The One Where I Had A Baby

Kiddo is fast asleep in his swing – a Fischer Price Made-in-China contraption that makes rainforest sounds and has a pillow with a lion on it, except lions don’t live in the rainforest. Meanwhile, I’m typing away in the dark, my boobs attached to the plastic, mint-colored Ameda breast pump, while I listen to the Pixies. He fell asleep listening to Come On, Pilgrim but now we’ve moved on to Doolittle. It reminded me of that trip I took to Athens, Georgia some years back, walking around this massive record store slash knick-knack shop. It was a big, two-story place and I think the walls were blue. It reminded me of being much younger than I am now, and much more carefree, with a lot less gray hair, and an ability to see the bright side to things more easily than I do these days.

The last time I wrote here, I was very, very pregnant. And then a lot of things happened, as they tend to when months pass between blog posts. After doing too much reading and becoming petrified at the idea of a c-section and hospital interventions that could potentially harm my son, I decided to find a midwife at the last minute to deliver my baby at home. In retrospect, I should have just stuck with the doctor even if it would’ve wound up in a c-section. I put my faith in a lot of the wrong people. I hired a doula with the belief that this would help me avoid a c-section and help me have a natural birth. But the downside is that having a doula (two, actually, as they switched after a while as well) made me unnecessarily fearful of the hospital. I was already pretty traumatized at the thought of the hospital after the loss of Maggie. But at 39 weeks pregnant, I was adamant about staying out of the hospital. I also trusted the wrong midwife. This woman, while perhaps well meaning, wound up causing more harm than good.

I don’t want to get into the specifics. My labor was longer than I care to describe, and toward the end, my son got stuck and my midwife tried to get my husband to talk me OUT of going to the hospital. I knew better and demanded a transfer, which essentially saved my son’s life. It was an incredibly traumatic birth experience and after two days in the hospital I was able to go see my son in the hospital he was transferred to. And then I spent the next 7.5 weeks there by his side. And it sucked.

Time is one of those things you’ll never get back. That’s probably the biggest lesson I learned spending so much time in the NICU.

But enough about that.

Instead, let me introduce you to William.

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He’s my favorite person ever. So far, his favorite things are being burped over the shoulder, sleeping in mommy’s bed, breast milk, Pocoyo, the Numbers episode of Baby Einstein, and being rocked to sleep. Oh, and laughing when he’s too tired to keep eating (or just doesn’t feel like eating anymore) and smiling big whenever he’s getting his butt wiped. Smart kid. I’m excited to teach him all the things and look forward to spending my life getting him to smile.

So far, so good.

 

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