October 19: the day I put my wedding band back on.
WOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOO!!!!
who, me? oh, i’m just one bad mofo.
Thanks to my ability to finally do something relatively sit-up-esque on my own and all the steri-strips from my c-section falling off in the middle of the night last night (all of them, every single one – on their own, I didn’t rip them off – but it was time, they were due off today), I finally got my first look at my scar. I panicked a little bit before I saw it. What am I doing to my body, slicing and dicing it left and right? What would God say about me butchering this body that he made for me?
Well, my anxiety was ridiculous. This scar is ridiculous… ly tiny. I’m serious, it looks like a little red hair across my pelvis, just a thin red horizontal line. I’m amazed by how short it is, too. It’s maybe 7? 8 inches long? (That’s what she said.) I can’t believe Dr. Wolanski pulled a person out of there. The scar from Mr. Nasty is maybe 10 inches or a foot long, and zig zags vertically down my stomach and around my belly button down to my pelvic area. It’s no wonder that when any doctor sees the Mr. Nasty scar his eyes bug out of his head. I’ve told doctors before about having a big cyst, then lifted up my shirt later, during the exam, and they’re all like, “and what was THIS from?” implying that I didn’t reveal my entire medical history. I paused, like, are you serious, and said, “Um… the CYST.” It’s really unbelievable. It is. People see it, and they do not believe it. Tom’s friends said things like, “my wife had 3 kids, none of them were that big,” and “you are officially the baddest mofo I know.” Yeah. Well… He’s right, and I AM.
I texted Mom about my scar comparison and she just responded [Mr. Nasty] “Seriously was serious!” I told her that might be my favorite text of all time.
I took pictures, but no one needs to see all that. Yes, the scar is small… my gut is not. (Although it’s nice to be instantly skinnier again – very much like after having a certain 15 lb. cyst removed. I can see my feet!)
So, I’m proud and excited. I feel a lot like I did after Mr. Nasty was removed: I CAN TAKE ON THE WORLD and I WANT TO GO TO DISNEY WORLD. It’s nice to be sitting up unassisted. Weening off pain medicine. I feel good.
In other news: Breastfeeding is tough! I should have been tipped off when the nurses and lactation specialists at Martha Jefferson said, “don’t give up” and stuff like that. Bruce is a good little sucker, but my supply is pretty measly. It got up to about 2 ounces at one point the week that Mom was here, but it has declined ever since. I’m lucky to get an ounce every 3 hours. That’s not enough for this growing boy, so we’ve been supplementing with formula. I am blaming it on lack of nutrition (I generally just eat dinner, maybe a snack or two in the afternoon… I know, right? Awful.) and lack of my mommy here taking care of me and things around the house. Gosh, that was nice. I haven’t talked enough about how wonderful it was to have Mom here. I keep meaning to devote a blog post to recapping our week together. It was just nice to have someone make me a peanut butter sandwich and walk the dog. Everyone in the house was content, and we never got back into the groove after she left.
Anyway, as far as the breastfeeding… I’ve got a plan. Eat more. Drink more. We’ll see how that does. I had a good sized lunch, fed Bruce, pumped a tiny bit, then had a bowl of oatmeal (gross!) and orange juice and a whole lot of water so we’ll see how we do. Bruce lost a whole lot of weight because I have no clue what a growing boy needs… so, we’re working on beefing him up. At two and a half weeks old, he’s a little over his birth weight today. Yikes. But… he is gaining at a steady rate. Mommy and Daddy are new at this, but we’re figuring it out.
Just hope the little guy doesn’t starve to death in the process.
enter the dragon
I feel bad. I should be posting daily about each cute and perfect thing my new son, Bruce, does each day. I’ve just had this daunting task of recounting his birth story looming over me, and I know it’s a long story and a lot to sit down and write, so I’ve been procrastinating. It’s also really, really important so I feel guilty for not typing it up right away. I did try in the hospital, I just could never get Tom to hand me the laptop.
I don’t know where to start. Where did I leave off? Oh, right… a terrified, anxious, scared little girl. How can I have a kid? I AM a kid. I want my husband to myself… mehhhh.
On Sunday night, our last night of freedom, Tom and I went to see Finding Nemo in 3D. It was really good. I mean, it was well-done in 3D and it’s just a good movie, period. It’s almost like we were supposed to see that movie that night. It’s almost like it was destiny. We spent 80 minutes watching a father love his son, you know? It might be the most important movie I’ll ever see in my life. I walked out of the theater and told Tom, “I think I can do this.”
I didn’t sleep at all on Sunday night. We went to bed at around 12, and I woke up at about 3:30 tossing and turning. Our plan was to be up at 5 and at the hospital by 6. I kept trying to slide back into sleep mode and claim those precious few minutes, but I never did.
We got to the hospital around 6:05, or 6:10 or something. They showed us to our room, 3048. I changed into my hospital gown. Someone came in and took blood samples and someone else hooked me up to an IV. Mom, Dad and Lindsay came around 8 I think.
Surgery was supposed to be at 7:45, but I got pushed back because of an emergency that someone else was having. I don’t remember waiting very long. The wait time flew by. I want to say they took me back around 8:45.
You know I was a wreck during the pregnancy. That all culminated on Monday morning, right before surgery, with me not being very nice to Grandma. No joke, it was so awful that she was about to leave 5 minutes before they took me into the operating room. Leave. Like, that’s it… and she’d go and I’d just go back into surgery and she wouldn’t be there. Okay, honestly, I ruined it. I took this beautiful moment, you know, all the excitement of getting ready to have a baby and basically made everyone in the room upset. I’m, like, the best at being the WORST. Everyone was worked up.
Then they came to collect me for surgery.
It was a complete disaster.
The doctors were fantastic. It’s the patient that was a train wreck – all worked up. Everything went by so fast. I just kept crying and wishing I could take it all back. I wasn’t at all focused on the fact that I was having a baby. I was just thinking of that f-bomb that I dropped. I was totally and completely out of it. Depressed. It was almost an out-of-body experience. I kept looking at myself, and telling myself to get my head in the game. It was like the halls and rooms were whizzing by and I couldn’t keep up. Everyone was talking. Everyone was telling me to do something.
I walked down to the OR with the nurse. Tom was close behind us trying to put on his moon suit and walk at the same time, but they made him wait outside for the spinal block anyway.
I sat on the table and was surrounded by happy, friendly people, but I just cried like a little baby. I was losing it. I sat on the operating table leaning forward, hunched over so the anesthesiologist could get the needle in my spine. I didn’t realize how distracted I was until the nurse said, “calm down, just take a deep breath and relax.” I did. I laid down on the table. I couldn’t feel my legs. Am I having a baby? Is this happening? I was crying like I couldn’t catch my breath. I can’t do this. I felt so bad… like… knives in my eyes. What had I done?
They brought Tom in. Oh, sweet, wonderful, familiar Tom.
He was cute as hell in his cap, space suit, mask and booties. He sat on my right side, held my hand and stroked my hair.
I just remember that it hurt. Not like, “you’ll feel some pressure,” but like, cutting. It hurt. I was wincing. Honestly, it was like i could feel them pulling the baby down from under my ribs. I was numb to a certain height, but above that I still felt feelings… and it didn’t feel good at all.
Someone said, “Dad, you can take pictures.” It was all happening really fast, like an oncoming train that I couldn’t escape. Take pictures? Pictures of what? Baby? Already?! I am not ready to be a mom… We thought we could only take pictures on the non-surgery side of the sheet. Tom asked if he was allowed to take pictures of the surgery side, and the doctors said they didn’t mind 1 or 2.
I heard, “Alright, 9:06.” Before I knew it, they were saying, “There he is! That’s your son!” I saw him sitting on a table past Tom. He looked like an old Chinese man. Great. An ugly baby. I told Tom to take his picture.
I felt sick.
Tom told Dr. Mathis, who was monitoring things by my head. I felt like I was going to throw up. My stomach was in knots. I asked Dr. Mathis what to do – he said if I was going to do it, turn to the left. I did, and I did. He put a pink bowl by my face. I was crying, wincing and hurting as they moved higher up my body pulling and tugging at stuff. Dr. Mathis said, “I’m going to ask you to stop for a second,” to Dr. Wolanski. Oh my gosh I was so sick… Crying and nervous and just physically ill… violently ill.
He gave me something for the nausea and some morphine and we waited a minute. I thought it was a quick second, Tom said it was about 5 minutes. They kept asking if it was better, and when I finally said okay, they let Dr. Wolanski continue.
Someone said, “look to your left.” I looked to my right first, at Tom, then to my left.
I saw the most beautiful little pink face… teeny-tiny, sweet, soft, perfect little face. It was the most amazing thing that I’ve ever laid eyes on.
NOT AN UGLY BABY!
Everything else melted away. They took him away to go take care of all the stuff they do to newborns. They told Tom to come with them, but he asked if it would be okay if he stayed with me. No one minded. I was so relieved. He continued holding my hand and rubbing his hand on my head. Everything was going to be okay.
They lifted me onto another bed and carted me down to recovery and brought the baby in. We tried nursing, but mostly we just held our little boy and spent the first two hours or so of his life getting to know each other a little bit.
When we made it back to our room, all that tension had melted away, too.
Everything feels so perfect. It’s been two weeks and it still feels perfect… like this is how it was supposed to be all along.
That La Kid 