This is part 2 of Rubies’ birth story. You can read Part 1 here.

The hour following the birth of Baby R was chaos. Absolute chaos.  BR had meconium (first baby poop) on her as she entered the world and there was a slight concern about that, but we all soon found out that it was really no big deal.  They cleaned her up and promptly placed her on my chest where she was to stay for the duration of one hour for some healthy skin-to-skin contact.  I thought that it would be a quiet hour of bonding.

Oh, hellz no.

First of all, I was almost fully reclined so looking at my baby was a little hard to do.  I was trying to stare at her and figure out where on earth this little chubby bundle came from!  My husband and I were trying to determine which parent each of her features came from, and we were trying to enjoy the first few moments of this new life.  But other people and my body had other plans.

I immediately developed a fever, so my nurse Tara came back and stabbed me in my leg with some injection to help bring it down; then she tried to take my blood pressure.  While all this was going on, Dr. Hew was trying to help me deliver my placenta, which didn’t come out as easily as it was supposed to. So Tara, bless her, began pushing/rubbing/squeezing my belly, which ended up hurting a lot more than one would think.  I started crying and Tara tried to soothe me, and finally out came the placenta.  But Tara kept doing that stomach thing to me because she said that my uterus was too soft and needed to harden (or the other way around… I can’t remember).  All of this was going on when Dr. Hew told me she would begin to stitch me up.

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Oh, Lord.  She never told me how many stitches I received. I asked and she told me where I tore, but not an actual number. I felt at least 7.  I FELT her stitch up my ladybits.  I cried as I felt each stitch, Dr. Hew was trying to soothe me, I was trying to soothe BR, my husband was just trying to stay calm, and all I can remember is that it was very noisy, I was in pain, and I wanted everyone to just shut up!

Finally, it was all over.  Dr. Hew was done, I thanked her (she really was very kind), she congratulated us, BR was taken to be cleaned and my husband and I just sat there bewildered.  Did we just have a baby???

Shoot.  Now what?

Well, my family and in-laws promptly showed up wanting to devour their first grandchild, and this was the only time I felt okay.  Soon, I was wheeled into my recovery room where I would remain until I was discharged the next day.  I was encouraged to begin breastfeeding, which didn’t go well at first.  But I told myself I could try again later.

7:30pm

I began to feel very overwhelmed – my friends wanted to visit, my parents and in-laws wouldn’t leave, I was in pain, I was exhausted, I was sweaty and could smell my own BO, and I was feeling miserable.  I tried to hide it and be gracious to everyone, but I was near tears.  Finally, I had had enough and asked my husband to please kindly ask everyone to leave.  I was once again alone with my baby while my husband socialized outside with everyone, and I tackled breastfeeding again.  Nothing.  My nipples were already getting sore, I didn’t know how to position the baby, my arms were cramping up and sadly, it was 7:30pm, which meant Tara’s shift was over and a new nurse was introduced to me.

At this point, I wanted to cry.  You see, when you’re in labour, there is ONE nurse assigned to you for the duration of the labour.  One nurse to change you, entertain you, tend to you, etc.  The second you have the baby, you no longer have that undivided attention.  There is then just one nurse for every five women.  What a shock to the system!  Tara came to say goodbye and I actually cried watching her leave.  The new nurse was a very curt “been there, done that” type of nurse — not soft and caring.  I was so sad.

9:00pm

By 9pm, it was just me and my husband and this new baby.  I was again encouraged to breastfeed, and this time it hurt like hell.  I was feeling tired and emotional.  I wanted to go home, but without the baby, without the pain.  I wanted to go home to my old life.  My ladyparts below my waist were in so much pain, and I was still bleeding so much that it was so hard for me to get in and out of bed.  The nurse came and asked when the last time I went pee was.  I told her that I hadn’t physically gone pee since before my epidural (after my epidural, a catheter was inserted to empty out my bladder).  The nurse was shocked and almost demanded that I go pee right then.  I was so reluctant (and scared that it might hurt) that I kept saying, “No, it’s okay, I don’t have to go.”  But the nurse made me go.  I started crying in the bathroom.  I was bleeding, my ladyparts were so swollen and in pain from my stitches, I had huge hemorrhoids, and I felt so gross.  I hated every second of it.

Then the nurse told me to take a shower.  Before baby, I was in and out of the shower in 15 minutes.  That night, it took twice as long.  But boy, did it feel good.  Mmmmmmmmm shampoo.  Mmmmmmmmm conditioner.  Mmmmmmmmmmmmm hot water.  I wanted to almost EAT the soap, it felt so good to be clean and put on a new hospital gown.

10:30pm

After the shower, I tried to breastfeed again, and nothing.  Just pain and more tears (on my part).  At around 10:30pm, the nurse came back and asked if we wanted to bathe BR and my husband and I took every opportunity to get as much help as we could, so we said HELLZ YEAH.  The nurse made it look so easy.  BR wailed the whole time, but at least she was nice and warm and swaddled.

11:00pm

Then at 11pm, I sent my husband home to get a good night’s sleep.  My idea was that one of us might as well be comfortable and get some sleep, rather than both of us being tired and stressed.  In the future, I will NOT do this again.  My husband reluctantly left to go home, promising to be back first thing in the morning. I sadly watched him leave, praying for the morning to come quickly.

That night, the first night of being a mommy, was the loneliest, saddest, more terrifying night of my life.  Even as I write these words and think back to that single night, I am reduced to tears.  That night was the WORST night of my life.  I will never forget how scared I was.

My baby was in my room with me crying, crying, crying.  I was crying trying to get out of bed to her because of the pain.  I didn’t know how to calm her, I didn’t know what was wrong, I didn’t know what the heckzoids I was doing.  I buzzed for a nurse for help and when the nurse came, she tried to get me to try breastfeeding (again!) and still nothing.  By this time, my nipples were raw and I was crying in pain.  The nurse kept telling me that I had to keep trying through the pain.  I longed for company – I just didn’t want to be alone – so I kept asking her questions.  Though she was curt, I decided that she was just experienced in that she knew eventually, I would be okay.  She just didn’t try to soothe me.  She had three kids of her own and said that whatever hardship I was experiencing was “normal” and that everything will be okay.  When she left, BR started crying again and so did I.

My room was dark, I could hear hospital sounds in the hall, I could hear a baby screaming a few door down from me… and I felt so alone.  I cried and cried in my bed wishing for all of it to stop. I prayed for the night to end and for morning to come.  I prayed for BR to stop crying.  I prayed for my boobs to stop hurting.  I prayed that I could be happy.  This went on for hours. I should let you know that for BR’s first week of life, she had the craziest ear-piercing cry ever.  It stopped being ear-piercing when she kind of lost her voice due to it, and it became a raspy cry.

3:30am

At 3:30am, she was screaming her head off and the nurse came to see if everyone was okay.  She felt badly for me and offered to take her to the nurses station to give me a break, and I thankfully let her.  I promptly fell asleep but 30 minutes later, she came back with BR because she had to attend to another patient.

7:45am

From then until 7:45am I cried, baby cried, I walked around the room trying to soothe the baby, I took my meds, cried some more, baby cried, and this went on and on.  Finally, I couldn’t take it any more and I called my husband in tears.  He said he was on his way.

Epilogue: The First Month of Baby R’s Life

I’m just going to get to the point: The first month of BR’s life was the most stressful month of my entire life.

Okay, now I can get into the details.

Prior to having BR, I was told constantly that the first month was the hardest.  I was warned of the difficulties of functioning with no sleep.  I was warned of the sleepless nights.  I was warned of the incessant crying.  I was warned of everything you can imagine.  And everyone was right.  Except that there was no way for me to really grasp the idea of how hard it would be until I actually had the baby.

The difficulties:

– My colostrum did not come in until day 2 (and it was only a teaspoon per day at most) and milk didn’t come in until day 4.  Therefore, my nipples were raw, cracked, and bleeding, but I was still told to continue attempting to breastfeed.  I would be sitting on the couch sobbing while poor BR was sucking like mad for nothing.
– BR was tongue-tied, which made her latch terrible. This was one of the main causes of her weight loss because she wasn’t getting anything out of her sucking.  Her pediatrician snipped the bottom of her tongue when she was 2-days old and it helped a little.
– Not knowing what the heck I was doing.  Seriously.  I had no clue.
– The first two weeks I was running on pure adrenaline.  After that, I don’t know how I was functioning at all.
– Not being able to distinguish her cries.  When she cried, I would change her, hold her, sway her, and/or feed her.  After all that, if she was still crying, then I’d have no clue what was wrong and get stressed out.
– Being up all night.  Sucks.
– I didn’t know it then, but BR was a colicky baby.

But then, there is the bright side.

Her.

I love her so much.  No matter how hard the nights are, the second I see her in the morning, I fall in love all over again.  She’s getting chunkier week-by-week, she’s becoming more alert when she’s awake, and she’s becoming less of a “blob” and more of a tiny baby girl.

The first month SUCKS.

But like everyone told me, it only gets better.  Each day I learn a little more.  And it *is* getting better.

I am thrilled.  I am blessed.  I am grateful and thankful.