Bringing Home Baby
Now that labor was over, I was faced with Gallbladder surgery. Two days after my gut was ripped open, I was cut 5 times. All went well, but recovery from two major operations in three days was a bitch.
I was in the hospital for 5 days. I had the nursery do most of the Mothering of my daughter at that time. They tell you to “rest”. How in hell can I rest when someone is always poking at me? At midnight, they had to come take my vitals. At 4:00 AM they had to take my blood. Breakfast was at 7:00. It was like a boot camp. There was no “rest”.
Day 5 I cried to make my OB send me home. Had I known then what I know now, I would have squeezed every last day I could have out of that hospital stay.
I didn’t have expectations of my delivery. I was not at all upset that I had a C-Section. Some women are let down, I wasn’t. I figured I gave it my best shot. It’s not my fault, or a lack in me that she had the cord wrapped all the way around her body. The only thing that I wanted to do was to carry my baby out of the hospital. I wanted to be wheeled out like the Queen I now believed myself to be, holding my creation in my arms.
No dice. Apparently you have to strap them in the car seat before you even leave your room. Pissed me right off.
I never had that amazing moment where the angels sing, heaven shines and I fall madly in love with my child. I didn’t even hold her until the day after she was born. Everyone was fawning over her, saying how beautiful she was. I was detached. It was like I left my body in the middle of labor and hadn’t made it back yet. I was watching a movie and someone else was me. I took care of her, fed her, changed her, let her throw up on me, but part of me was waiting for her real parents to come get her. This was the beginning of my long, stormy relationship with PPD. That bitch and I got to know each other real well. More on that later.
So, we went home. On the way home, I think most Mother’s sit in the back seat, oohing and aahing over their baby. I didn’t. I sat in the front seat, dreaming of a shower and a cigarette.
Walking in the door with my new baby wasn’t this amazing experience. I didn’t take her around, show her her new house. I don’t know that she really gave a shit either. I went about the business of becoming a Mom. At least until someone came and got her.
We had been home about 30 minutes when I dislocated my right knee. At this point, I’m wondering if perhaps I was a serial killer in a previous life. I couldn’t pinpoint one thing I had done in my 25 years to deserve all this shit. If you’ve never dislocated a knee, it hurts like a bitch. It hurt so incredibly bad, that it made me nauseous. Luckily, the pain subsides in a few minutes – but it keeps happening again and again until you get it fixed. Like still looking pregnant, bleeding like a pig, stinking, etc wasn’t enough.
Another thing I wasn’t warned about post-pregnancy was not only the bleeding, but the smell of what is coming out of you. I know it’s gross sounding, but it’s gross smelling. I wanted to shower like 20 times a day. I’ve never felt so disgusting in my life. Right after my C-Section, they gave my business a nice warm soap and water wash. Felt like heaven. I didn’t even care that family members of another lady saw all of it. After my bath, they put an adult diaper on me. This isn’t a cute way to say a big pad. I’m being literal. It was a diaper. I wish they had sent me home with some. The pads they sell in the store simply don’t cut it. I’m a tampon girl, I hate pads. You can’t stick anything up there though, so pads it was. Everytime I got up, I could feel gunk coming out of me. It was vile.
I couldn’t even raise my arms to wash my hair, so my first few showers fell to Abel. How he did it, and remained attracted to me, I’ll never know. I was covered in stretch marks – belly, legs, boobs, and even my ass crack. I had a nice little scar where my daughter made her apperance. And a gut that would rival any truck drivers.
I have to admit that Poopylatta was a good baby. We didn’t have issues with colic, she ate every three hours like clockwork and went right back to sleep when she was done. She didn’t cry for wet diapers, or poopy diapers. We were lucky. Very lucky.
I wasn’t settled into this Motherhood thing, and I wouldn’t for a while.