Okie, dokie, artichokie, like an old man driving on a Sunday afternoon, this post has been slow in coming. I’ve LITERALLY sat down roughly 20 times to jot down my thoughts and keep getting distracted by different things (as a new mother, I think you know what I mean…….yeah, facebook). Se la vi.
Two things I promised myself I wouldn’t do in this post: 1.) I will NOT be giving you the nitty gritty details about my birth story. I will NOT tell you about delivering a placenta via c-section or about trying to poop after said operation. I will NOT tell you about staples in my abdomen or having a catheter. The second thing I refuse to do on this blog is 2.) Make lists.
Going into the hospital we didn’t really know what to expect. Not only were we not privy to the sexes of our children but we had no idea how the process was going to shake down. To help my fellow woman and pregnant post-op men avoid the shallow but perilous pitfalls that I stumbled into, I’ve created a list…and I’m calling it, “THREE THINGS I WISH I WOULD HAVE KNOWN AHEAD OF TIME”. You, fellow reader, are currently “ahead of time”. You, friend of friends, can apply these rules to your future experience.
1. THE NOOB
Let’s say you need an epideral. Would you come over to my house and ask me to do it for you? No. Why? Because I’m not a doctor or professional anathesiologist. I lack the training and knowledge. When you go to a hospital, you hope that these people will be assigned to you. Not so. You should SPECIFICALLY ask to have all students, residents, nurses in training, etc. excused from the room OR, at the very least, ask to have the syringe removed from their desperate and shakey hands. They can watch, but they mustn’t touch. After receiving the lovely epidural twice, the “professional” (ie professional student) decided he couldn’t quite find the magic spot and handed the NEEDLE back over to the REAL DOCTOR. Why, why, WHY, was there a nubian sticking objects into me without my knowledge?? This rule can be applied to IV placement. If you’re not good at IVs, you shouldn’t give them. If you have to “fish around” you should maybe consider a job at the wharfs. My body is not your ocean. I am not your class activity. You do not pay me tuition. Goodbye.
2. THE BOOB
Lactation consultants must die; they should literally drown in a vat of warm breast milk. If they come uninvited into your room like a pack of grace hungry Jehovah Witnesses, simply wave around some garlic and crucifixes as if trying to ward off a vampire – they’re about the same sort of soulless monsters. They grab at your boobs and nipples without permission like a football playing rapist. They bring you machines and new ideas they want to try out. “Try tickling the babies’ cheek. Try tickling his foot. Try cranking her elbow. Try hanging him upside down and swatting at him with a bamboo shoot. Nothing? Hmm, maybe tomorrow….” At one point a 200 year old woman who we dubbed Mother Earth entered the scene and tried explaining to us what we should be listening for; how we would know if the baby was eating vs. just suckling. She says, “If the baby is eating, it will sound like this -” and she began to make suckle-suckle-gulp-gulp-suckle-suckle noises that sounded like someone trying out for the World’s Sloppiest Soup Eating competition. “If the baby is merely suckling at your teet, it will sound like this -” now imagine an angry guinea pig trying to drink from his hanging bottle but the guinea pig has no teeth and the bottle is made from wet meat. John, in classic John fashion, straight facedly asks, “Could I hear the first sound once again? How did it go?” Suckle-suckle-gulp-gulp-suckle-suckle. I try not to laugh and John rests back in his chair, folding his arms. He says, “I see”.
3. THE NOOD*
Have you ever had that dream where you’re standing completely naked in front of a group of strangers? They’re all poking you and prodding you and you feel sort of insecure but for some reason you can’t get out of their gaze? Well, the fine folks at Kaiser Permenente can make that dream a reality. You will be wheeled unceremoniously into a frigid cold room. Your “clothes” (paper robe with twist tie) will be ripped off in one swift motion and you will be left standing there with nothing but your contact lenses to hide behind. It’s not that bad if you come from a stripper background but for me, it was a little uncomfortable. I’m so modest, you know, I wear chastity belts to my gyno appointments. Anyway, prepare to run the gauntlet in your birthday suit.
*I know I didn’t spell that right (nude) but I really, really wanted it to look like the other two headings.
NOW, without further ado, allow me to take you on a visual journey of our trip into the ‘hood (parenthood).
Above, the view from our room; the top floor of a parking structure. While this may seem trite, it’s certainly a better view than the room below us had; a brick wall.
Our anniversary is March, 26. 0326. It’s not QUITE right but it’s still sort of cool. Did anyone watch LOST?
This is where the doctor’s wash their hands before cutting people open and after making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
One last family photo while we’re still just an “us”. The doctor’s asked “What are you having?” and we said, “We don’t know!”
And then there was Quinn! I can’t even explain how amazing it was to hear the doctor call out that we had a little girl. We had a girl……a sweet little footie pajama wearing girl of our very own. The doctor’s asked, “What is her name?” and we said, “We don’t know!” As you can tell by the giant cubist painting, Quinn is just as modest as I am.
This face is going to be my undoing EVERY TIME.
Quinn was followed quickly by our little man, Rory. One look at him and I knew we had ourselves a little mini-John.
Getting to hold my babies’ for the very first time! HEAVEN. There were so many times in the last couple years that I feared this moment may never happen for me – such an incredible moment of God’s faithfulnes and blessings.
Later on in the recovery room Quinn and I had a discussion about the day’s events – clearly her face is saying she’s not so sure about this place.
We were disappointed to learn that they no longer do the standard hospital mugshot baby photos so we decided to do them ourselves. Below are John and I’s circa the 80’s. It’s crazy how much Rory looks like John!
And thus concludes our greatest journey right on the coattails of an even greater one. Please be sure to come back for regular updates and adventures; thank you for playing and do come again.
John and Jade.
Roe and Q,
