Tuesday, 29 January 2013
Have You Passed Gas? (that should be fun for Google)
Childbirth was less than pleasant, but worth every moment as I was wheeled into the special care nursery to hold the most beautiful miniature humans I had ever seen. It’s supposed to be that way right? To keep us going as a race? How quickly we forget the worst experience EVER as it fades away and melts into the best celebration of our lives.
Hormones must be magical, because as I look back on pictures when the girls were minutes old, I realize in my current hormone-stable (barely) state, they really were not all that cute, but actually looked like plucked see-through chickens. Seriously, they were almost 20’ long and five freaking pounds.
But they were my chickens.
There are moments after their birth I try to forget.
Like apparently when you have a C-section, they ‘manipulate’ your bowels and the nurse’s really want to know if you have passed gas post-op. No, I mean like it is there one and only mission to log a fart on your medical chart. A sweet young nurse walked into the room as Dylan and I were visiting and asked loudly,
“Have you passed gas yet?”
Umm, can you please lower your voice? He can hear you ya know.
We were newly weds…the fart boundary had not yet been crossed and here she was announcing it to the world. Dude, I really cannot remember his middle name right now, can we not talk about farting? I’m just a blushing bride and need to be all impressing him and shit still.
Well, low and behold as I got out of bed I suddenly realized why it was so important to let one rip. I tried to shoo Dylan away as I bent over the bed.
Get out man! Run for cover! Save yourself!
He didn’t head my warning and with that we entered into a new phase of our marriage. And never looked back. Game on bitches!
There are other moments that still stand out for me. Like my roommate that spoke very little English and turned on every light in the room to calm her crying baby in the middle of the night as she sat on the toilet passing her own all important gas whilst singing at the top of her lungs
“It’s ok baby. La-la-la-la. La-la-la-la. It’s ok. It’s ok, la-la-la-la baby”
FYI, it was not soothing to the screaming baby. Or me. La-la-la-la.
Then there were Dylan’s own gas issues after treating himself to an Italian meal before coming to see us. Trust me on this one, bruschetta does not smell all that appealing the second time around and it hurts like a bitch to laugh the day after a C-section. I also recall being jealous for the fist time in my life that someone else's GI track.
It was like he was fart bragging. Jackass.
I remember my panic at their first bath and how I was sure I would drop those slippery little sausages onto the cold concrete floor. I remember my feet swelling so badly that my dad had to leave the room, as he was sure my piggy’s were going to explode foot guts all over the room from the building pressure.
I was super hot ya’ll.
I remember when the milk fairy came to visit and the shock at how my boobs could possibly be this big and taut. Holy stripper boobs batman. I would do it all again just for the awesome rack.
But mostly I remember being scared. I had read every parenting book ever published and had gone to school to help parents be better parents, but as we settled into home and reality hit me like a ton of bricks, it was at that moment I realized I knew nothing.
It dawned on me that in fact all the books I had read, that the girls had NOT been studying them in the womb along with me. They did not have theories, parenting methods and applications memorized. They couldn’t have cared less that I had researched the very best diapers and had completely safety proofed the house with all the newest gadgets AND that I knew how to make them sleep through the night before they even took there first breath of air. No worries ladies, mommy’s got this.
But really I didn’t.
I stared at them for a very long time and felt afraid…very afraid and overwhelmed. Ok, scared shitless. I began to cry and hyperventilate as I realized that this was for at least the next eighteen freaking years. Ok more realistically like twenty-five years. Oh shit...it was forever!!!
What had I done?? What on earth was I thinking…I couldn’t do this. Okay, I admit there may have been a few little hormones flying around my body. I frantically looked in the bags to see if the hospital had sent home an instruction manual, return policy or at the very least a 1-800 number for troubleshooting. Nope, the bag was empty. Did I keep my baby receipt? Crap I probably threw that away while I was nesting. Damn type A personality. I couldn’t even ask where the return line was without a receipt. I asked myself if five days post partum was too early to start drinking.
Sadly it was…
But I also remember being so madly in love, and knowing, just knowing we were going be ok.
I look at them now after 13 years and I have never been so proud. I am proud of who they are and what they are becoming.
And I am still so very much in love.