This is a pregnancy story, but not the kind that you usually hear. This is the cold, hard truth of some of the things I have experienced across 17 months (and counting) of growing 2 tiny humans from scratch.
If you are queasy, or just plain not interested in the inner workings of gestational 'glamour', or if you don't yet have children, but want to someday consider it, or if you quite frankly don't want to be scarred for life, LISTEN TO ME: turn away from this post. Do not read further, do not let your inquiring mind take over. No offense will be taken by me, and we can still be friends. Just. Stop. Reading. NOW!
For those of you still with me, whether to relive your own experience, you're a rebel who didn't heed my very clear warning, or you're just here to laugh at my life, let us proceed:
Recently, we have spent quite a lot of time at the hospital due to Baby Boy #2 being, well, a second child. We seem to be okay for now, but it has been made abundantly clear that we will not be making it within a month of our due date, if we even get that far. So, when your uterus is apparently not-up-to-par living standards for your child and they show their appreciation for months of puking and discomfort by trying to vacate the premises early, you find yourself watched very closely by a swarm of medical personnel. Again, we're mostly fine, and he's growing and we're really close to being at a medically acceptable time for him to arrive. It may mean a stay in the NICU, or some other twists and turns, but pregnancy revelation #1: babies do what they want, when they want.
Over the weekend, I had a surprise extended stay at the spa de' labor and delivery floor of our local hospital, who is in the midst of quite the baby boom (which, if this is their summer/fall conception group, can you imagine what their winter/spring births will look like after this quarantine?? Just saying...I know how long we've all had at home together recently). I was told by a nurse that as of the 15th, they had delivered 100 babies this month alone, and I personally heard 6 lullabies play (which is super cute - they play a lullaby over the hospital loud speaker every time a new baby is born) that same day. Baby Sloan #2 got himself in line and has so far avoided having his own lullaby played, which has been a relief.
Not a relief, however, is actually being IN the hospital. We had nothing but wonderful care and attention, but dare I say that I had a little too much attention. Pregnancy revelation #2: nobody tells you about these terms before you take the plunge and make a baby. Only once you're knocked up with cankles does the truth come out. Buckle up.
First of all, I'm someone who generally cares about my appearance and likes to be presentable most of the time. During my first labor, I was literally straightening my hair during contractions so I'd be photo ready later. Priorities. However, there's just not much that can be done with a one-size-fits-all pastel green hospital gown with, here's the kicker, NO back. Just 2 sad little shoelaces who have been tasked with keeping the tent closed, but only against your neck and mid back, because GOD FORBID strangers see those body parts. All the ones you would like covered in front of everyone except who you made a baby with, those are left up to your/your partner's underwear packing skills. Glamorous, right? Anywho, since I knew that we probably weren't going to have a photo shoot just yet, I tossed my hair in a bun, but left my giant sparkly earrings in all weekend, because I'm a classy broad.
Next, came the questioning. So many questions. Never in my life have I been asked so many times how my bodily gas levels were doing, and how often they were vacating my body. Is this a number I should be tracking? Because my top concern is how soon a PERSON is vacating my body, but sure, we can check in 22 times a day about gas. And, it's always asked in front of your partner, who, hello, I'm trying to keep the magic alive with in my backless frock and ogre hair and very sparkly earrings, and this apparently very important metric measuring isn't helping!
Speaking of checking, and this is where you REALLY need to stop if you don't care to know about childbirth, because pregnancy revelation #3 is this: it's all disgusting and demoralizing and you will have no pride, or no shame left.
There's something called a cervical check, and it's done about a million times, and it's worse than actual labor. While chatting with a trusted friend who has recently birthed a tiny human, I mentioned that not only are they terrible, but they are always insulting and why, and she specifically requested that I include my paragraph long text message to her in my next blog post. I'll be happy to forward your comments/concerns/therapy bills to her. Quick lesson that's important to the aforementioned paragraph if childbirth is new to you - one of the numbers you get assessed by is from 1 - 10. Babies are born at 10, and smaller numbers mean it's not time yet. Still with me?
How they assign this number is by manually feeling your cervix, which I'm no doctor, but by the feel of things, it seems to be located just under your eyeballs. Since it's not the best time for our baby to be born, a low number is a GOOD thing, but even when it is an appropriate time, you're always given an insulting number. Like, your medical staff's entire hand is halfway to your brain, WHILE you're having a contraction every 2 minutes, and they have the nerve to SMILE and tell you what a low number you're at and how far you have left to go. Seems like something that should be covered more elaborately in sex ed classes and perhaps we can cut that teen pregnancy rate while simultaneously giving our local labor and delivery staff a much needed break. But to be fair, the process DOES make you care a whole lot less about that butt-less mumu you're wearing.
Next, there's the air boots. They go over the hideous-but-comfy gripper socks, and they alternate squeezing your leg like a blood pressure cuff every 15 seconds. All. Night. Long. With good reason, yes, as they prevent blood clots, which is just another item to add to your already miles long list of worries, and let me tell you - they are super attractive! Every night, the nurses sweetly tell you to get some rest, and then hook you into about 8 different contraptions that all light up, beep incessantly, squeeze, and administer medicine. Pregnancy revelation #4: there is no rest; ever. I legitimately slept better with a newborn than in any month of pregnancy or hospital stay in my life. Buy a good coffee pot and keep it close. Forget the swing and the stroller and the crib that converts until they go to college. You need diapers, wipes, food for baby, like 4 outfits, and caffeine.
And speaking of sleeping at the hospital, I had it easy. I had a real bed that adjusted in every direction, while my 6'1 husband laid across a 4.5 foot long foldable couch that I'm guessing was repurposed from a grandmother's couch in the late 80s. A good partner (and I have the best) sacrifices sleep and comfort just like mom, and worries twice as much, because they are concerned for both of us. Find yourself a partner who loves you hard enough to do anything they can to help, and takes care of all of the million details so you don't have to. While you're at it, get yourself friends and family like ours who stepped in immediately, dropping everything, in the middle of a global pandemic, to make sure care for our child and dog and every other need was handled. We love you!
While I'm being serious, I know there are so many hopeful moms-and-dads-to-be out there who would gladly take every complaint I just tried to lay out in a funny-but-true manner, every single day if it meant getting their own tiny human. Please know that I see you, and care about your dreams, and in no way mean to diminish how thankful we are to get the opportunity (twice!) to bring a sweet baby into our family. We want that for you, too.
And this concludes my speech on a glimpse into childbearing. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk. If you'd like further information on any of the following related topics, please reach out to me and I'll be happy to give every awful detail I have about:
- blowing 3 veins before getting an IV in
- shots that bleed through multiple bandages
- what a 'mucus plug' (they don't tell you about that one ahead of time!) is, and my newly acquired information that it can apparently regenerate over and over again, so the fun never stops. It's a Christmas miracle!
No comments:
Post a Comment