I Gave Birth, Again.

And nothing says postpartum like a donut pillow.

April 22 2025

Each post is paired with a song. For today, it’s Go Go Chaos by Bonjah.

I walked towards the lounge area by the pool, finally escaping the apartment for some fresh air. It felt monumental just to make it out of there, like one small victory in a sea of larger, overwhelming challenges. As I shamelessly clutched my postpartum donut pillow to sit on, thanks to the third-degree tear and hemorrhoids I got during labor, something caught my eye. A girl walked by in her bikini, also holding a donut... but this one was an inflatable, swimming one. I couldn’t help but laugh at the universe for mocking me, and yet, in that moment, I also saw an alternate version of myself. One that was, or one that could be. I’m not sure yet.

That’s what postpartum fog feels like. You’re still you, but you’re not. You’re trying to meet yourself again, living somewhere between who you were and who you’re becoming. You still have one foot in the past while trying to ground yourself in a future you’re unsure of. Add a toddler to the mix, and navigating this new phase is hard to a degree that raises my blood pressure.

My water broke 11 days ago while I was standing in the kitchen, pot in hand, when it trickled down. I stood there, in shock, wondering if I was peeing myself or if this was actually happening. Imad cut through my thoughts, asking, “Are you going to make food or what?” I wasn’t. The baby was coming.

A couple of hours later, I was in my hospital room, with Jade, my incredible doula, guiding me through exercises to help speed up labor. At 40 weeks and 5 days, the baby had pooped inside of me, and the meconium wasn’t ideal. It could cause him to choke on the way out. So, Jade had me do a series of moves to lower the baby quicker while the pitocin I was given (artificial oxytocin) helped get my contractions going.

Never in a million years would I have imagined straddling a toilet, head pressed against the wall, while Ali sat behind me on a bouncing ball, massaging my lower back. But that’s just one of the many ways she helped us get the baby into position. Her presence was a combination of light and calm, like the twinkling lights she put up around the room and the essential oils she used to ease my body, and strength and support as she guided me through each position. She made it possible for me to labor in a way I felt empowered, not just resigned to.

I made it to 9.5 cm before I asked for the epidural. I had breathed, moaned, and even mooed through the painful surges. Yes, you read that right. By early morning, I finally managed to push Baby Adam out into the world, his first screams cutting through the room. He was perfect and delicious in all the newborn ways, hamdellah.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Today, I don’t feel as caught up with my body as I did with Imad. In the first few days, the physical pain was overwhelming - sore and beat up, it hurt to walk. It felt like multiple mac trucks ran over me. But in a way, that physical pain distracted me from how I saw my body, leaving room to focus on what really mattered - bonding with my baby. This time around, I have the confidence to just soak it all in. The small things that used to bother me don’t affect me as much. I no longer care that my belly is a squishy lump, my nipples cracked and swollen, or that my legs are still puffy. My breasts are leaking, but I’m not shocked or disgusted. I don’t avoid my reflection in the mirror. Instead, I just pack up my pad like a Subway sandwich, layering all the things meant to soothe and heal the area. My body doesn’t need to bounce back; it needs to heal. And my mind? Trying to stay sane while Imad is hellbent on being the most difficult version of himself yet.

I stood in the shower the other night, gently washing my body, but I couldn’t reach the residue left from all the tape the epidural had left on my back. That’s another thing postpartum feels like - trying to heal what others can’t help you with. Trying to get to those hard-to-reach spots, physically and emotionally, and doing it alone.

Until I get there, I’ll be here, trying to figure out how to juggle everything - baby, body, and, well, life - donut pillow in tow.