Every story needs an epilogue. Don’t you hate that about books and stuff? Don’t you live for the Dr. Drew reunion show with the Teen Mom people? Was the Amber Behind Bars special the highlight of your 2012? What do you know, me too!
OK, so obviously I can’t let my placenta ride off into the sunset/get carted off in a basin without one last mention here on the internet. Seriously why must I torment you all with placental over share?! I don’t know! I’m sorry that it fascinates me to no end. My body fails to do lots of things correctly, but it done went and made an entire organ that sustained Frogson and fed him lots of yummy burritos and milkshakes for 9 months. COOL.
(I must issue one last warning for men/those not interested in graphic female problems. Go now.)
But if I learned one thing from my birth experience it’s that things prefer not leave the hospitable confines of my womb. I’m flattered, really. It must be like The Westin in there. Cause my placenta was all COME AT ME BRO, hell no we won’t go. I’m picturing it prostrated in front of a wrecking ball. My one wish to all of the women of the world is that you never hear a healthcare provider utter the words “I’m going in” with regards to your placenta. Because I did. And it happened. And I’ll stop there even though I’ve already crossed the line by like 48 meters.
Sweet Frogson, thank all deities, was fine even with the meconium incident. His immediate Apgar was an 8 and a 9 after 5 minutes, losing that point only because his little hands and feet were still a little chilly (and remained as such for his first few days), which thank God I learned in the hospital birth class powerpoint was very common/normal.
He nursed like a champ, as I thought he might, since he was sucking each time I saw him on ultrasound. Technically the first time I ever laid eyes on him was when he was a wee 16 weeks old, looking head on at the transponder and sucking away. It was tremendously cool. He’s sitting next to me sucking in his sleep as I type this right now. At the hospital they made you keep a log of the baby’s eating and pee-ing and poo-ing, and I think it was on day 1 or 2 of his life where the nurse came in and checked it and was like “WHAT?! He nursed for 2 hours and 45 minutes?!” I was like “Uhh, yea? He cried every time I tried to take him off so… yea?” and she was all “Oh girl, no no NO… he needs a pacifier” and of course I am protesting and saying but! But! Nipple confusion! Solidly established breastfeeding relationship! THE BOOKS WARNED AGAINST THIS! But, yea, I’m a believer now. Homeboy loooooves them. Especially the ones that take up half his face.
Let’s see. What else.
I really only remember fragments from his first week of life. Very strange. That’s why I’m glad I’m trying to write down what I do remember. I obviously immediately loved him a huge, scary, overwhelming amount– but I think most people find that kind of love to be a joyful experience, whereas I felt more of a consuming dread/terror that something would happen to him. I wish I could go back and pat my January self on the back and tell myself it would get better, because I was a mess. I’m so much better now, just a few weeks later. Maybe not 100% just yet, but I no longer make Google queries such as “Can I give my baby brain damage from pulling a onesie over his head” (That is a true story. I have the internet search history to prove how crazy I was.)
So, yea, I think my hazy memory has something to do with that. Because what I remember from the first few days at the hospital was that I was really hungry and had a Subway jingle stuck in my head the whole time. (I got it made/I got it made/I got it made fresh at Subway/Breakfast made the way I say). Now it’s in your head too. And if it’s not, surely this will do the trick: Five! Five dollar! Five dollar foot lonnng! (Febru any any).
Sorrs. There is a lot of TV around here.
Dude I ate nonstop. It was awesome. It must have been the milk coming in I guess. My mom brought me a big Tupperware thing of homemade chocolate chip cookies and I went through most of them. Jeff brought me a venti hot chocolate and I saw the face of God. I found the hospital food to be delectable, such that one day my black bean burger was half frozen and had a hair on it and I wolfed it down without a second thought, enjoying every bite. I’m sorry, that’s really disgusting, I’m embarrassed admitting I did that.
Frogson did end up with a touch of jaundice (stupid vacuum) and of course I was a mess over it. Even though I’m aware it is THE most common and treatable newborn problem EVER (the hospital said more babies get it than don’t get it). And just when there was talk of supplementation to try and process it out of his system and get his weight back up, the dairy farm sprang into action (go go gadget huge milk boobs) and he has been growing great since.
I miss being pregnant. I’m not sure how to say this without it sounding really weird or like I am unhappy with him on the outside, cause that is obviously– OBVIOUSLY– not the case– not the case! But I loved being pregnant. Another really strange thing, I’m wondering if other people ever had this feeling, but it’s so surreal those first few days of baby living in the outside world. It’s such a big jump– one day he was this spirit-like, ethereal creature inside me, and the next day HI MOM I’m a real baby with a name and fingernails and a social security number, can I have some more milk please? And sometimes– again, I know this is strange– but I’ll flip through a picture on the phone or something and see my formerly large pregnant self, and have this fleeting moment where I think to myself that I miss “that” baby. Weird, I know!
Taking him home was even surreal-er. I remember plopping his car seat down as we got into the house, looking down at this new little fellow in my living room and thinking, “Oh hello! Excuse me but do you live here?”. And now it’s crazy to think we’ve been here this whole time without him. Did his room really sit there dormant all those months, empty and waiting for him? His room which is now full of coos and tummy time and piles of his laundry and if I’m not careful to close the door, Chooch pulling diapers out of the pail to lick the poop off of?
OK. I could probably go on and on but I am officially cutting off the word vomit and ending this chapter. And no longer blabbing about female stuff. Fear not, more programming to come I’m sure!