This is not an easy post for me to write. But, I think it's an important part of my healing process to get this all down. After a few conversations with people I know, and reading blog posts from other moms with similar circumstances, I think I've worked up the courage to share my real feelings about the birth of my daughter.
I had a very specific plan for a natural birth. I knew there was a possibility that I might not get the exact birth experience that I wanted. I thought I was prepared for one or two things to stray off of the course of the plan. I was not, however, prepared for nothing to go according to my plan. When my doctor told me I would have to be induced, I burst into tears. When I was told we had to go to the OR for a c-section, I sobbed again. Everyone kept telling me that our goal was to have a healthy baby, and not to be too upset because the course of action we were taking was going to ensure a healthy baby. Well, that just made me mad. Of course I wanted a healthy baby. It was absurd to point that out to me. I wanted a natural birth to keep her healthy. I didn't want Pitocin or an epidural because I didn't want her to be born medicated. I didn't want a c-section because I wanted to be able to hold her and begin nursing within her first hour. I wanted to allow her umbilical cord to stop pulsating on it's own to keep her healthy. Every choice I made when creating my birth plan was made based on my research as to what would be the best for her. So, to tell me I had to have Pitocin, and I had to have a c-section to ensure she was healthy was really difficult for me to comprehend because it was so far from what I knew was best for her.
The c-section was very difficult. I did not react well to the epidural and my blood pressure dropped incredibly low (my husband told me it was 50/30 at one point). I spent most of the time in the OR either vomiting or fading in and out of consciousness. I had to force myself to open my eyes to see her when she was born. I was vaguely aware that my husband wasn't permitted to go see her right away, but was not really concerned with why -- I was too focused on not passing out again.
This picture was taken minutes after her birth -- I don't remember this at all
When I got out of the OR and back into my hospital room my husband and my mother met me. He told me he was on his way back to the NICU, that something was wrong with her lungs and her blood pressure was too low. He promised to be back soon. My mom came into the room with me. I had the worst chills I've ever experienced. My mom said she was worried I might crack a tooth because my teeth were chattering so hard. A PA came in to update me on my daughter and to tell me that she should be out of the NICU in a couple hours. As the epidural wore off, I began to feel better and get a better grasp on what was happening. Around this time a couple of hours had passed and my husband and daughter soon came into the room. While I met my daughter just minutes after she was born, it wasn't until three hours later that I was able to hold her for the first time.
I didn't really feel connected to her. This still makes me cry. I only knew she was mine because they told me she was (and she looked like my dad). Nursing was difficult for both of us. I had hoped, since nothing else had gone my way, that nursing would be the one thing I would have control over. But even that didn't work out and we had to put her on formula while in the hospital. Once we got home we stopped the formula, but she hated nursing so I joined the ranks of EPs (exclusive pumper). It took a few weeks before I really felt like she was my daughter. Within hours of her birth my husband, parents, and in-laws were telling me how much they loved her. I just didn't feel that immediate connection to her. It makes me so sad that my own daughter felt like a stranger to me in the beginning. She grew inside me, and I had no emotion toward her. That's all changed now, and I can't even remember life without her. She's the most important thing in my life.
I needed to grieve my birth experience. And, I needed to know that it was okay to need to grieve. It sounds so silly, right? I mean, I have a beautiful healthy daughter. I should be happy for that and be done with it. But, it's not that easy. It was incredibly traumatic for both of us. It's not the beginning that I wanted for her, and I can never change that. I can't re-do it. I couldn't protect her when she was born. I couldn't help her at all during the first three hours of her life. As a mother it's my job to protect and help her, and I felt like I failed before I even had a chance to try. And, because my incision is having such a difficult time healing, I still struggle with feeling like a bad mother. There have been days in the past two months that I've been barely able to move. The one blessing about being an EP is that my husband can feed her in the middle of the night. Most of the time I can't hold her unless I'm in a chair with a pillow on my lap. It hurts too much. I can't take her on walks. I can't do so many things that I want to be able to do with her because I have an open wound in my abdomen.
I know that once I'm healed and she's past her colicky phase all of this sadness and frustration will be a distant memory. Putting my feelings down helps; I feel like at least I've gotten my feelings out, and I can move on now. I'm so looking forward to watching her grow. She is such a beautiful and sweet baby. I love to make her smile and laugh; I love to hold her in my arms and fall asleep with her on my chest. While I wish thing happened differently, I know that I'll get past this experience and it will only make me stronger.
In the corn maze
Our first visit to a farm
At Meghan and Drew's Halloween/FL-GA party
Our little Peanut
