• Birth,  Homebirth,  Love,  Motherhood

    Prize Fighter

    My hair was knotted, my abdomen still too weak to hold me upright, and I was bleeding as I stepped into┬áthe most comfortable and undignified part of the Postpartum Mother’s uniform – the adult diaper. He held out his hand to help me out of the bathtub with a gentle touch and I felt fragile. I felt like a brittling petal, my movements were careful and slow. I was studying the floor for places to put my feet when I heard him smile as he said, “You’re so beautiful.” I was wearing a diaper, y’all. I did the head-tilt, the scoff of incredulity, the “thanks, weirdo” smile, but he wouldn’t…