The first bath after the baby

The first bath after you have the baby is brutal.

Today I took my first bath and something in me broke down inside that washroom.

I saw my stomach and it was empty.

For around 9 months, I was carrying a tiny heartbeat inside me. We bathed together every single day for those entire 9 months. I would rub my tummy, feel the little flutters and kicks, get anxious when the movements reduced and feel so relaxed the moment I felt even a tiny movement.

Today that tiny heartbeat was sleeping inside the room while I took a bath.

I’ve made something which is beating in the bedroom, while I stood there missing the stomach which grew for 9 months.

I missed being pregnant.

I missed that version of me.

I missed rubbing my tummy. I missed feeling those flutters. I missed the kicks. I missed getting anxious about reduced movements and then feeling relieved when the baby moved again.

I missed all those hospital visits.

I missed waiting for the doctor to check the heartbeat and that little moment when I could finally hear it and know everything was okay.

I missed seeing my baby through the ultrasound. Those moments of staring at the screen, trying to understand what I was looking at, waiting to see the baby move, waiting for the doctor to tell me everything was normal.

I missed all those blood tests and glucose tests. I remember hoping every single time that the results would come back normal.

I missed sitting in the hospital for hours, waiting for my turn, waiting for the Gynaecologist to finally see me and tell me, “Everything is normal.”

I even miss the waiting.

I miss going to the hospital with my husband. Sitting beside him in the queue. Talking about the baby. Waiting together. Going out and eating something after the appointment. Running errands together.

I miss all those ordinary days that didn’t feel ordinary because I was pregnant.

I miss planning things, the baby shower, the journey, the birth plan, every minute thing with my husband, thinking about everything, deciding what to do and then actually executing it. All those little preparations that made the pregnancy feel real.

There are literally so many things I did during those 9 months.

And I miss every single one of them.

I missed eating wholeheartedly, knowing I was eating for two.

I missed sleeping on one side of the bed because my tummy needed the space.

But most of all, I missed just being pregnant with my husband. Being in that little world together, waiting for our baby, talking about the baby, feeling the baby, and knowing that this tiny heartbeat was with me everywhere I went.

And now suddenly, everything is different.

My baby is here.

My stomach is empty.

My body feels different.

And I don’t know who I am anymore.

As the blood ran down my legs and washed away with the water, I tried to wash away the feeling of being pregnant too. I tried to tell myself to enjoy motherhood, to be happy that my baby is finally here.

And I am happy.

But I am also grieving.

It’s such a weird feeling. Because I got exactly what I was waiting for. My baby is here, sleeping in the next room, and yet I’m crying because I miss the baby who was inside me.

I think I was grieving one last time for being pregnant.

For those tiny kicks inside my tummy.

For the version of me who carried a heartbeat everywhere she went.

For the belly that grew with my baby.

For the hospital visits, the scans, the blood tests, the glucose tests, the waiting, the appointments, the queues, the food after appointments, the errands, the baby shower, the preparations, the plans, the conversations, and all those little moments with my husband.

For those nine months when we were literally together, every single moment.

I don’t know what happens next.

I don’t know when I’ll start feeling like myself again.

Maybe I don’t have to know right now.

Maybe I’m allowed to miss being pregnant.

Maybe I’m allowed to grieve that version of me while learning to love this new version of me.

Because I didn’t just give birth to my baby.

Somewhere along the way, I also said goodbye to the woman I was when my baby was still inside me.

And today, in that bathroom, I think I grieved her.

Not because I want to forget her.

Not because I want to stop missing those nine months.

But because I know I will carry her with me for the rest of my life.

One day, when I look back at the pictures and videos from those nine months. I’ll see that belly, remember those kicks, hear that heartbeat, and remember exactly what it felt like to carry my baby everywhere I went.

I don’t want time to take that feeling away from me.

I want to remember it.

I want to miss it sometimes.

I want to look back and still feel that little ache in my heart for the woman I was, the baby I carried, and the life we shared before we ever met.

Maybe that’s what this moment really was.

Not saying goodbye forever.

Just saying goodbye to the version of me who carried her first baby, lived through her first pregnancy, felt those tiny kicks for the first time that I can never live this pregnancy again for the first time and promising myself that I will never forget what it felt like to be her.