I know from experience that these days will fade from memory before I know it. Truth be told, it feels like they already are. I have heard it said that it is a biological axiom that if we remembered pregnancy and birth, we would never do it again. Perhaps, I say.
It was all over so quickly, though. Really! Nine months, and... boom, I found myself in the small hours of Wednesday, January 24th. I roused my snoring husband with theatrically grave murmurs of "Honey... it's Time" followed by self-appreciative sniggering. I'm lame like that, but as long as one person other than myself finds me at least semi-amusing, I think I'm doing okay.
Ignoring the order to fast, I downed the coffee Judd brought me. We had our last crowded shower together, grabbed my bags and headed off to the hospital.
You know, it occurs to me that Judd and I tackle a lot of situations with what may seem to be an inappropriate amount of levity. To others, I mean. To us, well, I think we just love life. It was in this spirit that we whittled away the hours counting down to Babydom. I'm sure the other SwellyBellies in the pre-op room found us quite obnoxious as we joked and laughed, perhaps a little too loudly... no, scratch that. I'm not "sure". They may very well have found us charming, and I'll never know. I guess I can't care too much - we don't know any other way together.
It felt a lot like being processed, not that I minded. I appreciate efficiency, and the medicos weren't inhuman about it. Still, my number came up in the form of an o'clock, and before I could regroup I was in an operating theatre having a whopping great needle crunched into my spine. Whereas a non-C-section mother waits to squeeze her husband's hand, I got my sanctioned abuse in at that early point. Those things aren't much fun.
What seems like some minor details later, (a blood pressure drop here, some pulling and tugging there) I heard a baby cry. That was Real. I remember jumbled thoughts, I was trying to coach myself in what seconds remained: This is the moment that your fears will be either realized, or begin to fade into nothing. This moment holds the potential for tragic validation, or, to exhale after all this time. Wait... ready?
She looked like a TV baby. Like a purple, unhappy doll. So normal. Perfect.
I lay there like a surgical wallflower, dorkily anxious to say the right thing. I couldn't talk though, it was the choking intensity of beauty, the cycle of life and the miracle of being, all over again. It was how, during my pregnancy, I couldn't read certain poems without becoming apologetically lachrymose.
It was amazing. There she was, and I was in love. Just. Like. That.
Jadey continues to be a delight, a bright but sleepy baby whose needs are few and easily met. I feel privileged that when all she needs is to be held, I get to give her that – to teach her that she gets that, always. In turn, she makes me feel like I couldn’t be more important, not just to her, but in the Grand Scheme of things.
She is inconvenient at times, however. See, I’m your typical hard-boiled/soft centered walking paradox, and this child is showing me how adept she is at knocking down carefully cultivated facades. By nightfall I frequently find myself emotionally exhausted because TV won’t stop showing those damned Huggies ads, or the ones where Labrador puppies fall asleep on toilet rolls, that kind of nonsense.
I blame Jade, as she has a way of softening me, of scaring me with the Truth about my very large obligation to her – more than responsibility, and somewhat akin to a guilt that I will spend the rest of my life making up for. No, it’s not hormones. It’s not! Or… it could be. Pfft, whatever. All I know is that my world is increasingly beautiful, and as much as my soul seems to appreciate the affirmation, it is ruining my reputation. It is just as well I have a big, tough, stoic man by my side, to keep me grounded.
Ok, I’ll remove my tongue from my cheek now.