The first night(mare)

(Note: I want to emphasize that the sentiments expressed about our first night home together were a direct result of the pregnancy hormones, a little bit of postpartum anxiety and a lot of post-surgery pain. I am no longer in "that place" and I have nothing but extreme love for my little rainbow baby.)

Motherhood hit me like a fucking bullet. I don't think I had any real specific expectations about it, other than it being a turning point in my life. I certainly didn't expect my first night home as a new mom to be quite so awful.

In the hospital, it's kind of a whirlwind of not sleeping, healing, IVs, bleeding, mesh underwear, uncomfortable beds, visitors, breastfeeding, pain, no sleep, pills, catheters, tests, exams and nurses. So. Many. Nurses. While it got annoying at times, the nurses constantly coming in and out at all hours of the day and night, I certainly appreciated their availability and constant presence to help me with breastfeeding, answer questions, check on my well-being and just generally teach me how to keep the kid alive. That was very much appreciated. Side note: any shred of modesty you might have had goes right out the window when you give birth, at least it did for me. The poor guy peddling overpriced baby pictures got an eyeful of my boobs and gym mat maxi pad when he stopped by, but guess what? You will most likely NOT give two shits whatsoever, because you're a little busy learning how to keep a human alive and ain't nobody got time for covering up because the lady from the cafeteria just walked in with your omelet.

One of the more valuable things I learned after the fact that I will definitely take more advantage of if I ever have another baby? The hospital nursery is a gift from the gods and should be utilized as much as possible. Being a new mom, I honestly didn't even want to send my baby to the nursery because he was *my* bundle of joy and I wanted him right next to me at all times and I was trying to be a hero, which we've already established I am not. And the hospital really encourages the in-room experience with your baby, which is fine, too. The only reason my baby ended up spending time in the nursery is because one night after they took him for some quick tests at midnight (there is no difference between night and day on the maternity floor) and brought him back, I had passed the fuck out, so they took him back to the nursery so I could sleep. Did I mention nurses are also gifts from the gods and should be worshiped in town squares? Anyway, those three blissful, uninterrupted hours of sleep I got while he slept in the nursery: the last truly good stretch of sleep I think I've had since he was born. No joke, no lie. Right this minute, I cannot immediately recall any other time so far that I've felt that rested and refreshed upon waking. I may as well have slept for three days straight, I felt so goddamn renewed. I remember I almost cried with gratitude when the nurse did wake me because the baby needed to eat, and I thanked her repeatedly for taking him to the nursery so I could catch that sleep. So ladies, I know it might be hard at the time, but please do yourself a favor and use the nursery to give yourself the opportunity to sleep, because once you go home, there is no nursery with beautiful angel nurses who will give you the precious gift of sleep and peace of mind. And that nursery may be your last chance for blissful, uninterrupted sleep for the next 18 years. Not. Even. Joking. We had grand plans for the night before I was discharged from the hospital to use the nursery again because it was so flippin awesome, but feedings and diaper changes and visitors and everything worked against that plan, so we weren't able to send the kid to the nursery that last night. So disappointing.

Preparing to go home from the hospital was a bit nerve-racking, to say the least. On the one hand, you're ready to get the fuck out of Dodge and sleep in your own bed, get the baby settled in his/her new home, shower in your own bathroom, feed your child without showing your tits to six different people and generally just not have the hustle and bustle of 34 different people in and out of your room at all hours of the day and night. On the other hand, going home means you're on your own with this brand new baby and you have to feed it by yourself and change the diapers without ripping off the umbilical stump and make sure it's breathing every ten minutes and how the fuck are you going to do this?? There was a lot of packing up of stuff I didn't even look at (once again, my trusty bathrobe was all I needed for my stay) and trips to the car made by my husband in an effort to expedite the journey home, but ultimately we ended up waiting awhile for the nurse to come and do some discharge paperwork with us before escorting us off the maternity floor. We dressed our little boy in a cute dinosaur footie pajama outfit, placed him in his bassinet and waited. I took that opportunity to steal some of the swaddle blankets from the hospital. When the nurse finally came in, she took off the baby's circumcision dressing, showed us how to apply vaseline to it and then showed us how to properly strap the kiddo into the car seat, which was really helpful for us first-timers who had never done it before. She escorted us downstairs and while Bob went to get the car, I made small talk with her in the lobby. When he pulled up to the door, we were officially on our own.

In one of my first encounters with mom guilt, I sat in the front seat on the way home from the hospital, and it wasn't until we had started driving that I realized this and thought "A good mom would sit in the backseat with the baby for his first car trip to make sure he doesn't die on the way home." Many more of those moments to come, am I right?

Upon arriving home, we walked in to a FREEZING COLD house. I mean, it was February, and it was warmer outside than it was inside the house. In our haste to go have a baby, we hadn't turned the heat on, and for whatever reason my husband didn't think to turn it on when he would make short trips home to shower, change and feed the cat during the days I was inpatient. I immediately felt panicked that our baby would freeze to death and also really angry that my husband didn't think to do this when was at home throughout the week. I managed to keep from murdering my husband in a fit of hormonal anxiety, we turned the heat on and I walked outside with the baby where it was warm and tried to calm myself. So that was our grand entrance, and it certainly set the tone for the evening to come.

We got home around mid-afternoon, so for the rest of the day it was pretty much just the baby sleeping and eating and us recording every dirty/wet diaper and also making notes about the times he ate and for how long on each breast. We had been instructed by the hospital to record this info to ensure he was getting enough to eat. Also, his pediatrician asked us to do this in order to make sure he ate frequently so he could gain back the pound he lost after birth. We ended up having to also supplement his feedings with formula so he could pack on the lbs. I had also read on a mommy blog that writing down naps was a helpful tool in recognizing sleep patterns for the baby. This nap record, in hindsight, was pretty unnecessary this early because in the weeks/months to come it ended up changing a lot. So don't stress out just yet about sleeping patterns and sleep training. Just be happy when they do sleep and you get some quiet time for yourself to do whatever.

I'm just going to say it: the first night was a HUGE SHITFEST. I was not prepared for it to be so horrible. Picture this: the baby is crying and screaming. I'm trying to find a quiet place to feed him so as to not wake the hubs, but that's impossible because there is no furniture in his room yet and the spare bedrooms are a mess and not set up at all for habitation. I took him downstairs to the living room, but our bedroom (which is where we set up his crib) is lofted above the living room, so any noise in the living room below is still heard in our bedroom. When he didn't calm down enough to eat in the living room, I went with the last alternative: our bathroom. There's carpet on the floor and I could shut the door.

I grabbed a nursing pillow and the baby and hobbled into the bathroom where I sat on the floor and did my best to position him to eat while trying to keep from ripping my body open and spilling my guts out (c-section, yeah!). I'm in pain from the c-section. He's in pain from his circumcision and probably still shell shocked from living outside my uterus. My milk hasn't come in yet so he's just getting colostrum, but the fear that he's not getting anything is still there. I cannot get into a comfortable position for either of us. He is still screaming. I am quickly losing my shit. My husband walks in and asks if there's anything he can do. I snap at him to grow some tits and feed the baby, otherwise, no there's nothing he can do. He goes back to bed. I continue to sit on the bathroom floor with my crying baby for the next four hours, and I start bawling as well. In the midst of trying to stave off a mental breakdown, I wonder if we didn't make the biggest mistake of our lives. I wonder if there's a way to give the baby back. I seriously ponder for a moment about how shitty our parents would be if we gave the baby up for adoption. I feel so much guilt and panic because I can't calm my own baby. I am so tired and in so much pain and I don't know what to do, and NO ONE TOLD ME how awful this first night home is! I finally got the baby calmed down and asleep....at 4:00 AM, mind you. I went back to bed with my head spinning and thinking about whether or not it's possible to stuff the baby back in my uterus.

The next day was LEAPS AND BOUNDS better, overall, in all departments. Despite my late night and nervous breakdown, I did manage to get a few hours of sleep and felt way better when I woke up to feed the baby. I think just having that entire day to get settled and comfortable with this new normal made a big difference, too, so despite the shitty first day/night home, things had already vastly improved by Day 2. I was super lucky in that my husband's work has paternity leave, so he was home with me for three weeks, and in those three weeks he was like my butler, and it was awesome.

For those of you currently pregnant or going to have kids in the future, let me be the one to tell you that the first night home with your angel may very well suck a fat one and make you want to take your baby to the nearest safe haven. But it really does get better, so hold onto that nugget for a few more days, hang in there and you'll eventually get to the point where you will feel so much love and awe for that tiny human that you'll completely forget all the bad stuff (I'm told that's called mom-nesia and is probably single-handedly responsible for getting women to keep having babies).

My son is six months old and it has absolutely flown by. I sometimes actually long for the nights when he was a newborn and woke up every two hours to eat. And even after spending the entire day on my days off with him, I still sometimes miss him after he goes to bed and can't wait for the next day so I can cuddle him and nurse him and make him laugh and just be with him.

Not to worry, though. There are enough growth spurts and sleep regressions in baby's first year that any nostalgia of them being newborns can begin anew with fussiness and sleep deprivation every couple of months. Awesome.... 💖