Today is my son's fourth birthday. I keep starting and deleting birthday posts, because nothing I write can really put into words what I feel for him.
During my (very planned!) pregnancy with G, I had my share of aches, pains, worries, and swollen feet (okay, and also swollen hands, face, toes, and fingers).
I was also just beginning to get a taste of what it would be like to be a working mom...the night I went into labor with him, I had been at school until 10 pm trying to get everything ready for my maternity leave substitute teacher.
My work at school was not done, but I was exhausted, so I went home, took a shower, cleaned the bathroom (nesting, anyone?) and fell into bed just before midnight. When I woke up at 1 am, I knew I was in labor. My first words to my husband were, "We've got to go back to the school...I can't leave that mess for my sub!" And then my contractions got to be about 3 minutes apart, so we did not go to school - we called our doula instead. This was the first moment that my Having A Baby In The Most Perfect Way Ever Plans went awry.
When I arrived at the hospital at 3:30 am on September 19, I was only 3 cm. dilated and in MAJOR PAIN. They admitted me and said I was in such a good contraction pattern, they bet that I'd have a baby by noon. They were wrong. At noon, I was barely 5 cm. dilated.
Labor, which I was attempting totally unmedicated, lasted a total of 24 hours and 24 minutes. I caved and got the epidural at hour 18. Pushing took 3 hours, a vacuum extraction, and an episiotomy. This marks the second time that my carefully made Having A Baby In The Most Perfect Way Ever Plans did not go as expected. G was born at 1:21 am on September 20.
On going home day, I put on the size 18 shirt I'd brought (because that's BIG! Screw bringing MATERNITY clothes!), it barely squeezed over my still pregnant looking tummy. I gained 50 pounds while I was pregnant and was so swollen I could have popped, so no, I don't know what I was thinking. All of my Plans were quickly being shot to hell.
When we left the hospital with G, I cried all the way home. I am still not sure why - hormones, I suppose. Part of the crying came from the realization that we were out of the hospital safety net, and Something Bad could now happen to my new baby...it hit me hard, the fact that I would do anything, ANYTHING, in the whole world to keep my child safe from the Big, Bad World. Those Mothering Instincts can really take your breath away.
But mostly, I just felt so overwhelmed. My tummy was hanging and stretchmarked and uncomfortably empty, my boobs hurt, my clothes didn't fit, my awesome stay in my Maternity Suite was over (not kidding - unlimited TV, a baby to cuddle, food delivered on demand), and I was still shocked at the fact that my baby was a BOY (we chose not to find out the sex before delivery). And also, NO ONE tells you about the ick factor of childbirth. Plus, the part that is shameful and selfish to admit, I was sad because Me And My Pregnancy were no longer on center stage...now it was all about this new baby. The whole experience was a total shock to my system. Beautiful, amazing, and momentous, but still a shocker.
G was about 10 days early, and I was sleep deprived even before his delivery from trying to be absolutely, totally READY to bring home a baby. I wasn't READY. I wanted a do-over, where I was completely ready to start being a mother. In truth, I was probably more prepared than any new mother ever was...but I so loved being pregnant, that I could have stayed in that pregancy cocoon forever and been content. Pregnancy was fun, exciting, new...I hated that feeling of it all being ripped away from me without warning.
We sat on the couch with G that first evening, just staring at him, not sure what to DO with him. I told my husband that it seemed like his mother should come and get him. I loved him with all of my heart, but the whole thing just came upon me so suddenly that I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that he was OUR baby, to take care of FOREVER. I felt so pathetically unprepared. Needless to say, I had some interesting post-partum issues during the months that followed.
As much as I was in love with my baby, as much as I needed and wanted him, I kept waiting for my life to return to "normal". To get caught up. To sleep. To get my old body back.
"Normal" never returned. I still feel "behind", like I just need a few days to get "caught up".
And here I sit. Forty pounds later. Two anxiety medications later. A thousand tears later. After leaving my 8 week old newborn to go to work and crying all day long, after weaning my child from breast to bottle, after anxiously watching my baby's first steps, after coaxing out his first word (dog), after potty training, after enduring binky addiction and recovery, after delivering another child nineteen months after the first, after a new house, new jobs, and a new car. After taking G to his first Chuck E. Cheese party, to his first ride on a pony, and to his first day of preschool.
Here I sit, with a four year old son. I can still see the baby in his face, the precious face that I memorized during those never-ending middle of the night nursing sessions.
G was an easy baby, a fact that we did not realize until after his not-so-easy sister came along. He has NOT been an easy toddler. In fact, he makes me want to lock myself in the bedroom and cry more often than he makes me laugh. But when he does make me laugh? It's worth every tear-my-hair-out moment.
He is smart, adorable, and has a great vocabulary. He is amazingly curious and creative. He has a penchant for organization (I'm so proud), and has the craziest sense of humor. I am so proud to be his mother. I love him so much.
It's almost physically painful to watch him grow up. And it's definitely mentally painful, as my medicine cabinet would testify.
But every now and then, I can still remember those early days with him, just staring at his new-ness and perfection. I can remember sitting in his room before he was even born, trying to imagine what it would be like to have a baby in the house. I can remember changing his clothes three times a day, just because it was fun to dress him up. I can remember crying over him as he slept in his crib...I missed being pregnant and having him with me all the time...he looked so tiny and lonely in that big crib. I can remember how warm and soft and tiny he was. He will always be my baby.
Happy birthday, buddy.
P.S. When blogger is over it's fit, I'm going to repost this with pictures. :)
During my (very planned!) pregnancy with G, I had my share of aches, pains, worries, and swollen feet (okay, and also swollen hands, face, toes, and fingers).
I was also just beginning to get a taste of what it would be like to be a working mom...the night I went into labor with him, I had been at school until 10 pm trying to get everything ready for my maternity leave substitute teacher.
My work at school was not done, but I was exhausted, so I went home, took a shower, cleaned the bathroom (nesting, anyone?) and fell into bed just before midnight. When I woke up at 1 am, I knew I was in labor. My first words to my husband were, "We've got to go back to the school...I can't leave that mess for my sub!" And then my contractions got to be about 3 minutes apart, so we did not go to school - we called our doula instead. This was the first moment that my Having A Baby In The Most Perfect Way Ever Plans went awry.
When I arrived at the hospital at 3:30 am on September 19, I was only 3 cm. dilated and in MAJOR PAIN. They admitted me and said I was in such a good contraction pattern, they bet that I'd have a baby by noon. They were wrong. At noon, I was barely 5 cm. dilated.
Labor, which I was attempting totally unmedicated, lasted a total of 24 hours and 24 minutes. I caved and got the epidural at hour 18. Pushing took 3 hours, a vacuum extraction, and an episiotomy. This marks the second time that my carefully made Having A Baby In The Most Perfect Way Ever Plans did not go as expected. G was born at 1:21 am on September 20.
On going home day, I put on the size 18 shirt I'd brought (because that's BIG! Screw bringing MATERNITY clothes!), it barely squeezed over my still pregnant looking tummy. I gained 50 pounds while I was pregnant and was so swollen I could have popped, so no, I don't know what I was thinking. All of my Plans were quickly being shot to hell.
When we left the hospital with G, I cried all the way home. I am still not sure why - hormones, I suppose. Part of the crying came from the realization that we were out of the hospital safety net, and Something Bad could now happen to my new baby...it hit me hard, the fact that I would do anything, ANYTHING, in the whole world to keep my child safe from the Big, Bad World. Those Mothering Instincts can really take your breath away.
But mostly, I just felt so overwhelmed. My tummy was hanging and stretchmarked and uncomfortably empty, my boobs hurt, my clothes didn't fit, my awesome stay in my Maternity Suite was over (not kidding - unlimited TV, a baby to cuddle, food delivered on demand), and I was still shocked at the fact that my baby was a BOY (we chose not to find out the sex before delivery). And also, NO ONE tells you about the ick factor of childbirth. Plus, the part that is shameful and selfish to admit, I was sad because Me And My Pregnancy were no longer on center stage...now it was all about this new baby. The whole experience was a total shock to my system. Beautiful, amazing, and momentous, but still a shocker.
G was about 10 days early, and I was sleep deprived even before his delivery from trying to be absolutely, totally READY to bring home a baby. I wasn't READY. I wanted a do-over, where I was completely ready to start being a mother. In truth, I was probably more prepared than any new mother ever was...but I so loved being pregnant, that I could have stayed in that pregancy cocoon forever and been content. Pregnancy was fun, exciting, new...I hated that feeling of it all being ripped away from me without warning.
We sat on the couch with G that first evening, just staring at him, not sure what to DO with him. I told my husband that it seemed like his mother should come and get him. I loved him with all of my heart, but the whole thing just came upon me so suddenly that I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that he was OUR baby, to take care of FOREVER. I felt so pathetically unprepared. Needless to say, I had some interesting post-partum issues during the months that followed.
As much as I was in love with my baby, as much as I needed and wanted him, I kept waiting for my life to return to "normal". To get caught up. To sleep. To get my old body back.
"Normal" never returned. I still feel "behind", like I just need a few days to get "caught up".
And here I sit. Forty pounds later. Two anxiety medications later. A thousand tears later. After leaving my 8 week old newborn to go to work and crying all day long, after weaning my child from breast to bottle, after anxiously watching my baby's first steps, after coaxing out his first word (dog), after potty training, after enduring binky addiction and recovery, after delivering another child nineteen months after the first, after a new house, new jobs, and a new car. After taking G to his first Chuck E. Cheese party, to his first ride on a pony, and to his first day of preschool.
Here I sit, with a four year old son. I can still see the baby in his face, the precious face that I memorized during those never-ending middle of the night nursing sessions.
G was an easy baby, a fact that we did not realize until after his not-so-easy sister came along. He has NOT been an easy toddler. In fact, he makes me want to lock myself in the bedroom and cry more often than he makes me laugh. But when he does make me laugh? It's worth every tear-my-hair-out moment.
He is smart, adorable, and has a great vocabulary. He is amazingly curious and creative. He has a penchant for organization (I'm so proud), and has the craziest sense of humor. I am so proud to be his mother. I love him so much.
It's almost physically painful to watch him grow up. And it's definitely mentally painful, as my medicine cabinet would testify.
But every now and then, I can still remember those early days with him, just staring at his new-ness and perfection. I can remember sitting in his room before he was even born, trying to imagine what it would be like to have a baby in the house. I can remember changing his clothes three times a day, just because it was fun to dress him up. I can remember crying over him as he slept in his crib...I missed being pregnant and having him with me all the time...he looked so tiny and lonely in that big crib. I can remember how warm and soft and tiny he was. He will always be my baby.
Happy birthday, buddy.
P.S. When blogger is over it's fit, I'm going to repost this with pictures. :)
8 Comments:
That was a heartwarming, tear jerking post.I loved every word.
Damnit, Stacey, no making the prego cry :P
Beautifully written, though, so I can't fault you... plus, I'm sure you've shed your own tears while writing/living this post.
*hugs* to you and happy birthday to your little guy.
What a sweet tribute.
(Don't get me wrong, I love having a baby. But man, I miss the inside the tummy stage sometimes.)
Wow, that was the sweetest post. It echos how I feel about my kids. My oldest just started kindergarten, sniffle, and my youngest just started crawling, sniffle, sniffle, bawwwwwl.
Your post brought tears to my eys...probably because you have written exactly how I feel!!! 3 kids, and you wrote exactly how I felt (and feel) all 3 times.
Now my youngest is starting kindergarten.....sigh.....makes me want another one!!
I can only echo what everyone else said. That was so beautiful and so 'damn you Stacey don't make me cry'.
Any mother who is expecting her first child should read this.
Oh hell, every mother should read this.
Oh Stacy that was beautiful. You perfectly described so much of the newness and what it is like to be a mom. Four years go by so quickly, don't they?
Happy birthday G!
It is so hard to watch them grow..but it does keep getting better and better. I wish you and your boy a happy year.
jean 1
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