She was born on Sunday, May 25.
I went into labor on my due date and, a scant 36 hours later, I had my baby. I only got the epidural 22 hours in - and I have to confess I felt prouder of myself for getting one than for getting through all those hours of relentless, unchanging contractions. You see, pain is not something I’m afraid of. What does scare me is a needle in my back. But, it turns out, what scares me even more is hours and hours of endless, unchanging, non-progressing labor. In 22 hours I progressed from a little over 3 cm dilation to a little over 3 cm dilation. At which point it seemed to me much more reasonable and somewhat less scary to say: bring on the epidural! Well, I was so scared I cried. I’m not ashamed to admit it. But really, it didn’t feel like anything and once it was done I could finally rest a bit.
Then a few hours later, still at barely more than 3 cm dilation, the doctor began to give me pitocin. Clearly, my uterus was not up to the task of getting labor going on its own. But the pitocin was not bad at all because - see above: I already had the epidural. What I did mind? The hunger. The whole damn time. Before the epidural I snuck some potato chips but they didn’t last me very long.
And then there was the pushing. And then the baby’s head popped out. Which was incredible. I didn’t watch in a mirror but feeling it? Amazing. The question of pain or no pain didn’t matter anymore. A. said her eyes were open and she was looking around, all interested, even before the rest of her body came out.
And that is how Zsuzsanna Lila Moore, my daughter, was born at 2:35 pm on Sunday, May 25, 2008. She will remain Faustina on this blog.
She was beautiful. She still is beautiful. She spent an extra week in the hospital on suspicion of an infection for which she needed antibiotics. By IV, for a whole week. My interpretation: the hospital kidnapped her because she’s so beautiful one can look straight at the sun but not at her. That’s a Hungarian expression, if you must know, and it means - I think you get what it means. I hated that week. I hated going home from the hospital crying because I had to leave my baby behind.
But now, she’s home, sleeping, eating, crying, pooping. In that order. These days she breastfeeds like nobody’s business, and I hope she keeps that up. There she is right now, sleeping in her car seat, dreaming of something that makes her want to complain a little. And then dreaming of something that made her smile. I know: I’m a terrible mother, I still haven’t gotten a more appropriate neck support for her car seat and she’s doing the newborn-neck-crook thing in it.
As for me - I am healing. Slowly. The first week I couldn’t really sit, now I can do that. Not that I like to think much about my bottom just yet. Too many unusual things going on. I still don’t walk like I used to because my hips became so stiff from carrying around a baby in my belly. On the plus side: I’ve already lost 19 pounds. On the minus side: that leaves 16 pounds to go (I gained a full 35 pounds exactly). And I bet those will be the hard ones. I am wearing non-pregnant clothes quite often now, mostly in the long, tie-waist skirt plus peasant blouse variety. I make a point of emphasizing my boobs (which are giant becase - see above: breastfeeding - one for the plus side) to distract from my gut and currently oddly-shaped butt. That’s two minuses. On the plus side, however: I’ve got amazingly lustrous and rich hair. I suppose it’ll begin to shed when the rest of my body starts to feel more normal. At least, that’s my hope. Because a good hair day every day does a lot to make up for an oddly shaped and odd-feeling body.
About breastfeeding: I have to confess I’m rather enjoying it so far. Not that every minute of it is pleasant. But it’s nice to have one thing go right, at least - to date. Notice how I count my blessings in hindsight now? Because who knows what tomorrow will be like. My milk began to come in while Faustina was still in the NICU. I rented a pump and pumped like a good little girl, though not nearly as often as the lactation consultant said I should. Because every three hours, even at night? That’s just fucking crazy.
I do feel there’s an odd double standard about formula vs. breastfeeding going on in hospitals. They really push you to breastfeed, providing literature, classes, lactation consultants and so forth, but if you say you want to, it is suddenly all about how hard it will be, how much you have to pump to get enough milk (every three hours, including at night. Right.), how you’ll probably have to feed every 2 hours (including at night) instead of every 3 or 4, like with formula. So (they add), you’re better off supplementing. At which point you say to yourself, I’m really confused. I thought this was supposed to be about helping me learn to feed my baby but instead… what just happened? Do you want me to breastfeed or do you want me to kill myself? Do you want me to give formula or do you want me to feel guilty about WHATEVER I DECIDE TO DO? One doesn’t ask these questions out loud, of course. Instead one nods sweetly and pays polite and close attention to the demonstration of how to use the breastpump. Which in my humble opinion is just like a bizarrely pastel-colored sexual torture device. In other words, if you resist the formula-industrial complex, you will be punished. In some very unpleasant ways.
The breath of fresh air, and sanity, in all this madness about breastfeeding came from the nurses. Both the labor and delivery nurses and the NICU nurses kept saying, just rest. Don’t worry, you’ll have milk when you need it, and sleep will help it come in. Whereas the lactation consultants are, apparently, only meant to drive you insane with anxiety and guilt because there’s no way a new mom can do what they say she should do. Not even after less than 36 hours of labor.
For my part, I went to the hospital for as many of Faustina’s feedings in the NICU as I could. But I made a point of resting, too, and I pumped a little bit only. Just enough to make me feel like I’m doing something for her. And never overnight: nights are for sleeping.
And that brings me to my last observation: sleeping. Faustina is working on it but doesn’t always succeed. We can’t quite figure out what keeps her from sleeping when she can’t sleep but there doesn’t seem to be anything we can do about it. And about once a day she just cries for 45 minutes or so, no matter what anyone does. Colic doesn’t seem to be the cause, that sounds and looks different, and doesn’t last as long for her. Instead more like Faustina’s got an awareness of the world that she just can’t let go of but also can’t quite respond to, not yet anyway. I’ve gotten her a few black-and-white images to look at but she’s so young she can only do that when she’s not sleepy at all. Which is very little of the time.
I can’t wait for her to grow, even while I love how she is right now: small and cuddly and sweet-smelling. I can’t believe I suddenly have my very own child.
