When I got to take my son home from the hospital I felt like everybody was insane- they trusted that this brand new human being would be safe with me, ME?
Yes, yes, I had some experience and loved babies and in the back of my head I knew that you didn’t have to go school, get an advanced degree or a certificate in order to procreate or to take your offspring home but yet again, maybe there SHOULD be some requirements here!!!
And there was my instructional manual, shouldn’t they after all come with one? Wasn’t that my parental right? Where were the laws for this stuff?
And the mandatory classes?
I had a faint memory of some breastfeeding class that was optional (you heard me, optional) that I had slept through in my pain killer induced haze after he was born and therefore missed, like “okay, it’s optional to keep this tiny human alive with my body…or not”.
I looked down at my first born with wonder, did they really expect me to take care of him…you know FOREVER? It’s not that I didn’t want to, because even if I didn’t exactly felt that overwhelming unconditional, all consuming love the second he was born (im terribly ashamed to admit this) red faced and screaming- him (well, let’s be honest both of us) and with 18 brand new stitches in the worst place you can think of (me, definitely me) I did now already love him with all my heart. But it was because of that love I wasn’t ready to take him home yet, he was just born YESTERDAY after all (and he had already been poked and prodded so much I already felt like I had failed in the mother department). Why wouldn’t they let me stay for at least a week or two? (Or you know a year) in case something went wrong? I mean I hadn’t even gotten my real milk in nor had I mastered diapering his tiny behind…and oh horror, don’t get me started on the all essential “swaddle”.
At least keep us in this safe environment until you are sure we can make it in the outside environment (by the way what “car seat test- the nurse barely glanced at the thing, only checking that we had it- shouldn’t they at least arrange a “ride along”?)
I know many Moms have been talking (and indeed) writing about this very topic but you certainly don’t realize how real it becomes when they wheel you out after having delivered (such a fancy word for what it really entails) that (there is now way I will describe him as “tiny” here) human through what seems to be an impossibly narrow tunnel (breaking all sort of stuff in his way) and he is laying there in your arms. Wrapped up in blue and pink, naked and glorious and completely new and you feel such pride- like “I did this, I made him” (with some slight help but that couldn’t be further from your mind because YOU did this, no one else) and everyone around you smile and some congratulate you (as they should because you just popped out a human from your very body). It’s not special it happens everyday, every moment by most women but yet it is so very VERY special- life’s biggest miracle!!!
And even though it’s messy and ugly and long and hurts like HELL, you somehow want to it again and again! (And again- damn endorphins) and right afterwards (complications and all) you swear- with an angelic smile “it wasn’t that bad!!”.
Be careful what you wish for I guess…
Because you really don’t want to stay in the hospital and you really want to take your baby home with you when you leave.
Everything was different with my second born. Everything was different with my daughter! An even though everything turned out great in the end (and she is now the most precious, sweet, charming, funny, stubborn, determined almost 2 year old little princess), it somehow wasn’t fair. To leave the hospital in day two with a perfectly healthy (well minus a collar bone) baby is something every mother should be able to experience (worries and all). Because as soon as you become a mom, you step up to the plate and you become a MOM and you should be able to take responsibility for that life you created right away (multi-colored poopy diapers, sore nipples, no sleep and all). You should NOT have to be in the hospital for weeks and weeks without your loved ones (and air) for the last trimester of your pregnancy (without the ability to even go to the bathroom… or forget about a shower). You shouldn’t have to cry and worry that there is something majorly wrong with that tiny human inside you (or check her heartbeat with a huge band around you attached to beeping monitors) around the clock, or be wheeled the bi-weekly ultrasounds (scaring you more than informing you) or be forced to eat hospital food for a grand total of 39 days. You shouldn’t have to google diagnoses and conditions and treatments options for your baby before she is even born, or meet with social workers and psychiatrists and specialists or count the days she is kept in there with joy and hope but apprehension.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for catching the fluid around the baby being low in time, I’m thankful for our hospital stay, every shot for baby’s lungs, contraction stopping medicine and blood draw (well…) every nurse and Doctor and specialist and ultrasound but most of all I’m thankful for that little baby girl being able to hang on in there for as long as she did!
The relief when she was born alive and well (finally breathing) and perfect was naturally the best day of my life. Amazing!!!
What came after with the 16 days in the hospital for baby, the monitors, the trouble breathing and eating, the beeping machines and cables, the fear and the massive weight drop- to my life-threatening infection and added hospital stay were less than amazing but we MADE it!!!
We were amongst the lucky few- this I know! Looking around at the babies who were born much earlier and/or had it much much worse and their poor parents made my heart sink and my body ache. The NICU is not a fun place whether you stay days, weeks or months but some definitely have it better than others. We were lucky for sure and just thinking about what could have happened…
I’m almost to that dreaded week 29 in my current pregnancy and I’m hoping and praying that things will be great!
It is however bringing up a lot of feelings (how could it not). I know I might make it to 41 weeks this time, that every pregnancy is different, that I’m under the best possible care and that I’m taking all sorts of preventative measures. I will be fine and so will the baby! This I feel in my heart! – but that little, tiny doubt is devastatingly real…
I’m not writing this to be negative, to seem fearful or ungrateful or to throw myself a little pity party- I’m simply writing this to be real and to share with you what I am feeling as I’m approaching my last trimester with this baby…