My postpartum body: Anger at my partner

One of the things I wasn't expecting about having a baby was how angry I would be at my partner because of it.

To be honest, even during my pregnancy I felt a little angry towards my partner. His body wasn't changing, and he didn't have to worry about what he ate or whether he smoked or drank alcohol. And then there was me, worrying about whether to drink water out of the tap because it looked a funny colour.

But if I was angry during my pregnancy, then I was absolutely furious postpartum.

I was pretty lucky during my pregnancy, in some ways. I didn't put on too weight initially - probably because I felt depressed and completely lost my appetite. At 35 weeks, I had a private scan for my own piece of mind as I was worried something might be wrong and I wanted to see my baby again. During this scan, it became apparent that my uterus was septated and my baby was breech. This was a huge shock as my midwife (as well as other doctors I had seen) had always said my baby was head down. Unfortunately, since my baby was breech AND my uterus was septated (we later found out during my c-section that I have a heart-shaped uterus) it meant I would have to have a planned c-section, which absolutely terrified the living day lights out of me (I'm scared of having injections and my blood taken, let alone major abdominal surgery WHILE YOU ARE AWAKE, jesus christ!).

Anyway, because of this, as my baby grew bigger and bigger in the later stages of my pregnancy, she didn't have much room as she was kind of stuck in the left side of my uterus. This resulted in major stretch marks developing all across my abdomen. If that wasn't enough, after my c-section I spent 4 hours in recovery to make sure I didn't haemorrhage (I was more at risk of this due to the shape of my uterus) and so I spent 4 hours being pumped with fluids to keep me hydrated. To say I swelled up like a balloon is an understatement.

So there I am, home with my beautiful baby girl, sweating a night like a fat man in a sauna every night for a month and a half, loose skin covered in purple and pink stretch marks, with a sore c-section scar. And there was my partner, looking exactly the same as he did (pretty much) when I first met him. He hasn't had his skin stretched, ripped or cut, he hasn't spent the last few months quitting smoking, gone through a birthday without drinks with his friends, unable to eat some of his favourite foods because they contain liver, peeing every 45 minutes day or night (my record was actually every 20 minutes - it wasn't enjoyable!), and on top of that all of the depression shizzle that I've been battling, To be honest, I'm surprised I didn't start some woman's "Anti-Man" movement during the last year! I hated hearing women talk about how hard they have it and how men have it easy, but it was a little hard to ignore them now, let me tell you!

We had arguments about this, of course. I couldn't understand why I was feeling so hard done by, and I couldn't understand why he wouldn't be eternally grateful for my act of motherhood. I grew him a baby, from scratch, without any practice - I should be worshipped for goodnessake! It was so hard for me to articulate how I was feeling, and I was really shocked to even be feeling what I was feeling. For ages I would look at other mothers in the street and think how amazing they were to have gone through this monumentus sacrifice. I still think it now, you know, but I don't look at the fathers with an evil gaze anymore.

I'm not angry at my partner anymore, either. Whether you are a man or woman, if you are the partner of someone going through pregnancy and childbirth when you haven't gone through it yourself, how on earth are you supposed to know what the other side looks like? Or feels like? Likewise, I don't know what it's been like for him. I'm not saying he has had it easier or harder than me, he's just had it different. What I do know is that we are a team, and if one side of the team struggles then it's up to the other side to give them a helping hand.

It's not about me comparing myself to him. It's about what I do next, what I have done, and the kind of person it ends up making me. I could be angry at him forever, but more than anything it's about the situation, not him. Now I'm starting to look at my postpartum body as a badge of honour. It's part of my life's journey, and although I'm sure I will be able to (eventually!) shift the weight and my skin will fit my body again (it's errr a few sizes to big right now!), I'm OK with keeping the stretch marks. They are the product of creating a beautiful human being who I get the privilege of getting to know for the rest of my life. And you know what, I think something that is the result of something so special, it bloody well worth keeping.