A Farewell to Pregnancy

I can't lie, I wasn't broken up about not being pregnant any more. I tried to enjoy the 10 months (because 40 weeks = 10 months in reality) as much as I could. I tried not to freak out about my changing body, emotional upheavals and lack of wit. I tried to remember that I WANTED this, that it wouldn't last forever and that Steve still loved the blubbering, balloon-shaped crazy woman I often became. But as the days and weeks roll forward from March 28th, I get to relish in the return of me.

My beautiful hunger monster wasn't born the way I had imagined. We went to the hospital at 3 p.m. and she was born at 4:12 p.m. via emergency c-section. I've never had any type of surgery before. The closest thing I'd ever had done was having my wisdom teeth out. I was wiggin' out.

In the following week, Steve and I went through a myriad of emotional, spiritual and physical ups and downs. I had surgery, we were down in Ogden and Charlotte was in the NICU. She's a normal, growing baby girl now but I was so overwhelmed in those first days – it was like living someone else's life for a while. But, almost more crazy than the way she was born is how she has, unknowingly and with no ill will I'm sure, made our lives all about her.

I think listing a few of the thoughts I had about her BEFORE she was here will set up her non-hostile takeover of our lives:

– I was praying and hoping for a calm, happy and SLEEPY baby. I need sleep. I can hear so many people saying "Well so do I. Everyone does, stupid." No, no, no... What I mean to say is I NEED SLEEP. I've had struggles with anxiety and depression for years but one of the best preventative measures and remedies is sleep. Consistent, mostly uninterrupted sleep. So I was hoping she was sleepy and that somehow no one would get bludgeoned by a crazy she-demon.

– I have always assumed that the moment your baby is born, your heart cracks open and creates a new chamber labelled "my sweet angel baby." Not so. Not even close. First of all, I didn't get to see her for an hour after she was born, then I held her for about 20 minutes and didn't hold her again for three days. Not a great start to bonding. Then it was the ultimate surreal experience when I did see her – to think she was MY baby, like, she came out of my body where she'd been growing for months. I'm still pretty new to the idea that I am a mother and sometimes I still wait for the real mom to come in and say she's back from shopping and I can go home. It's really weird. I love her, for sure, but it's like entering the lottery, talking it up for months and months and then standing with a check in your hands saying "What do we do now"?

– When I was younger, I just assumed six was the magic number of children. My mom had six kids, so obviously that was the best number. My aunts had families of four and six, respectively, and lots of my friends came from families of four, five, six or more. It was the magical time of having big families, I think. Well, the magic is gone. I knew I wanted to have Charlotte, I really felt like I should be pregnant, but let me tell you that the more I was pregnant, the closer I got to actually having my own baby the more I realized that the wheel of family planning had been mistakenly set absurdly high all of those years and dialed back to a reasonable one.

Charlotte after a bath.

I am currently living day to day, not knowing when I'll be doing anything, barely able to plan trips to the doctor, the store or even outside of my house. Steve and I are tired, happy, frustrated, blessed, worried and in love all at once. It's the craziest and most time-consuming adventure I've ever started, but I know that we were supposed to have our baby bundle of joy. I try and remember that feeling of assurance when she's crying because she had a blow-out that barely missed the opposite wall and I haven't showered in a month (which is a lie, but I feel it sometimes).