Becoming Rapunzel

Motherhood

The first fortnight I only left my bed to relieve myself. I was exhausted. No one had warned me of the pains after childbirth—the spasms that racked my belly and my womb came and went without warning, nor of the bleeding afterward. Ilsa said it was common among women with twins or women who had born many babes over the years. Knowing it was common did not make it hurt any less. I spent the better half of a day nursing. Their crying only ended if they were asleep or suckling. Ilsa kept me strong. She let me cry when the nursing went poorly. She brought me pottage and hushed the babes if they began to cry. I felt like a failure half the time and the mightiest woman in the world the other half. I noted the growing fat on my baby's limbs with pleasure.

Several women in the village stopped by for a visit. I was used to people coming to Ilsa for help unannounced, but these people seemed just to come to talk. I was self-conscious about nursing my children or being in bed in my shift while people walked about the home, but Ilsa assured me that it was expected of me—I was in the midst of my lying-in period. They were kind enough to bring half a loaf of bread or a jar of preserved fruit when they came, and they always wanted to look at my babes and touch them. I didn't want them to even look at my children, let alone touch them. It was the middle of winter and everyone was coughing. Illness was spread by breathing bad air, and that was absolutely not going to happen with my children, I determined. So I tried to be polite and let them gaze upon my beautiful babes, but whenever a hand reached out to touch their downy hair or chubby fingers I scowled and told them in no uncertain terms that my children were off-limits. Then the women would laugh awkwardly, as though unsure of how to reply, then would leave to speak only to Ilsa. That was fine enough for me, because I didn't want to share the joys I was so enraptured with.

I did enjoy my rest in bed. My body was surging with new emotions, feelings, and urges, and I was so overwhelmed with not one but two children screaming for milk or something I didn't understand. I grew sore and cracked. Ilsa gave me dried raspberry leaf tea and told me to gently rub milk on my nipples, that my milk would heal it faster than anything. I was learning to nurse them in turns. I hoped one day to nurse them together at once, when I wasn't so engorged and better practiced. Some days I was terrified I would drop them and everything so beautiful in my life would implode. Thankfully, so far, that hadn't happened. I was doing everything right, Ilsa said, and was a wonderful mother. How I hoped I would continue to be!

Clara came by every day to hold one or both of the twins while I ate and Ilsa took care of her own child. I felt like such a burden on everyone, but I was grateful that I could count on the help. There was no way I could have done this alone in the tower. At least one of us would have died. Clara always crooned over the babes, telling me how beautiful they were, how much they had grown, and how much they looked like me. I blushed with the praise, but I was immensely proud. I thought I had done an excellent job not only in making them, but birthing them. I didn't think anyone could've done it better.

It was relieving to know that my body was good for more than just magical potions. I was in awe of what my body could do. It supported life in my womb and now continued to give life to two helpless babes. I finally felt like I was worth more than just my magical blood. This comfort did much for my moods and my confidence in myself. I felt powerful and needed. No one could feed my children, and they wanted no one but me. The unconditional love and desire from them, even as mere babes, was balm to my troubled spirit. I was, however, so drained of energy that I hardly knew night from day. I kept time by when the babe's needed to eat, which was usually eight times in a full day and night, and with two to care for there was lots of screaming while one waited their turn. Hans and Ilsa were so patient with me and never uttered a complaint when the babes' scream woke them at all hours of the night. I wasn't getting much sleep either. And what sleep I did get was deep and dreamless. My nightmares has slowed from at least one every night to two or three a sennight. While it would be wonderful to say it was because of my newfound love for my children, it was probably just because I was too exhausted to find torment in the night.