Karen Magid (40 - she/her) and Adelaide “Ada” Marie (3)
Austin, TX
I had 2 miscarriages prior to becoming pregnant and having Ada. I struggled to get pregnant and navigated the (in)fertility treatment world for a year and half. During that time while actively trying to get pregnant is when the two early losses occurred. I was so in the (in)fertility space that I feel like I did grieve those losses at the time, but they are still sad and probably always will be when I think back on them. What I struggle with more is my intense desire to have another child, and my fear and doubt about if and how I could make that happen. I don’t want to go through all of what I went through before to get pregnant, even though my pregnancy was then very fine. I don’t know quite the right word to use there because “easy” or “smooth” don’t feel appropriate, but I was fortunate to have no real complications, so in many ways pregnancy seemed easier than the rollercoaster of trying to get pregnant.
Besides the fear and doubt about trying to get pregnant again, I’m also a single mother who loves my situation and bucking traditional gender and life expectations. My inner adolescent remains strong when confronted with common assumptions. Given our family structure, how many other family structures are out there, and the different paths people take toward family, I’m very sensitive to the lack of thought people put into assumptions about family size and structure. I regularly struggle to wait patiently through people asking anything from when I will have another kid to letting me know that the best thing I can do for my daughter is have a sibling. There is no malintent in these words, so I usually respond with something vague about it not looking like that will happen. So many people have been through or are going through something difficult to build the family they want. I’m not sure there is a good way to ask anything beyond “Do you have kids?” I try not to lead with that anyway, tempting as it can be in the awkwardness of small talk.
How has parenthood impacted your body image?
I think one of the only times in my life that I have every looked at myself and felt beautiful was the day I got home from the hospital with Ada. I looked at myself in the mirror, unshowered, still in my maternity clothes, and felt beautiful. That specific feeling did not last, but I hold on to that memory as the rest of my postpartum body journey has continued.
I struggle daily with how I feel in my body now and what I see in the mirror. As I read about different perspectives on body-positivity and acceptance, I’ve tried asking myself what can’t my body do now, but I have definite answers for that. I’ve been a runner and a rock climber for years and years, and I can’t do the things I could do before I got pregnant. I wouldn’t change having Ada for anything, but I’m still stuck in the mental loop that the size and shape my body is now is somehow temporary, and when Ada is just a little older, I’ll have more time, resolve, and willpower to get back to the size I was before.
I’ve always had what I think is a generally positive relationship with my body, and I recognize that I’m privileged to be a standard sized white woman. I don’t have to go through a host of negative experiences with things like the health care system or just being a body in the world. Still, only recently have I started to think about how much of the physical societal expectations I have internalized, even though I had considered myself largely removed from big portions of them. I’ve always had a muscular body which took many years to feel only part way comfortable with, so am I also trying to get back to a place that I was just ok with in the first place? What can I do to accept and embrace this body and all that it has done and can do when I can’t even get rid of pants that make me feel terrible when I see them in the closet and even worse when I try to wear them? Some days, not looking in the mirror helps a bit, but it can’t erase the knowledge that I need bigger pants.
Also, Ada hasn’t weaned completely yet. We are nearly there, and it is a divided feeling for me. I wasn’t going to force her to wean. I was scared of losing that specific, special aspect of our bond, but I was finding it physically uncomfortable nursing as she approached three. So, for her third birthday I said no more nursing to sleep. The boob still commonly comes out on the weekends for naps, but that isn’t even working anymore to get her to sleep and it feels even less comfortable for me. So, it’s probably time to close up shop entirely. The gradual process has helped me though. The bedtime transition was not a big deal for her, so I know that our relationship won’t fundamentally change without this connection. Right now I feel like my relationship with my boobs will be forever changed. They are still physically larger and I’m not sure I ever really related to them until now. Nursing has felt like their purpose.
What was your postpartum experience?
Ada was extremely comfortable and settled before being born, so at 41 weeks, I agreed with my midwife to be induced. I was immediately and irrevocably attached to Ada from minute zero. Like her unwillingness to be born, it’s a relationship founded in stubborn attachment. Giving birth was truly a transformative experience, and besides wanting another kid to have that much more love in my life, I really do want to give birth again. I even started looking into surrogacy so I could go through that experience again, while knowing it was not a good idea for me.
Like with the pregnancy journey, I had done a lot of reading to prep myself for many postpartum possibilities. With prior depression struggles over the years, I was terrified of PPD, but it was a joyful, easy time initially, with the huge caveat of the feelings of isolation being intense. Still, I could sit with her propped up on my knees for hours and just stare at her, trying to take everything in. Then, I would be desperate to leave the house to interact with other people with Ada, but leaving the house with an infant is challenging, let alone in the Texas summer. It felt hard to even take her for a walk initially because of the heat.
As an infant, I barely set her down and had no interest in anyone else holding her for longer than a minute. Feeling like this was my one shot at this, I was set on experiencing every minute of it and every type of experience in it. Also, I felt incredibly sure of myself in a way that was totally unexpected. I wasn’t afraid I was going to break the newborn baby and things just made sense, or I knew I could figure them out. As someone who deals with imposter syndrome in basically all other aspects of my life at all times, this was shocking. While that self-assuredness has not lasted entirely, being a mother is the one thing in the core of my being that feels right.
No surprise then, I was set on exclusively breastfeeding. Nursing was brutal for the first 6 weeks. It was scary for the first few days when she wasn’t gaining weight, and the doctors and even first two lactation consultants did not provide any support. Then, even after getting some good support and Ada starting to gain weight, it was painful. After about 6 weeks though, it got better and we just kept going from there. I pumped for a year for her to have milk at daycare, which was the worst. I’ve pumped in all those ridiculous situations that people find themselves in for pumping: bathrooms, closets, random offices, my car. Once we found our nursing rhythm, Ada was not a kid who was going to self-wean. I think I’ve blocked out for how long I nursed her in the car before we could go anywhere. That was on me for starting that little routine. At three and a half, Ada still asks for booby daily even though the answer is almost always my gentlest “no.”
I had to go back to work after 3 months. Taking her to daycare that first day was hard. I cried in my car on the way to work, came back to nurse her once that day, and picked her up early. Being able to take that much time off and not feeling ready to go back full time made me angry that our system doesn’t support more models of maternity and working, and furious that many women don’t even get that much time. I got used to dropping her off, and continue to walk that line of loving what I do professionally, loving that I’m demonstrating to Ada what doing good work in the world looks like, wanting to keep advancing my career to do more, and wanting more time with her.
As I was writing this, I realized that networks and support hasn’t come up. I have great support systems in place that I’m slowly learning are okay to call on and won’t damage our bond, but I’ve not connected strongly with any mothers’ groups. I’ve tried with a few different groups, but it feels like another type of dating that I’m also terrible at. I didn’t really develop female friendships until my mid-thirties since I was in traditionally male academic spaces before that. I have amazing friends now, but very few whose timing aligned with mine in terms of having kids. Also, I’m still dealing with what I guess is a sense of loss that it doesn’t look like I will have another kid. I really struggle to relate to many of the families with similarly aged kids who are having their second kids now. I don’t want to be this person, but it’s such a tender spot in my heart. For now, I have to disengage from these connections. It’s not an ideal reaction, but I just don’t know what else to do. At the same time, there are so many things I’m looking forward to with Ada and all that we can do as a fierce, adventurous team of two, in addition to the present.
What is your truth?
I’m developing as a parent in parallel with Ada. My understanding and insight seems to come in the time needed – along with finding the right things to read at the right times. It’s like housework, prioritize the pieces that really need to get done when they are needed, and try to accept good enough. There’s no perfect way to do this. Finally, pumping sucks and makes you really hungry. Also finally, therapy.
Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?
Struggling with my sense of my body, and thinking a lot about the image I portray to my daughter. Feeling good about myself, including physically, can’t be something I’m pretending to be. I want to believe and feel ok with my body so Ada can see that. Having this picture taken feels radical for me, in a way that I think can only help. I’ve never enjoyed having my picture taken. I can still see how red my eyes look from crying in my Senior photo from high school every time I go back home. This opportunity feels different. I’m choosing it and this special experience as a family. Also, as many mothers find, but especially as a single mother, I’m rarely in the picture with Ada unless it is a selfie. I want to celebrate and document us.
Connected to our senses of self, I think a lot about the appearance pressures coming for Ada, and how soon, if not already, those pressures are seeping into her awareness. Ada gets a lot of attention for her red, curly hair and her awesome sense of style. Most days you will find her in a ”fancy dress.” She also loves ballet. So I have become hyper aware how this young girl is spoken to and how appearance driven her interactions can be. I want to support and encourage her sense of style, love of dance, and for her to feel strong in her choices. Out in public, I have yet to find a response that does not encourage additional interaction when we just want to be on with our day, but also calls attention to what anyone might be experiencing in having their appearance be the first thing commented on over and over again.
Also, everyone’s story is unique, so it’s natural that I’ve never seen my exact self or my story. I don’t need to. I love the pictures and the diverse stories of this project. I do relate to pieces of other people’s stories and glean insight and empathy. Still, another radical aspect for me is that I very much shy away from sharing about myself publicly in this way. I hid the fact that I was pregnant for as long as possible and then hopefully a little more, because I hated the attention that pregnancy brought to my body. However, since I love reading other people’ stories and do see how those pieces from other people help me, I wanted to hopefully be a part of that. Still, I feel conflicted about my privilege and my desire to participate. I’m conscious of my race, and that I see plenty of examples of myself when I look at standard media. Without wanting to turn the story into anything about my whiteness, I believe strongly in using my voice to break down barriers, so I hope that my support of the project helps do that as well.
