The drugs started to wear off from my C-section and I started to feel sore. Everywhere. My abdomen felt like it was slit like a zipper all the way around my waist, but worse than that was the pain in my elbow pits from gripping the bed with such ferocity during all those hours of pressure. They told me in the recovery room that I couldn't hold Eva until I showed them I could activate my lower half and lift my hips. Recall, please, that I was just cut in half less than 30 minutes before this, but if that's what's standing between me and this baby, it's not a problem. I arched my back and lifted myself two feet in the air. "Whoa, ok. Point proven, take it easy", said the nurse. And in came Eva.
I sang her "Happy Birthday" and she gave me a sleepy smile. It was just the two of us, as her father was passed out cold in the chair next to me. For about 30 minutes, life was bliss. Eva latched and I was under the impression she had herself a good birthday breakfast. We had our "skin to skin" bonding time and her tiny little body was such a hot pocket that she warmed my cold-to-the bone recovering body to its core. I closed my eyes with a smile on my face and we went to sleep, snuggled up together...
For about 3 minutes.
Then she was taken away to the NICU. Because of my stupid gestational diabetes, Eva was born having trouble regulating her own sugar. They needed to feed her and monitor her ability to do this regulatory task. There goes my hope to breastfeed only and there goes my tiny bundle to another wing of the hospital.
I tried to do what everyone told me to and use the time she was in the NICU and I was in the hospital to sleep. However, I was still hell-bent on breastfeeding so I woke myself up every 2 hours all night to pump. I was getting zero breastmilk and it was incredibly frustrating every morning when I had nothing to deliver to the NICU doctor to give my baby nugget. I went to the NICU often and held her and tried to feed her and when I couldn't, or she wouldn't, used a bottle to give her what she needed. She was on the brink of dropping below 5lbs a few days after birth, which would have kept her in the NICU when we left to go home. That was unacceptable to me. My girl was coming home with me. She LOVED her premie bottle and so did her little body. She never dropped below 5 lbs and she was up in our room after 3 days in the NICU!
The first night that Eva spent with us in the hospital was interesting, to say the least. I was still unable to get out of that tall hospital bed on my own and I was determined to let Matt sleep as much as possible because I am a saint and he's lucky to have me. Eva's little bassinet cart was right up against my bed so I didn't need to move much to get her out. She was very sleepy but woke up during one of my late night pumpings and so I took her to feed her and snuggle her and see if that little yellow line on the premie diapers was now blue at all. It was so I changed her...on my lap. BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD idea!
I had been around babies often, especially with my major in college, but I can't say I ever changed the diaper of a literal "newborn" before. I had no idea that when you wipe their little butt hole, they poop instinctually. Well she did...in an upward stream...aimed at my face. Luckily I saw it coming with enough time to lift my head so the point of contact was just under my chin and then it aimed all the way down to my new incision like a yard sprinkler on it's side.
"MATTTTTTT, I need some help!"
Matt shot out of bed still completely asleep and without his glasses on and ran to my bed side. He is lucky that I love him enough to have stopped him before he put his hands in it reaching to support me because he thought I needed to get up to pee!
In the end, we laughed a lot about that and the shirt I was wearing was promptly thrown away. Matt helped me to the shower after we cleaned off Eva and when I came out, he was feeding Eva and gave me the instructions to go to sleep...
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The next morning, we were all on our way home!
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