You know you're postpartum when you cry over your nail polish. Not just cry, but feel slightly nauseated and confused and actually moved by the gravity of the whole nail polish situation.
A week before Hal was born, I got a manicure. I told everyone in the salon how my due date was coming up and my heart felt all toasty and warm while picking out the color, knowing this manicure would last until -- past -- when the baby arrived. This is the nail polish I will wear when I am in labor and I will be wearing it when my son is born, I smiled at the OPI bottle. And all of that seemed like a big deal. Like, A Big Deal. A conclusion.
Due to a combination of hormones and that persistent thing called time, I had to force myself to take off the remnants of that manicure yesterday. It was stupid hard. Like (sob sob) saying goodbye to pregnancy, to the anticipation, to the wondering when and how. It was like running full force and stopping on a dime.
(Yes, I am still talking about removing the nail polish. I know. I told you. It's the hormones and I simply cannot help myself.)
But then it was also realizing Hal is only 12 days old.
I am still looking forward forward forward, I just get to mix it with memories of the past now. Pregnancy and birth and all of that other stuff are way over. This is the real beginning. I get to raise Hal and I am (I pray) going to change my nail polish a hundred thousand times with this kid around.
So I took off my (formerly) chic black manicure and painted my nails navy blue. From black to navy. Nothing drastic. Just a little teensy bit different and brighter than they were two weeks ago. Like me.
Your comments on my birth story mean so much to me. I went back and forth before I posted it, trying to decide how much detail to give and how much I wanted to put out there. Reading homebirth stories was a crucial part of my birth preparation so I ultimately decided that I should contribute my nickel to that pot. Thank you so much for your love and support. Xs and Os to you all.