Feb. 18
This is our fifth day home from the hospital, Cora's 12th day on Earth. We have not had a smooth run of things, but now that we are home, a sort of calm has set in. Cora's sleep still seems plagued with bad dreams, and I still occasionally feel faint when I remember certain parts of my 30 hour labor, but we all managed to come out of those horrific first few days relatively unscathed. Our daughter is clearly a tenacious creature, and I try to hold her bravery in mind as my inspiration to pull myself together each day. By the simple act of taking a breath, she became my hero.
I am sure that I will be telling our birth story in many different ways for months to come. Here is the basic gist.
Cora was already 3 weeks overdue by the time I went into labor. Although this is highly unusual, all of the medical professionals involved in my prenatal care agreed that we seemed healthy and that there was no reason to induce. So finally, at 43 weeks, I started having contractions.
We started out on course to birth at home as we had planned. I labored at home for most of the night with only my partner Andor, and our midwife and doula arrived early in the morning. After a few hours, I started to feel like something was seriously wrong. The pain seemed to be in the wrong place. When my pelvis began to open and I got the urge to bear down, I could tell that pushing was never going to work. Not only was the pressure on my rectum too intense for me to push through, but I felt no sign of the baby's head moving into my birth canal. Nevertheless, I tried to push for several hours. We were getting nowhere, and I was desperate for some pain relief. I had not slept in over 30 hours, and I felt like my asshole was going to tear open. My sounds had shifted from guttural growls to high pitched screams. The contractions were rolling relentlessly, only 2 minutes apart. I told my birth team that I couldn't do it anymore. Finally we gave up and decided to transport to the hospital.
Long story short, Cora was born 12 hours later in a flood of black meconium with only a week heartbeat to prove that she was still alive.
After a week in the neonatal ICU, she had made almost a full recovery. I am sure that later I will have more to say about our stay in the hospital.
Right now she is stretched out against my leg as I am sitting up in bed. She is heartbreakingly beautiful. I wish I could say that she looks peaceful. I wonder if she will always have that determined furrow in her brow when she sleeps.
Feb. 22
Cora is a little over 2 weeks old today. Currently she is asleep against my chest in her carrier. She has been very fussy for the last 24 hours, and the only cure has been to keep her next to someone's skin at all times. She has also been feeding at half hour intervals for long stretches of time, and her sleep has been light and fitful. Once I decided that today was the day that my sanity demanded I find a way to free up my hands, we pulled out all 9 baby carriers we had been given and picked out the best ones. I feel much less annoyed now.
Feb. 24
Cora's cord stump finally fell off today. It had been getting especially gross and smelly. Having a baby makes one get excited about the silliest things.
Last night, on the other hand, was a bit of a defeat. I took her out to a clothing swap and left Andor at home. I figured it was as good a thing as any for a trial run. Of the hour and a half total that elapsed between the time when I got her into the car until when we arrived back home, I spent maybe ten minutes actually looking at clothes. The rest of the time I was either feeding her, soothing her, changing her diaper, or trying to figure out how much clothing she needed on (because my hormone-addled body can't gauge temperature well at all). My patience was almost completely unraveled by the time I gave up and packed my things to leave amid seemingly desperate infant cries, and then a few more mishaps decided to fall in my lap just to make sure I was thoroughly witless by the time I got home, shoved the baby into Andor's arms, and shut myself in the bathroom for half an hour. Luckily, my partner is an intelligent man and knows when to swoop in and be a hero. He took over feeding duty for the next six hours or so, and I tried to pretend, even in my sleep, that I am no one's mother, no one's vending machine, no one's ass wiper. I was much better off by early this morning. Once again, the baby looked like my beautiful little daughter instead of a tiny monster bent on breaking my body and spirit to her ruthless will.
