a little early to the party
I had written up a draft about parental leave and planned to send it right before the baby comes so I stick to my monthly schedule. but how does that saying go? I plan, God laughs…
our little bundle of joy decided to vacate the comfort of my womb at 36 weeks. Kai Izani Larsson was born on the 2nd of February, 2025, weighing a little under 2,5kg. he’s an eager beaver; precocious and keen to experience the world in his own terms.
my thoughts around the whole experience are disorganized and discordant, and depending on who’s asking, I’ll give you a different version and this post won’t resolve any of those issues. we’ll see what version I settle on for this post!
a matter of syntax
you read that correctly, I’m not a newborn’s mother, though I am that, too, but what one must’n’t forget that I am newborn mother, too. both Elis and I are newborn parents. it is our first rodeo. we’re new to this. I’ve heard this concept of “matrescence”, the process of becoming a mother much like adolescence. yes, a child is born, and simultaneously, a woman has given birth. one doesn’t exist without the other. somehow, we’ve forgotten that last part.
I say this as a reminder to the people in my life so they will cut me some slack, show me grace, and manage their expectations, but mostly, I write this for myself. I write this for the woman who looks at the mirror and doesn’t recognize the face reflected back to her. I write this for the woman who doesn’t feel like her body is her own as it leaks from several different crevices. the woman crying in the shower. the woman who wants a break yet feels like she should do things herself but also will secretly resent not asking for help. the woman gritting her teeth as she tries to get her newborn to latch on her nipple. the woman who gets anxious about nights because she feels she’s the only one responsible for keeping the baby from crying. the woman who feels alone as she takes on the ‘default parent’ role while she watches her partner get to carry on life as it was before baby. not to diminish the non-birthgiving partner’s transformation, but the physical change and the biological toll is not the same.
mum’s the word
warning: this might get a bit TMI and if you’ve given birth or plan to in the future, maybe you want to skip this if you are easily squeamish or don’t want to relive the ordeal.
firstly, it’s like this baby knew it was my last day at work and decided it was time to come out. I had four weeks of preparation and pampering planned. I was going to go watch Babygirl at the cinema alone on a Tuesday morning. I planned to go to museums and drink at cafes. I wanted to take myself out to lunch. I was gonna put up positive birth affirmations all over the apartment. I had all these hypnobirthing podcasts lined up. I was going to finally finish all the baby books. I was going to have a family meeting with Elis about how I wanted to be supported during labor. I was going to finally delve into breastfeeding, like collecting colostrum and figuring out the right phalange for breast pumps and the right bottle to support lactation. I had this whole plan ok!!
I don’t think I ever fully acknowledged how I felt not having those four weeks to do all that: robbed. I never got to grieve that time that never was. and you know what? I’ll say it: I’m still kinda pissed.
secondly, as a result of the early arrival, I was scared when it was finally time to deliver the baby. I was in denial for the first two hours that contractions were actually happening, chalking it up to Braxton Hicks. I was determined not to be one of those pregnant women that went to the hospital too early only to be sent back home. well, it was actually worse? our hospital didn’t take deliveries of babies earlier than 37 weeks. Kai was 36 weeks. so the doctors stopped my contractions long enough to send me in an ambulance to another hospital—with the gurney and sirens and everything. at one point, they thought I was going to give birth on the street. all I could think about was, “this isn’t conducive to a positive birth; this won’t facilitate oxytocin production (the very hormone that’s gonna help me birth this baby)” and I was just so in my head. anxiety took over. fear took over. I don’t care how many times I chanted the litany against fear in my head, I was afraid. I told my midwives on two separate occasions, “I don’t know if I can do this”.
then I got my epidural and things were momentarily peachy. I was cracking jokes. seamlessly shifting from Swedish to English then back to Swedish with the confidence of a drunk person. my appetite came back. I was rearing to go. but since that initial delay at the previous hospital, my contractions never quite reached the same frequency and that made pushing really hard. I was not quite aware of this, but according to Elis, the midwives seriously considered “pausing” my labor and maybe even doing a c-section. you don’t know how frustrating it was to feel Kai’s head and spine slide out only to be sucked back in because I couldn’t push through a contraction long enough to let him go all the way.
the worst part came after, though. Kai finally was out but he didn’t make a noise. I remember my heart sank. quickly, the midwives took him and Elis to another room and I was left in the room amidst the mess of my own labor. legs open, my nether regions inspected for tears, trying to determine if I should get stitched up now. meanwhile, I did not know whether my baby was okay. it was the longest, scariest, loneliest 15 minutes of my life. finally, Kai came back and if it weren’t for the absolute relief and unadulterated joy of having him on my chest, I would say that the “repairs” after the birth hurt more than actual pushing.
in the early phase of labor, I was still trying to carry on with my day as normal and took a shower. no one told me that all those painful memories would come rushing back when I got back home and showered again. it’s been almost four weeks, and whenever I take a shower (which as a new parent is my current place of refuge), I can still feel a tingle of that pain like a phantom limb. my vagina still doesn’t feel normal and only yesterday did I stop feeling my sutures. my body feels like it’s been through the wringer. I look at other people who’ve given birth with so much respect. like, you. did. that. how do people choose to do it a second time?
the self in flux
while the reflection staring back at me is unrecognizable, I still feel myself clinging to older versions of myself. transformative though this may be, I am still me. so, as a reintroduction:
my name is Elida, I’ve lived in four different countries and 5 years ago would’ve said that I can call none of them home, but now I’m happy to report that I’ve made a home in each one. I’m taking a break from pursuing a PhD in Sociology but there is no off switch for my sociological imagination. I love movies, I watch a lot of TV, I enjoy reading predictable romance novels. I crave a slice of cake at least four times a week. I prefer sparkling over still water. I believe that on time is actually late, yet I’m a time optimist and always think I have more than I do when I need to go somewhere. I write to make sense of things, I draw and paint to express how I feel, and I sing and dance and listen to music too loudly to get out of my head. I love dogs and must point them out whenever I see them. I love my friends and I try to tell them that as often as I can. I have a resting grumpy face. I love big, tropical leaves and when I can, will adorn my arms in inked representations of them. I’m a daughter of a kickass woman, the wife to the sweetest man, the sister to the most responsible brother, an aunt to my sweet, fun-loving nephew and niece, a dog mom to the cutest and most well-behaved tibetan terrier there ever was, a friend to some of the best people on Earth, and the latest notch in my belt: mother to a beautiful baby.
motherhood in numbers
1 cry a day
3 changes of clothing for the mum
10-25 ml of letdown
30 minutes of ‘me’ time in the shower
3-5 consecutive hours of sleep
843 kisses on his sweet cheeks per day
5 number of times I wake up to check if baby is alive
1 load of laundry a week (up from 1 every two weeks)
4 pacifiers on rotation
3 new grey hairs
45 minutes to get ready to leave the home
1-handed tasks
26 moments of disbelief throughout the day
6-7 diaper changes a day
18 times I stick my nose in my baby’s mouth when he yawns
2 hours and 30 minutes, on average, time between feedings
2-3 minutes of tummy time
30-45 minutes fretting over if tummy time is too long or too short
12 times a day where I say, “who’s the cutest baby?”
10pm bedtime
26 days of gratitude that this tiny little human is in my arms
I’ve been…
watching Six Feet Under, it completely slipped my radar and it’s so good. I love anything funeral home related and it doesn’t treat the audience like they’re stupid. I’ve also watched all three Kenneth Branagh adaptations of Agatha Christie. and last but certainly not least, season 3 of Our Flag Means Death (I’ve been putting it off because if I don’t ever watch the final season, then the show is never over, is it?). oh, and videos of Hrithik Roshan dancing.
listening to “luther” and “gloria” by Kendrick Lamar and SZA on repeat, and Hozier’s cover of “Do I Wanna Know?”
doing my best, okay?
playing a dangerous game of resisting naps in the day in favor of doing ‘other stuff’ (read: scroll my phone).
dreaming of weather without coats and scarves and hats and gloves and layers.
struggling with knowing what my baby wants at any given moment.
admiring mothers. Y’ALL. I was an admirer of mothers since forever but now I have a whole new appreciation.
loving my baby’s breath. and his cute little face. and his eyes. and his wee hands and feet. and his various facial expressions. and the way he nuzzles himself towards me.
hating how long it’s been since I’ve properly hung out with friends outside of my apartment.
savouring the time my mum is here because she’s the only person who doesn’t return the baby when he starts to cry.
letting go of any expectations or hopes of my life returning back to “normal”.
currently crushing on…
the question should rather be, who am I not crushing on? this month’s list is LONG.
Timothee Chalamet and his unhinged ass during this whole press tour of A Complete Unknown.
Andrew Garfield and his incisive questions to other actors and interviewers.
Harris Dickinson and the way he talks.
Nicholas Hoult’s everything.
Jesse Eisenberg’s way of looking at the world and how he perceives himself (because I think we’re the same person?)
Miles Teller in the movie, The Gorge. to be clear, I have not seen it, but what little I have seen, mama likey.
and my own baby because oh my god he is the cutest. thing. ever. my eyes have never laid on a more beautiful baby. but I am completely partial and entirely biased!
parting words
I’m literally writing on borrowed time. my mum is holding Kai while I eat lunch and write this and every minute more I take, is another minute my mum has to wait to eat her own lunch. so, I’ll keep it short and simple (like me): thank you for being here and reading. this tired new mother appreciates it a lot. I’m hugging every single one of you. <3
lots of love,
eeshkie
Weeeee thank you for writing this for us and for yourself, as a newborn mother! Resting grumpy face is cute on you and Kai 😂