I’m feeling fine, thank you for asking. For what it was (a major medical procedure involving squeezing a watermelon out of places not meant to be seen), it was a non-event. My step-mum was there, Hal was there, I had the mirror in place to focus my pushing, I had a great nurse, a fantastic doctor, a crash team of pediatric nurses/doctors because the baby’s oxygen levels were plummeting, which meant I wore a mask to force oxygen into my system (all of those turned out to be unnecessary). I spent 24 hours in the hospital, but only because they wouldn’t release my baby before then. I’m recovering nicely, am napping every day thanks to great support, and the baby blues have not been as bad as in the past.
I’ve lost 15 lbs so far (still have a whopping 34 to go, but we’re looking at the good side right now so I don’t burst into tears.) My baby slept for 4 hours in a row last night and then nursed like a charm and went back to sleep. What do I have to complain about?
Here’s the problem. I keep waiting for the Bad Thing to happen, whatever that Bad Thing turns out to be. Will he be autistic? Will he have some genetic defect that takes him from me too soon? Will he marry a girl who hates me? Will he turn out to be a Bramwell to the Charlotte and Emily and Anne that I’m raising?
In other words, my Mom Psychosis won’t let me just thank God that this child is perfect. I’m waiting like Job for the first servant to arrive. It clouds my interactions with my daughters (“Don’t touch him! You have germy school hands!”) It clouds my sleep (the nightmares that were non-existent during pregnancy have now begun to make up for lost time.) It colors the peaceful times when I stare at him and think about the crush I have on him.
I think mostly it’s hormonal. I think mostly I’ll give it a couple of weeks and then I should be back to normal, whatever normal is. I think that I live in suburbia, have no known genetic markers of concern, and that this, too, will pass. I think, too, that perhaps this is Nature’s way of protecting children through the Sleep Deprivation stage. If I’m so fearful that he won’t be protected, that some unknown danger will take him from me, then I’ll be extra cautious, extra pleased to hear his cry at night.
But, mostly, I feel fine. Mostly.