense. It was trying to be happy about having this lovely baby in my arms when I was cringing inside because of the hemorrhoids and bleeding.
Breastfeeding has been the bane of my existence, however. I can't seem to enjoy it just yet, but I can understand why women love doing it. Even though it's painful and seemingly neverending at times, it gives you a moment with your child that no one else can share. I sit quietly, holding his head and neck to my breast while he is nourished by milk I have produced. Really, it's pretty cool when you think about it.
But the grating pain can be horrifying. It literally takes my breath away when it's bad. But when the baby latches on properly and everything is working smoothly, it's a time I cherish. So at the same time I dread and look forward to it. I believe this qualifies as a paradox.
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