Recovery is a process. I know that. It’s a long process, and it should take a long time. All the same, I feel that I’m making tremendous progress in recovering from the trauma of childbirth — and the isolation and weakness that arise from 7+ months on bed rest.
On Sunday, I made my first outing by myself, without the kids or husband, since June. Yep, you guessed it — I went to Target. We needed diapers (I have a feeling we will always need diapers, now!), Daddy needed to work … and I needed to get out. I fed the baby, put the toddler down for his nap, and scooted out the door before the dog could notice. I was only gone for an hour (short trip!), but it was an hour well-spent.
I was reminded of the freedom of driving alone. . . of the wind whistling around me without worrying about the chill on a little one’s cheeks. Of the competence that a brisk walk exudes . . . or any walk that can be done without the cane that has been my constant companion for the last few months. Of the rugged satisfaction of pushing my own cart through the store, reaching up to snag the last bottle of baby lotion, bending down and picking up a giant box of diapers . . . and the absence of worry that this would be the last straw, the one that would send me into preterm labor. Of the independence that paying for my own supplies would bring . . . rather than reimbursing friends and relatives who helped me by running errands the last few months. And, inevitably, of the sadness that shot through me as I loaded the bags into the car and caught glimpses of the two empty car seats in the back.
I had only been gone for an hour . . . and I missed my boys terribly.
When I got home, I got down on the floor and played Little People with Widget. For hours. And I loved every minute of it.
Welcome back, Mommy!