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| My little munchkin. I just realised that I still have that wrapper that’s lying behind her… wow! |
After the shaking, screams and sobs that marked my childbirth, I could not wait to hold my baby. That moment alone made the ordeal worthwhile. I heard her tiny, determined cries as the midwives cleaned and clothed her. Lying on the sturdy delivery bed, slowly recovering from what felt like a near-death experience, I was eager to see my child for the first time.
At last a smiling midwife brought her to me. I held her and thanked God for this blessing, praying she would live a life devoted to purpose. After that quiet moment of dedication, I watched my newborn as if viewing a short film titled “New Baby Part 1.” She was beautiful: wrapped in a machine-crocheted outfit, her pink face radiated innocence, calm and peace. The joy of bringing such a perfect being into the world was overwhelming.
The challenges of the first, second and third trimesters were behind me and I was ready to begin life as a mother. I was moved to the maternity ward, where the clinical smell of the delivery room had given way to the more comforting aroma of food. I settled into the last empty bed at the end of the room, a reminder that several women had given birth around the same time and filled the ward.
A fellow new mother sat beside her baby, gazing at her with unmistakable love. Nearby, another woman—ever the drama queen—had tied a large piece of wrapper tightly around her tummy, insisting she needed to “get back in shape” as her husband wanted. She paced and nibbled on different snacks, searching for something to satisfy her restlessness.
I had imagined I would eat anything and everything after delivery to make up for the months of nausea, but the exhaustion and the aftermath of childbirth left me queasy. Food was the last thing on my mind; sleep was my priority. My body ached for rest.
My mother brought a cup of Ovaltine and milk, insisting I drink something so I could feed the baby. Reluctantly I sipped it, and that small cup marked the beginning of the postpartum ritual of being encouraged to “fatten up.” Shortly after, I was offered pepper soup, followed by rice and stew. Everyone reminded me that a full stomach helps with a healthy milk supply.
Visitors arrived throughout the day: aunties, uncles, friends and well-wishers who made quiet rest difficult. As I lay in a faded hospital gown, I felt postpartum bleeding soak the heavy pads and the white bedsheet. The discomfort was real, and eventually the sheets were changed.
I had read that breastfeeding within the first hour is important, so I asked to nurse my baby. The pastor’s wife who was caring for me brought her closer, and I tried to follow what I had seen other mothers do. The baby struggled to latch, and with her searching lips and my uncertainty, it took the combined effort of the pastor’s wife and an experienced older woman in the ward to help. The three of us worked until the baby finally latched and began to stimulate my colostrum.
When I stood up for my first bath after delivery, I took stock of my postpartum body. My ankles were still swollen and my tummy looked only partially reduced — it felt as if the midwives had forgotten a twin. It was a sobering sight, but holding my baby made every change worthwhile. After the bath I put on a nightgown, as is customary for postpartum women in Cameroon, and settled in to snuggle with my daughter.
There is more to the postpartum experience, and I will share it in my next post. If you have thoughts or experiences to share, please leave a comment. I love you!
P.S. If you enjoyed this post, you might also like my series on pregnancy and childbirth:
HOW I FOUND OUT ABOUT MY PREGNANCY plus THE FIRST TRIMESTER
THE BEAUTY OF THE SECOND TRIMESTER
I STARTED SNORING IN THE THIRD TRIMESTER
AN EPIC FIRST CHILDBIRTH