I gave birth one week ago today.
It was not the beautiful, earth-shattering flight of fancy that many people led me to expect.
I've already written about it in detail on my Facebook page, so chances are you've probably read it, and I won't bother repeating it all here. In summary: I was induced. Induction failed after two and a half days of being pumped full of medication. I had a c-section. C-section did not go as planned. I had a seizure on the operating table immediately after my baby was removed from my body. I spent two days in the ICU being pumped full of more medication and was eventually given a blood transfusion. I got to see my baby for about two minutes and didn't see her again until she was almost three days old. I had to spend another three days in the hospital until they finally let us go home. Now my arms are covered in bruises and poke holes from all the IVs and blood draws they did and I look like a grade-A heroin addict. It was pretty much the worst experience of all time, but I have the most perfect little girl to remind me of why I'm still here.
All that being said, my first few days of motherhood have been...interesting. My little girl, Clara, is an absolute doll. She is snuggly and was lucky enough as a c-section baby to avoid that alien look that most newborns have, so she is a pure delight to gaze at during her many, many feedings. She doesn't cry all that much unless she has tummy trouble (which she apparently inherited from her mother) and she loves to be held. I feel fortunate to not have been plagued by a colicky baby who cries non-stop, at least thus far, but I still feel so, so drained.
My husband went back to work the day we were discharged from the hospital. He works very hard and very long hours. He needs his sleep. Therefore I pretty much take care of the nighttime feedings, which are sometimes only twice a night and sometimes as many as four. I also take care of Clara during the day while he's at work. All day. So I'm pretty much on the baby punch clock 24 hours a day, except for the two hours or so that my husband spends with her between getting home and going to bed. That's a lot of time to be taking care of a baby, especially when they wake up every two or three hours and then take about an hour and a half to fall back to sleep.
My husband tries to be extremely helpful and sends me out of the house in the evening for Mommy Time. He does everything I ask him to do when he's home and is always asking how he can be more helpful. The crazy thing is that most of the time I have nothing to tell him to do. Blame it on my over-achiever nature that hasn't showed itself since high school, but I feel like I should be doing everything that needs to be done. Laundry, cleaning, organizing, all of it is my responsibility because I feel like it should be. Today he offered to watch the baby while I went and took a nap. I'm exhausted but I can't go to sleep because I know that I'm just going to have to wake back up in an hour and I'd rather stay awake and try to accomplish something, even though I usually just end up crying over the sink and a plate of half-eaten food that someone else was kind enough to drop for us because God knows I'm not cooking until this child is 10 years old.
Why is it so hard for me to accept help? I have a wonderful baby who isn't even that much of a handful and I still find myself being constantly exhausted and crying every time another adult enters the room. It's like my hormones are on overdrive and they make me in love with my baby when we're alone and then I feel like I'm playing the victim card as soon as I have someone to talk to who can actually speak back. Ugh. I feel like I have nothing to complain about. Postpartum depression at its finest, I suppose.
Anyway, I love my baby. Motherhood is exhausting. Use condoms if you ever want to sleep again. The end.
