It’s 2:45 a.m.
The rain is still falling after a brief tornado warning for central Texas earlier in the night. The dog is chewing on some rawhide. The night is still; besides the exception of gently rolling thunder that now poses no threat. There is ambient light from a decorative white LED birch tree that we left out after Christmas and just decided to use. I’m on the couch. Alert and relaxed.
And I’m waiting on my son to awake from his slumber.
I haven’t slept through the night in week, because this is the first week I’ve been a mother. Each night, the kid has been awake and rabidly feeding from 1 a.m. to 6 a.m. So, of course, the night I am prepared; he sleeps in a heavenly slumber. And I have time to reflect in solitude.
What a wonderful and enlightening week it has been. I have watched my husband grow overnight from a big kid with a Ph.D. into an incredibly devoted father. Every time he wraps our son in his long arms, gives him eskimo kisses, or spouts words of happy disbelief – I melt. All over. I want to cry tears of joy but all I do is half smile and stare. And sometimes I remember to snap some video on my phone.
I’ve been so wrapped up in the love of my new life, I didn’t even notice I had a marketing position rejection email in my inbox for three days. I haven’t posted about the little one on social media, despite my family’s pleads to start collecting likes and compliments. None of that even matters to me in this moment.
And I’m different now.
I’m different because I’ve been through the incredibly surreal experience that is labor and delivery. A new human constructed from time and bodily effort.
I can’t say enough wonderful things about the Christus Santa Rosa birth unit (is that the right word?). Before my time there, I had never heard of a lactation consultant, the baby friendly initiative, cluster feedings, ‘tongue tied’ babies, on-demand feedings, or how well my husband would take to being a dad (I love him but he had always been fumbly and distant while interacting with my friends’ kids). My father-in-law joked about the incredible amount of OTJT (on the job training) we got. The resources made available to my husband and I during our stay are incredibly invaluable, and words cannot do the wonderful team of nurses there justice. They have made our transition from hospital to home one with ease. Granted, a lot of that was in part that I walked away without injury and am healing incredibly well – but – I will never forget our experience there.
When I came home from the hospital Wednesday, it was like slow motion. My home smelled different, but I knew it was where I belong. My dog looked different, but the feel of her soft face was reassurance that we still rescued each other. I felt differently (mostly just more incredible respect) about all of my friends that are moms, knowing that this shit isn’t going to be easy; no thanks to society and the cultural views on the postpartum experience, children in public, and trying to make enough to afford the middle class lifestyle.
And what a week it has been. Breastfeeding itself is an indescribable roller coaster of emotion and energy. I was so overwhelmed I forgot everything my friends taught me about how babies love or hate different chairs/rockers and the simple genius of using white noise machines. We were lucky enough to have family from both sides visit, provide food and support, and bask this new little one in love and affection. His paternal grandpa already has plans for his first car. Both his aunts request new pictures daily. I know this is cliché, but I can’t believe how cute the little guy is. His face is perfect. It makes you want to believe in angels.
And of course, I’m looking back to getting to work. I even had someone reach out to me today if I was still super busy – which I am in the moment but for different reasons.
