These First Days: Fragile and Frail?

I can’t say I really know what to do or feel in these first days. I’m unsure if I should be running around buying groceries or making meals or even going to church on Sunday. Culture tells me to stay inside for another 5 weeks, that I’m frail, fragile, and in a “condition.” I don’t really feel like I have a condition, much less am I in a condition. My delivery was “normal” as is said here, meaning I didn’t have a c-section. So of course my recovery isn’t as difficult as women who’ve undergone major surgery. I do, on the other hand, feel like I’ve been riding a horse for a few weeks, which makes a brisk walk a little more difficult. And my stitches are healing; no complication there, just a mental game to keep my mind off the fact that I have stitches. And the puncture in my hand from the IV doesn’t hurt, and the hole in my back from the epidural isn’t noticeable anymore.

But something in me remains cautious nonetheless. Is it because I’m fragile and frail after all? Or is it something else? The child of my flesh and blood sleeps in the other room. Sure, the shock of childbirth that my body just experienced takes my breath away when I think about the details. Amazing. Fascinating. Terrifying. But in the other room, is a sleeping newborn whose very life is dependant on our touch, our nurturing, our sensitivity to his needs for sleep, food, and cleanliness. How can it be that a child is so dependant on us? On me? I can’t quite get my brain wrapped around this. My arms encircle his body as he leans against me heavy and small after being feed, and these deep, deep emotions seep their way through my eyes and I spill this love onto his stillness.

Maybe I am fragile and frail after all.