Easter Sunday 2012
This is going to be the longest blog post ever. It’s actually three blog posts in one. Wednesday Brandon was finally born at 9:48pm. Yes, it was a long day considering we arrived at the hospital at 7:15am to begin the process of bringing him out into fresh air. He was 8 lbs, 15 1/2 oz when weighed, and he peed before making it to the scale, so lets go ahead and credit me with birthing a nine-pounder. He is 21 1/2 inches – all of which flails at me during changing time.
Give me mad props for posting a picture of myself in a hospital gown without straightening my hair. This is Tyra Banks talk show shit right here. Maybe that explains why her show got canceled and why my blog only has twenty-something followers. Oh well. This is an honest picture.
I have started journaling once a day. Those of you who know me know I need to keep my sanity and writing is the best way I know how. It’s sort of worked for 29 years now. It’s kept me out of prison and insane asylums, at least, and for some people with low expectations that equals a well-adjusted person. I’ve decided to post some of my journal entries on here. That is why today is your lucky day and you get three posts in one. One of which is just what I’ve written so far and that unflattering picture.
If you’re new to my blog, you should learn to keep your expectations low. Those are the people who think the best of me, any way. Those are the people I think the best of, too: the people who aren’t judgmental and don’t tell you what to do or how to do it. That might also explain why I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing in this thing they call “parenting.”
Day 3 of Motherhood (technically, but barely):
Left the hospital today. When I was a kid, I remember pregnant women talking about the outfit they’d wear home from the hospital – a size 2 pant suit with big gold earrings or something equally ridiculous – like every new mom was a celebrity going to be photographed by the paparazzi.
Personally, I wore these hideous green sweatpants and slippers. My experience was not glamorous in the least. We had asked to get the discharged started and it took entirely too long for my impatient and sleep-deprived self. The nurse talked to me about taking care of myself and then about the baby blues. She looked at my puffy eyes pointedly, which I thought of as judgmental.
Here I am running on four hours of sleep in over two days – one day in which I pushed a nearly nine pound baby out of my body. My nipples are cracked from breast feeding. I can’t use the bathroom like a normal person. So yes, maybe I am crying at everything.
In the last 12 hours, I have cried over not being able to take off a onesie, not being able to sleep, a nurse bringing Brandon back from the nursery with a dirty diaper, and a few times for sentimental reasons like hearing Steve talk to Brandon. Then, of course, there’s the crying for no particular reason. Add that all up and it makes for some really fucking puffy eyes.
After nearly an eternity, we are in front of the hospital and some broad checks to make sure our car seat base is correctly installed. It isn’t.
“Do you have an adjustment part for this?” She asks.
“No, we don’t,” I snap.
“Well then you can roll up a towel to get the angle right. Do you have a towel?”
“No towel either.” I think she got the hint.
“This is fine for the drive home but you’ll need to correct it before any other car rides,” she finally conceded. I closed the door and, you guessed it, started crying.
I cried until we got home and then I cried when I pulled Brandon’s infant seat out and saw his head slumped forward from the way he was tilted and then I understood what that broad was talking about.
It was past feeding time so I hurried Brandon up to his nursery and gave it a go on my sore, cracked nipple. He didn’t like how hard he had to work to get anything out of my not-ideal flat nipples, and I certainly didn’t appreciate how hard he had to work on them, either. I told Steve I couldn’t do it and we would have to use formula. I told him this while big tears dropped onto my breasts and snot poured from my nose – Steve made Brandon a bottle and I fed it to him, envying the perfect nipple that bottle was blessed with.
I laid down to take a nap, but my crying deterred me. I brought a trash can to the side of the bed to fill with my tear and snot-filled tissues. I cried because of how hard this all seems to be and this is only the beginning.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
What a difference a day makes.
After that one formula feeding yesterday, I tried out my nipple shield and have been able to breast feed Brandon every feeding since. After I woke up from my nap, I told myself I would just have to get used to short naps for sleep rather than long, peaceful nights of them.
Amber and Dan brought us over dinner last night and we sat and watched tv with Brandon near us. He just got circumcised yesterday and was very needy – I can’t say I blame him – I went through a pretty horrific procedure of my own four days ago so I know how he feels. I tried to sleep in our guest room with Brandon in the bassinet so Steve could get some rest. That worked for a while until I had to wake him up anyway because Brandon had crapped and changing this kid’s diaper is a two-person job. He hates being naked and squirms and flails with all his might like a fish out of water. At least we don’t have to worry about him growing up to be a male stripper or an “escort.”
Between feedings and changings both Steve and I got some rest – four full hours worth for me. We all got cleaned up – that meant a sponge bath for flailing Brandon and showers for me and Steve. I put on my own underwear today as I ran through the ginormous mesh ones the hospital gives you. I put on non-sweats and straightened my hair.
Donna and Melinda Boucher came and took pictures of adorable Brandon. I just can’t get enough of this kid. He gets cuter every time I look at him. He’s a lot of work, but just might end up being worth it.