A Tale of Two Newborns, Part 5: This River is Wild

So here I am.

Seven (and nearly a half) months postpartum.

I can breathe. I can see. I can go to the grocery store with confidence with my son in tow. I can sleep through the night. I can thrive at work. I can travel across the country to make memories in magical Sedona. I can have coffee with my friends. I can laugh. I can sit in a big pile of leaves with my son and feel the wind tickle my face and sun breathe life into my body. I can feel peace with myself. I can go out to dinner with my lovely husband. I can be.

That whole ‘I can be’ is the most powerful one to me. Being, and not doing is so important to my (and probably everyone else’s) survival. OK, you’re thinking…”Duh, Blair…we, uh, know!” Well…when you forget to “be” you don’t ever think you will get it back. Sometimes it takes a few times each day to get back to that whole “being” thingy.

Being is the essence of bringing your heart, soul, and human-ness together. The grand trine of living a successful (my definition at least) life. Allowing, not pushing. Accepting, not trying. You get the picture… Oh and, newsflash: we are human. We are souls. We are heart. And we are all three at the same time. If one is not in congruence with another, we’re going to feel off. 

Rounding back, I lost all three for awhile. SO many of us do. And this doesn’t just happen with postpartum issues, but a gambit of different circumstances we each encounter throughout our lives. But it is possible to get the gang back together, always…

I would be lying to say that everyday is easy. It’s not. Some days are still very, oddly difficult.

Somedays I can’t sleep. And I get scared. Like I’ll never sleep again. Somedays I can’t handle River crying. His sad little tone is like my own personal rage alarm. I. Must. Stop. His. Crying. It drives me mad. And I’ll do anything to avoid him crying, even if it means me staying at home when everyone else is out enjoying life. Somedays I don’t feel like being a mom, or breastfeeding for the umpteenth time because he’s still not great with a bottle. Somedays I get sick to my stomach that I went through such a horrendous postpartum period. Will River be OK with all this? Somedays I don’t want to talk to anyone or express my feelings because I’m soooo sick of feeling the same damn feelings.

But, now I know that these ‘somedays’ are just that. Somedays. Definitely not “every-days.”

I repeat…they are just somedays.

It’s so funny…many people ask me…”Why did you name your son River?”

I always stop and really try to find the origin of how his name came to be.

OK…the only other River I knew of was River Phoenix. But we didn’t name him after the late actor and activist. So not that. Well, I love nature, and the healing energetics of water…but it’s not really that either. Maybe it’s after one of my favorite songs “This River is Wild” from one of my favorite bands, The Killers.

We love that song, but that’s not it either.

So, I mainly just respond with…”He chose his name. It just came to us.”

That feels right.

River very appropriately chose his name. To me, a river symbolizes flow, acceptance, letting go, enjoying the ride, so much more beautiful symbolism.

He taught me how to flow. I always thought I knew how to, but turns out, I really didn’t know the damnedest thing about it.

I am grateful to see through the haze and capture the gorgeous lesson I’ve learned throughout my postpartum journey. I learned to be again. Allow. Accept. Go with the flow. You know the drill…

So what do I do now?

Keep on flowing. Letting the river pass over the rocks, and rapids, and all the funky stuff that we inevitably go through in life.

Thank God for River.

He is a giant, light beaming, magnetic soul in a tiny, chubby-toed and bright-eyed body.

I love him so and I thank and honor him for choosing to come on this journey with me.

On another note, I am going to find a way to help other who are experiencing a postpartum journey they didn’t expect. I haven’t quite wrapped my heart around how yet, but I’ll figure it out. For now, I’ll keep writing, sharing, and being a voice that lets the world know that these experiences will heal. And that we should have no shame talking about this. No shame. No fear.

Keep holding on.

Thanks for letting me share this adventure. Your hearts and unconditional love have changed me. Now, let’s keep passing the love along.

Namasté.

New to the Two Newborns story? Catch up by reading the Introduction, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4. Also, I want to kindly remind you that these posts come with a *trigger warning.* Thank you for being here.