The name of this blog really rings true when it came to me knowing what the hell I had to do for the birth of Hunter by way of legal documents and appointments and the whole Centrelink debacle. Even just the other day when I […]
There is so much about motherhood that I have learned and discovered over these last (almost) eight weeks. Things I have learned about parenthood, about my son, my partner, our families and myself. I have also mastered doing absolutely everything with one hand, holding Hunter in the other. I have learned patience. I have learned that there is a whole other section of my being that is reserved solely to house the love I have for my beautiful son.
Today I want to share what happened after Hunter was born. Going into this, I didn’t know what to expect, and even still, every single day in the lead up to his birth I was picturing what it was going to be like. I spent hours, days, imagining the moments after Hunter was born. I tried to visualise how it would feel to have friends and family come to visit at the hospital, or what Hunter was going to look like in the clear bassinet, what it would be like to push him down the corridors of the hospital.
After the midwife had wrapped Hunter and everything had calmed down a little bit from his arrival, I was shown into the shower. “Ah,” you may be thinking, “a nice, warm shower sounds perfect after twenty hours of labour.” No. The last thing after that many hours of labour was to be wet. I was incredibly raw and sore and tender and my limbs were barely able to perform the basic task of washing myself. Basically I stood under lukewarm water, pathetically rubbing hospital soap on my arms and stomach while a pool of blood formed at my feet. Graphic, but true.
Ahhh, how relaxing.
Hunter was weighed and measured and a trolley of food was wheeled in for me. Here is my first tip of this post, get a family member (or whoever is going to be with you for your delivery) to have some food for you for after labour. Though you won’t really care about what you are eating straight after giving birth, the smell (and to be quite honest, the sight) of hospital food will do nothing positive for you. I barely ate anything of what they gave me and in hindsight, would have loved some hot chips. Or fresh Lebanese bread.
Pete and I had both expected to be going home the same day as giving birth but then again, we thought my labour was going to be quick. Ha! Because I ended up having an epidural, I was required to stay in hospital overnight. We went through the public health system however I was lucky enough that I had a private room. As soon as we were settled in the room – after having wheeled Hunter through the hospital just as I had pictured for all those months – the midwife that was going to be attending Hunter and I introduced herself and gave us a brief rundown on what was going to happen during the hospital stay. If I am perfectly honest, I wasn’t listening to her. I was far too distracted and utterly obsessed with my son.
In our discussions, Pete and I had also hoped that if I did end up having to stay overnight that we would be able to get a private room so that he could stay the night there as well. In reality though, neither of us had really slept and agreed that it would be far more beneficial for both of us if he spent the night at home in a proper bed, getting a good sleep to then come back and pick Hunter and I up the next day. It was only mid-afternoon at this stage so Pete went home to feed our animals before picking up some Chargrill Charlie’s (my post-birth dream meal) for Mum and I and coming back to the hospital.
The midwife returned some time later so that she could teach me how to feed Hunter and how to get hi to latch. Because he was so little when he was born, his mouth was too small to latch onto my gigantic mega nipples properly. I tried over and over again, and by “I tried” I mean that the midwife squeeze my nipples while grabbing Hunter’s peachy little head and shoving it towards my breast. Hunter was only hours old and it all seemed a bit ‘man-handled’ for my liking. In the end, I had to hand-express the colostrum from my breasts into one of those little plastic cups you use for urine tests. Then, with a plastic syringe I fed my son for the first time.
Mum and I were then presented with ‘a little bit’ of information about caring for a newborn. Pamphlet after pamphlet, booklet after booklet, rule after rule. I was told Hunter must sleep on his back. Hunter must be woken every three hours for a feed. Hunter must be positioned at the base of the cot. Hunter must not have a dummy. I was told about the breastfeeding classes and the physio classes and the play classes and the bath classes. The stack of information didn’t seem to get any smaller. Thankfully, and rather unexpectedly, Mum said after a while, “This is a whole lot of information to expect someone who has just given birth and hasn’t slept to take in.”
Like clockwork, once it had been three hours since Hunter’s feed, the midwife returned and once again started squeezing my nipple hard enough that I thought she was going to pinch it the fuck off. Hunter was in a deep, deep sleep and yet I was told that he HAD to feed, not only because he was ‘hungry’ but because if Hunter and I couldn’t prove that we could feed properly, we wouldn’t be able to head home until we could. So there he was, still only hours old, ASLEEP, getting my nipple violently rammed into his squishy little face. Obviously he didn’t latch or feed.. because he was asleep.
“Well, he isn’t latching,” the midwife said.
“He’s asleep,” I responded.
“You’ll have to go to the lactation classes because he isn’t latching. You won’t be able to go home tomorrow.”
“But, he’s asleep..” I tried again.
“You’ll have to express and syringe feed him again. Check and change his nappy to wake him up.”
I looked at mum pleadingly. I didn’t want to wake Hunter up, the poor thing was out cold and happy and warm and wrapped and from his peaceful face, clearly not hungry.
“Do we have to do it now?” mum asked the midwife, sensing my hesitation.
I did what she asked me to do, keeping in mind that as soon as I was out of hospital I knew that I was going to have to figure out how I wanted to feed my son. Once we were left again I had my first visitors. My two brothers came to meet their nephew, and brought champagne with them. Shari came to meet her godson, and brought bourbon and lollies. And Pete returned with chicken burgers and hot chips. I had everything I could ever want in one room.
Pretty soon after I ate, the adrenalin of labour an going birth wore off and in its place was a physical exhaustion like I had never experienced. Everyone left, including Pete, and I was left in the room with my son. I will never be able to properly describe what it was like to be sitting in that hospital room with Hunter. I had no idea what the night was going to bring, and even though I had almost a year knowing that I was going to be a parent it felt as though I had been thrust into motherhood without any warning – and it was the happiest moment of my life. It is a moment that I will never forget. I had dimmed the lights of my room so that there was only the slightest glow above my bed, footsteps and the beeping of machines punctuated the silence and even though I knew I was in a building full of people, it felt as though Hunter and I were the only people in the world.
I fell asleep almost immediately.
I woke up to Hunter stirring. That quickly turned into a full on newborn scream. I picked him up and immediately paged the midwife. To this day I have no idea why I called her straight away – I wasn’t panicking, I hadn’t tried to settle him yet but I knew that I didn’t know what he needed. All that information that was given to me in the hours straight after giving birth went right out the window (because it was given to me in the hours straight after giving birth..). The night-shift midwife came into the room and the first thing she did was check his nappy and sure enough, he needed to be changed. It was almost as if I was dreaming as I watched her change him. I snapped myself out of it and asked her the most basic question: what do I do when he cries like that again? She said he is either hungry, needs changing, has wind or is tired. I knew all of this already but I think that I needed to hear it in the moment, I needed to hear it as it was happening. Once he was changed, she helped me feed him again before leaving us alone once more.
Almost as soon as she had shut the door behind her, Hunter did another huge poo. Huge. I could hear it as it happened. I got up and changed him again but when I put him in his bassinet, on his back, he wouldn’t settle. I didn’t think about it – call it instinct – and picked him up, put his dummy in and lay him in the bed next to me and cradled him in the nook of my arm. He fell asleep straight away.
A few hours later, I was woken up.
“Hunter is due for a feed,” she said, rousing me from sleep, “look at how settled he is with you! He already loves his mama.” I was completely out of it. Completely. It took me a while to come to and really what was happening. Surely, I thought to myself, surely she isn’t waking us both up from sleep – a woman who hasn’t slept after a full day of labour and a newborn, both peacefully asleep. She told me to unwrap Hunter and check his nappy. I slowly and painfully pushed myself up and tried to get Hunter to latch. To be honest, I can’t remember whether he latched or whether I expressed and fed him from the syringe again, but either way the midwife eventually left and we passed out again.
I don’t like hospitals, but one thing that I love is that even in the dead of the night, in those early hours of the morning that are normally drowned in silence, the sound of nurses and doctors moving between rooms never slows down. Everything continues in hospital at night as it does in the day. I have always been someone who is comforted by the presence of other people. I am able to sleep better when there are people talking around me. I am able to write better when the television or music is on in the background. I am able to read better when there is noise that I have to consciously drown out. All through the night I woke up for brief moments, comforted by the unfamiliar sounds.
He only woke up once more that first night.
I was woken up early in the morning by the midwife I had the day before. As soon as she saw that Hunter was in bed with me, and with a dummy in his mouth, she immediately berated me.
“You can’t have him in bed with you,” she said, picking Hunter up before I was even properly awake, “so I will just put him back in his bassinet here. And tsk tsk tsk, no dummies.” Hunter’s dummy was taken out and cast aside, his little body placed back in the bassinet next to me. “I’ll come back when you are more awake,” the midwife said, seeing herself out.
I woke up again, grateful to see that mum had messaged me and was already on her way with breakfast and coffee for me. The morning comprised feeding Hunter, introducing him to the friends and family that visited and figuring out how the hell I was going to get discharged as soon as possible. Pete arrived mid-morning and all that we both wanted to do was get our little man home.
Long story short (not really though, this is a long-ass post. Apologies.), even though I was allowed to be discharged at 11am, the entire process took until just after 4pm.
A nurse came by and told us that Hunter had to go down the hall to take a hearing test. I had no idea that their hearing was able to be tested, so for all of you who didn’t know that either, headphone are put on Bub’s ears and they are played a sound at a specific decibel and their brain is monitored to see if they react to it.
“He won’t pass the test,” she said sharply, taking all of us by surprise, “no babies have passed today. If he doesn’t pass, which he probably won’t, we will have to do it again later this afternoon. Don’t fee bad that he probably won’t pass, its normal.” I swear to god, it got to the point where if she said that Hunter wasn’t going to pass one more time, I was going to lose it. Mum offered to take him to the test, rolling her eyes at me on the way out of the room.
We were told the test was going to take fifteen minutes.
They were back in five.
He had passed with flying colours.
The midwife tried to get Pete and I to go to the bathing class over and over again. “You really should go,” she said, every time she visited us. Pete and I were adamant that we didn’t want to go. All we wanted to do was wait for the paediatrician to give Hunter his assessment, put him in the car and take him home. Hours went by and finally, the doctor came to see us. During her visit there was a chorus of screaming babies out in the corridor.
“What’s going on out there?” I eventually asked when the crying didn’t stop.
“Oh, it’s the bath class,” the paediatrician told us.
Pete and I laughed about that later.
We were eventually discharged. We were both starving, exhausted and completely in love with our beautiful son. The moment we strapped Hunter into his car seat is one that we will never forget. As we both clicked the straps in, we looked at each other and said simultaneously, “Oh my god.”
I mean, come onnnnnn. Look at him.
I guess the reason that I am writing (rambling on) about this is because I want it to be known how confusing motherhood can be in even the first hours, simply due to all the different opinions that people will try and force on you. In the space of a few hours I was complimented on my mothering and then chastised for the very same thing. I want to say to all the mums and mamas-to-be out there that YOU DO YOU. Do whatever it is that feels right for you. I promise you that your instincts will kick in and without even knowing how, you will know exactly what to do and what works for you. I demand feed, and I have never and will never wake Hunter up just to feed him. When Hunter won’t settle or when he has been in pain, he sleeps in bed with Pete and I. Hunter continues to use his dummy, but more often than not he spits it out – babies are smarter than a lot of people give them credit for.
Mamas, you have got this. You really have.
Thirty-eight weeks today. It doesn’t seem real, while at the same time it definitely feels like the pregnancy should be over and done with. This last month has been the most challenging and the most incredible period of time for so many different (and completely […]
I am writing this post this morning from my favourite seat at the cafe. It is right by the front window which is wide open at the moment, the sounds of the morning streaming in. From this seat, I can see every single inch of the cafe that Pete created (you’ll have to excuse the random, romantic moments I am having – I can’t control them at the moment). These last few weeks of pregnancy have me feeling all of the emotions, and I mean all of them. Last night I burst into tears while watching Californication (and, speaking of Californication, I actually have more to say about that show but I might save that for tomorrow when my brain is less fuzzy and the sweat patches under my arms have receded), for no reason at all. Pete said softly and kindly, “Don’t be sad my love,” but I wasn’t sad, I just have no idea what to do with everything that I am feeling.
In bed last night as I wrestled between consciousness and sleep, our little man dropped even further, pressing down even heavier on my cervix. I breathed a deep breath with each movement that he made and felt every single millimetre that he moved. The last few nights have been close to torture when it comes time to sleep. I made peace a long time ago with the fact that my sleeping is not going to be great or consistent or even rejuvenating, but lately it has been a whole new kind of difficult. As soon as I lie down my body becomes really itchy, I become insanely fidgety and fall into this weird micro-sleeps that I jolt out of violently a few mere minutes later. It’s all okay and it doesn’t bother me that sleep seems a thing of the distant past, but it is definitely taking its toll on me during the many hours of daylight.
Having never done this whole ‘being pregnant’ thing before, maternity leave has also thrown me a bit of a curveball (as I kind of predicted it would). Every morning feels weird. I feel weird. I feel lost. I feel like I am just waiting which, when I mentioned this to Mum she answered with, “Well, you are.” Our son, as I have told you all, is fully engaged and he is RIGHT THERE, he is so very close to being born and yet there is absolutely nothing that I can do to make it happen any faster. I am at the stage where I am just waiting and my next challenge is to make peace with that. Being someone who always likes to be busy and pull my weight and contribute, I have really been struggling with how I should be feeling. Physically, this has been the most exciting period of the pregnancy yet but mentally, I am still finding my feet.
Not only that, but the hormones that are shooting all throughout my body are just so exhausting! I am so connected to my son and so desperate to meet him that my sheer WANT and DESIRE to hold him in my arms is literally all I think about, all day. ALL DAY. There is not a moment that passes that I don’t wish he was already here. I find myself constantly hoping for any signs of labour or contractions. I am silently (and sometimes not so silently) wishing in every moment for him to be ready to meet Pete and I. I want to smell him, and feel him in my arms, and kiss every inch of his beautiful little body, and change his nappy, and tell him how wanted and how loved he is. I have never experienced a want as great or as insatiable as this. Through my tears last night I blubbered to Pete, “I just love him so much.” I love him so much already that I have no idea what to do with it all, the love has nowhere to go except out of my eyeballs.
I am trying everything I can to distract myself from the thoughts and the yearning and the persistent, relentless NEED for my son. I am learning how to use royal icing, I am constantly cleaning the house, I am reading in every spare moment that I have and watching television series when I can’t be on my feet anymore. Nothing works. The ridiculous thing is that, even if I go to full term (which I still don’t think I will), his arrival is only 31 days away which is NOTHING and yet it feels like a fucking eternity (excuse my French). I know that when I go into labour, I won’t remember any of this or how I am feeling.
I don’t really have much advice or wisdom to impart today about this stage of pregnancy because I am still trying to work it all out. Maybe I will go and buy myself one of those colouring in books for adults today, or start the 1000 piece puzzle that my friend gave me, or sleep, or buy the John Ajvide Lindqvist books that I have been wanting to read so desperately. I doubt that any of these will work for an extended period of time, but they are worth a shot – right?
I definitely imagined that I would write this post far more succinctly and with more wit and structure, but the state of my brain coupled with the heat that is currently emanating from my body means that this is about as eloquent as I am going to get.
The collected works of Liane Moriarty, Paula Hawkins’ The Girl on the Train, Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl;it seems as though the past few years the genre of domestic thrillers was born thanks to some truly epic female authors. I don’t quite know what it is about these types of books, […]
It is almost unbelievable to me that we are all now in the year that my son is to be born. I know that that is making the new year all about me, but for the moment, the imminent arrival of our little man is my world, my everything, my every waking moment.
On the nights of both the 29th and the 30th of December, out of nowhere and at the same time each of the nights, I was experiencing insanely powerful and almost unbearable stabs of pain in my left ovary. The pain shot down into my pelvis and all the way down my left leg until it reached my toes. The pain was akin to what I felt last year when I had a cyst on my right ovary that then haemorrhaged (when I went to emergency when that happened, the nurse said that the pain I was experiencing was the closest comparison to childbirth that they have been able to make). The first night it happened, I didn’t think too much of it – I knew that it meant that I had reached some new phase in the pregnancy (even though I had no idea what was causing the pain), and with the pain so similar to what I had felt the year before I found myself wondering, “Am I in labour?”
I breathed through the pain and about four hours of Bub moving really intensely, everything started to calm down. The following night at around the same time, the very same pains and rapid movements came flooding back – but this time, it was even more full on. My pain threshold has always been good, really good actually, but the pain was so severe that I yelled out in pain with each wave of it and then burst into tears. I managed to remain calm and breathe, but it was absolutely excruciating. I called mum and described the pain to her and she said that it wasn’t anything that she had ever experienced which, you know, made me feel just SO confident and fine and not at all concerned..
Once again, after about four hours and fifty-six different positions, Bub finally settled down and I was able to get to sleep. The next morning was New Years Eve and as soon as I woke up, the discomfort woke with me. Before Pete and I made the trek down to Clarke’s Point to settle in for the long wait for the fireworks, I called the birth unit at RNSH and told them about the pain I had been experiencing and described Bub’s change of movements. We got called into hospital.
Long story short, everything is fine – actually, better than fine. His movements were measured against his heart rate for about an hour and then the doctor came to give me an all-over check. The pain that I had experienced and the two nights of extreme movement was Bub getting into position to be born. His head is now fully engaged in my cervix, he is ready to be born. The movements are feeling more powerful and painful simply because of how strong he is and because of the different position he is in now they felt extremely foreign. The pain that I was feeling my ovary were his little fists and elbows ferociously punching my ligaments, muscles and nerves which is why I felt it all the way down my leg and in my groin. All very normal we were told. On top of that, to help him get into position I was experiencing waves of Braxton Hicks contractions and breathing into the pain actually allowed him to move. It was my first foray into what labour is going to be like and I tell you what – I am so fucking excited for it.
The new kinds of movements have been so exciting, the pain has been exhilarating in its own way and this whole new stage, the final stage, is the most fun, educational and magical time of my life so far. I also need to mention how amazing Pete has been throughout all of this. I may be the oblivious new mama, but he is just as oblivious. He is the oblivious new papa. Considering that he has never been through this before, absolutely everything that he has done over the past week has been absolutely perfect. He has allowed me to deal with my pain however I need to, helping me when I require it. He has reassured me that he is right there with me. When the discomfort has become too much he has lay next to me and rubbed my belly lightly, whispering to our son (more like pleading with him to let me relax). He sat with me patiently at hospital and always has the aircon on at home. Pete has been the most supportive, loving and understanding partner throughout this whole process and I could not be more grateful, nor more excited to see him as the beautiful father he was always going to be.
I feel that I have spoken about 2018 enough. Most of you can gather that it was a tough one – and it was so for a lot of people. It was a big year that was full of unexpected happenings and transformation. For me, this year has taught me more than I ever envisioned. I have been taught patience and trust, surrender and understanding. Last year I grieved the loss of a child and the loss of my sister-in-law. Last year I met my soul sister and watched her walk down the aisle. Last year I made two of the best friends I have ever made after landing the job I have been working towards my entire life. Last year I met my soul mate and he gave me the greatest gifts of all – love, understanding, laughter, some amazing bottles of whiskey and the gift of our beautiful, healthy, charismatic, adorable son.
Although we are only three days into this new year, for Pete and I they have already been three of the most wonderful days. Each and every day is different in our home and I have come to love that about our little family – him, me, our one-eyed cat, our goof of a dog and our over-active child who it seems cannot wait to escape my womb. This year has already brought its challenges too. Today is the first official day of my maternity leave and I feel way out of my depth and lost. I have had no motivation to write and what has taken its place is the pressure to write. When I was still working full-time, creating this website and filling it with content was such a pleasure, it was and remains my absolute world.. but now that I am without an income, it is so much more than that. I so desperately want The (Oblivious) New Mama to be everything that I have been envisioning over the past few months, and that in itself has been dangerous thinking because all of a sudden I’m not writing for pleasure or for my love of it, I am writing it with expectation. No, no, no. I have been working all day to come to terms with the fact that it is okay that I feel this pressure – I have never done the whole maternity leave thing before so it isn’t that surprising that it feels weird, right? Also the holiday period threw me, as it does everyone, and I have been rather preoccupied with the whole about to give birth thing. I know that I need to take the pressure off and write for the absolute love and joy that it brings me. I have loved writing to you, my audience, and I don’t plan on ever stopping.
I promise you that there are things in the works, there are draft posts sitting in the backend of my website and ideas scrawled all throughout my notebook. This year is going to be a big one, and though I cannot expect anything from my writing (it doesn’t deserve that kind of pressure), I am expecting big, great, wondrous, inconceivable things to happen this year.
So, from my lounge where I sit right now with both a fan and a portable air conditioner pointed at me while I continue to exist about seven degrees hotter than anyone else I want to thank you all for making my 2018 so healing and humbling and I look forward to connecting with each and every one of you in 2019. And even more so, I cannot wait to introduce you to our beautiful baby boy.