When someone slices your abdomen open, it used to be called Hari Kari and you die on the floor in front of some Japanese war guy. Now it’s called a c-section and instead of your internal organs falling on the floor, you get a baby. Neat.
So like I said, I’m alive. And I wanted to briefly update everyone before we get into the birth story (another post, another time). We are all doing relatively well. We came home from the hospital the day before Thanksgiving and have been recovering during B’s paternity leave.
The good news is that outside of some very early and brief baby blues, the post partum depression seems to have stayed away so far. And for that, I’d give all the gummy penguins in the world.
The bad news is that my c-section recovery this time around is tough, physically. Like really tough. It feels like someone dipped a flaming dagger into a pile of angry scorpions and is jabbing it into my scar, every time I walk. Dramatic? NO. It’s actually worse than that. Every doctor is like, hmm, that’s weird. And I’m like, DUDE, not the right response from a DOCTOR. So I’m just hoping this goes away soon. B goes back to work on Monday and I’m counting the days before D day. Death day. Dooms day. DOUBLE KIDS DAY.
Yes I’m afraid. I’m very afraid. I still look at a newborn with a healthy amount of fear behind my eyes. They are unpredictable and unruly. They don’t listen to reason and they could really give a shit about anyone other than themselves. People like that usually are locked up in mental wards. Or they are called newborns.
Listen, to be totally honest, I’d skip 6 months ahead if I could. I know I know…”don’t wish time away”, “enjoy them when they are little”, “it goes so fast”. The newborn stage is tough stuff though. Breastfeeding literally round the clock at every waking moment while recovering from my scorpion wound, begging her to sleep while she looks at me like, shut up and give me back your boob….is hard. And during this stage, I’ve enjoyed and appreciated G so much more. And I really think it’s him that is keeping the PPD away.
But I will say this….when you have your second baby, you have the knowledge that your first gave to you. You don’t have to lay crying in a dark corner because the baby will never let anyone else hold them except you in their whole life ever. And you know that eventually they will do other shit besides suck on your boob and scream. And you know that there isn’t true evil behind their eyes. Ok I knew that all along. But sometimes I’m like 2% unsure.
But I can say, that I look at little Ruby Lee and I love her. I feel attached to her, which is something that took me months to feel with G. I can tell already that she isn’t the baby that everyone said I’d have after my experience with G. She screams not “just when she’s hungry”. She screams because shit annoys her and because she wants to. But I’m ready for it. If she turns out to be a fiesty little firework, good for her. And let’s be honest, with us as her parents, she was never going to be Wendy Wallflower.
And I should say that moving forward, I don’t think I’ll be calling her R on this blog. She’ll be Ruby. R is for naked movies and pirates. And my Ruby is neither. I think.
The next post will be the birth story, with pictures. You may be surprised…
MODG and family
I’m alive. When someone slices your abdomen open, it used to be called Hari Kari and you die on…