What is Happening to My Body

The fourth trimester is ending but the carnage continues

Artist’s rendering of the pram-bridge incident. (Drawing by Kelsey Breseman)

Yesterday, I rode a bike for the first time since giving birth. It was a quick run to the butcher shop — only ten minutes — but a little thrill to realize I could sit on the seat. Six weeks ago, it would have been out of the question.

The distance, though short, is still at the limits of my walking range. I could probably do it, but I’d need a bathroom stop, and I know my hips would ache when I got home.

A month ago, I walked too far and peed myself all the way home: a private horror, in my long, thick skirt in rainy London streets, but humbling nonetheless. The pelvic floor does not brook with my delusions of recovery.

I feel unprepared for the injuries dragging on. Pregnancy already feels like forever; you wait impatiently for the birth; and then you still don’t get to be the self you’re used to.

I had imagined, in late pregnancy, that birth would mark the start of recovery — pregnancy itself being quite enough to heal from — but failed to account for how far the birthing act would drag back the starting line.

There is progress. In the days after birth, I was completely numb between belly and thighs. A couple of weeks later, I could confidently make some mind-muscle…