Day 9: Confession #9 (Recovery?)

After delivery, they bring (wheel) you, and baby to a room where you are to stay until you have some feeling back in your legs. They attach these compression velcro thingys, like what they put on your arm for checking blood pressure, but these ones squeeze, tighten, and then release periodically. They are pretty unobtrusive in the grand scheme of things, but they make your legs sweat and can be a little noisy. It is here that you begin the breast-feeding process (it really is a process) and skin to skin contact that all hospitals push for immediately after delivery, and for the days following birth. I was so “hopped-up” on pain meds that I was so shaky, tingley, and anxious that I felt like some un-fit addict mother who wanted nothing to do with their child. Really. It was awful. At one point, I even said, “please can I just have some time to myself”, but the request went unanswered. I had never felt more uncomfortable in my own skin before, let alone having that skin pressed up to my baby’s skin that I was supposed feel overwhelming love for. I would like to point out that I use my first child as the basis for most of my rants (because of the newness of it all). I really wish someone would have told me that I would feel like a drug addict (I actually just had a bad reaction to the Vicodin that I was not supposed to get because of that reason) and possibly not feel instantaneously love for my daughter. I didn’t. I was so overwhelmed with the surgery and the events of the day, only to come out of recovery to a room filled with my closest family and friends (those that I love dearly) whom expected me to be in googly-eyed LOVE with my baby. I couldn’t even fake it, I was too exhausted and drugged up. Honestly, I have no recollection of any of the conversations I had that day, but one of my besties, Annie, recalls them. She remembers how I could not stop talking (it was the drugs), and I kept repeating over and over again that I just wanted some time to myself without my baby plastered to my chest. I think to this day, she is a little distraught by it all. How could a new mother be so underwhelmed by their baby, and not want to hold that precious being? I swear, it was the drugs! Why are people lining up to get refills on their ten-year old prescription of Vicodin? That shit makes me crazy (crazier then I already am)! By that night, the drugs had been switched to Tylenol with codeine and my frame of mind switched too. Thank god! I feel as though my birthing/recovery story is a little extreme. Most of you women out there, will not, and have not, shared these same experiences. I just would have liked to have known someone who had. There are so many side-effects to pregnancy and motherhood that are not listed on any type of warning label. Wow, that would be nice if everything in the realm of parenting came with one of those. Warning: You might not like your baby right away, but this is normal. If the problem persists for several weeks, please contact your doctor. How about, Warning: The first time you stand up after having a c-section, a large quantity of blood will spill out of you and on to the floor in a bucket like consistency. Again, wish someone would have told me that. I was beyond mortified at that moment. So much so, that I, the one who studied serial killers, and watches Dexter, almost fainted from the sight of the blood pool I had left on the cold white hospital floor. I admit, some warning labels are really annoying and unnecessary. Like…Warning: “This hot cup of coffee that you just ordered and I just made in front of you, might be hot.” This one is just plain dumb. Or a personal favorite (Lauren I think you share this one with me), Warning: “Baby on Board”. I have never understood why the cars behind me would need to know that or drive any less like an ass because they saw it. I think the other drivers would be much more weary of you and your vehicle, if you told them about the 5 beers and shot of tequilla you just had. Where is that warning label? Who am I kidding, maybe I need a warning label attached to me and this blog…Warning: “May say wildly inappropriate, vulgar things at any moment. Please read at your own risk.” My apologies to any male reader or family member that I have already scarred.

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