As I was heading to bed last night, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something on the agenda for today. I racked my brain, but came up with nothing. In the end, I decided that, if it was that important, I would have written it down.
When I woke up this morning, it hit me: today, Valerie is six weeks old. Which means that I am now six weeks postpartum. That's the magical number when I am supposed to be fully healed from childbirth. I've been so concerned with Valerie's milestones that I haven't been really paying attention to my own. Unfortunately, I think I'm behind the healing curve. I'm pretty much done bleeding, but I still have some reddish, sore spots, and it still hurts to sit, and sometimes to pee. I probably shouldn't be worried, I know six weeks is an average, not a magic number. But it's disappointing to reach the end of a countdown and discover that you have not yet arrived. My postpartum visit with my midwife is tomorrow - I guess I have a few questions I'll need to ask.
Six weeks is a magic number if you're an insurance company, however. Today's the day my paid leave runs out. I'm not going back to work yet, but the insurance company has dubbed any more time I take off "bonding" time, and therefore not eligible for paid leave. I told myself, before the baby came, that I would treat the paid leave as a license to not feel guilty about not getting anything done around the house. I was being paid to sit at home and heal, so anything I accomplished above and beyond that was a bonus. That resolution didn't stop me from occasionally getting frustrated and overwhelmed at the heaps of dirty dishes, but it also didn't wash them for me, so something had to give. I did give myself a pass on all the big projects, however, not the least of which is sorting through and putting away or throwing away all of the crap we moved from the old house. There is a lot of it. And after today, it's going to start taunting me every time I walk by it. Or rather, it will continue to do so, and I won't be able to tell it to shut up anymore.
Some days I really miss living in Canada. Nine months of leave would be really nice.