This morning we went on a new adventure.
Just as my five-year-old niece Jasmine, is not allowed to cross the road by herself, neither are Emily and me. At least not by ourselves. Not yet, anyway.
Therefore, we went around the block.
However because life is for taking risks, we went freestyle. And by freestyle I mean, mummy drove the pram, but without a cane or beepy thing for navigation purposes.
Admittedly, it was a bit touch and go there on occasion, especially when we crashed into those tiny green electrical boxes positioned on the edge of the footpath. However, I only hit three out of the seven we encountered on our journey.
Lucky for us daddy was close by at all times to laugh with us, and offer verbal instructions when necessary.
I think we may have in advertently come across his calling; he would make a great orientation and mobility instructor for people who are blind or vision in paired.
Our plan is for me to know the path so well, I will be able to take Little for a walk if I so wish.
We navigated bumps and lumps, counted driveways, dodged tree roots, discussed landmarks, and giggled at my generally poor form.
I am still recovering from Little’s birth, so we could only go around the block twice. First one way, and then in the opposite direction in order for me to gain my Barings, and find a feel for the pram.
The physical weakness I felt throughout my body was a surprise, as nobody really speaks about the symptoms of the six, eight, maybe even 12 weeks post-partum period.
To my mind it is sort of glossed over.
Sure there is article upon article about what to expect when you ar expecting, or how to get your infant to sleep, and the ten deadly sins of visiting a new mum… But not a lot is written regarding how strange it feels to push the pram and realise you have no core to speak of.
I don’t know why I assumed that after Little arrived, I would immediately bounce back to my pre-pregnancy capabilities. But I really really did.
Sure I knew my breasts would wax and wayne like the moon on an hourly bases, my belly would gradually flatten, but maybe not be the same again, and I would surely be tired. Oh so tired! However I wasn’t expecting my legs to feel like led, my breath to catch, or my scar to pull in funny directions if I bent the wrong way.
It seems to be taking forever for me to feel like myself again.
I don’t feel like I can trust my body to take me very far from home. Because what if something happens?
I am not sure what that something could be, but what if it does?
I feel as though I have been sliced in half, which is practically true, but the two halves haven’t come back together yet.
I wonder if and when they will heal properly.
But most of all I am wondering why I did not know it would be like this.