Postpartum After Loss.

I was not prepared to live in a postpartum body without a baby, 20 weeks before my due date. My own body was and is a constant reminder of Evelyn’s death. Living after loss is looking at the life you used to have, at the person you used to be and barely being able recognize either. Having a postpartum body while feeling the intensity of loss has further amplified the confusion of being a person you no longer recognize.

I wasn’t prepared for my own body to be triggering to me after loss.

When we got home from the hospital after giving birth, I looked at myself and didn’t recognize anything. I was physically exhausted from birth and emotionally exhausted from grief. My back hurt from the epidural. My stomach still hurt from the amniocentesis I had done 4 days prior. I needed to sleep, but trying to sleep brought on panic attacks. I was bleeding so much. My milk still tried to come in. No one told my body there would be no baby to feed.

I could barely look at myself in the mirror for weeks. My belly wasn’t flat like it used to be, but it no longer had a bump that let me know my daughter was growing inside it. I was neither the new mom I was becoming, nor was I the person I used to be before pregnancy. I still reached down and held it, in constant disbelief that my baby was no longer there. Physically, she was no longer a part of me. Every week that goes by now, my belly gets smaller instead of bigger. There’s no more evidence by looking at me Evelyn was here.

I felt phantom kicks for weeks. Every time I felt one I would break down. I couldn’t sleep without anxiety medication. My hair started coming out in chunks. I was able to eat foods again that made me nauseated during pregnancy which was incredibly triggering. The first time I reached for a cup of hot coffee I sobbed. I looked at the clothes in my closet, my pre-pregnancy clothes and my small collection of maternity clothes. Nothing looked like it belonged to me, like they belonged to a stranger.

My body is not the same as it was before Evelyn, but I wouldn’t want it to be. It’s a reminder of what we’ve lost, but it’s also a reminder that she was here. She lived in my belly for 20 weeks, growing and moving.

I don’t fit into a lot of my pre-pregnancy clothes. The number on the scale is a little higher. I look in the mirror sometimes and still don’t recognize myself, but I don’t panic as much anymore. I’m starting to see the new version of myself as Evelyn’s mom. I’m starting to accept my postpartum body for what it is and what it’s done for me. I’m starting to let go of some of the blame I’ve put on my body for making it so hard to get pregnant and for not keeping my daughter safe.

Having a postpartum body after loss is complex, but I’m choosing to take care of it as best as I can. It was Evelyn’s last home.