Where Do I Begin?

Where Do I Begin?

Wednesday, May 19th was one of the best, most amazing, most shocking days of my life. At 9:24am my son was born by c-section. In the days leading up to the 19th I was filled with nerves, the worst nerves I had experienced throughout my entire pregnancy. I wasn’t so nervous about the c-section, I was more nervous about what came after the operation. I was nervous that I was going to be responsible for another human life. A life that I knew I would love more than my own. That’s more reasonability than I’ve ever had obviously, and while I was experiencing those nerves, quite frankly, I was doubting I even wanted it.

Then by some miracle as John and I were driving to the hospital at 5:30am I was completely calm. Serenity took over me and as hokey as it sounds I truly believe my guardian angels were with me. I felt that good… only a higher power of some kind could have made me so serene the morning of the birth of my first born.

Once we got to the hospital there was poking and prodding. I got my IV in, blood work was done, and the nursing team as well as the two doctors who were going to cut me open and the anesthesiologist all came in to introduce themselves to John and me. They were all so lovely, I felt like I was in good hands.

At about ten to nine it was time to head to the operating room. John was given scrubs and was asked to wait until I was frozen and ready to go. I walked into the operating room with the nurse and I’ve got to tell you, it was just like in the movies. All very sterile and white, with those horrendous, unflattering lights! Still, I felt totally calm. They put the needle in my back and within moments I couldn’t feel the lower half of my body, from about mid-chest down. It was such a bizarre sensation. Once I was prepped and ready to go they brought John in. He sat by my head and stroked my face and looked into my eyes and told me he loved me.

Minutes later John peered over the curtain that was separating my head from the action going on below and said he could see the baby. I squeezed his hand. It didn’t seem real. Then next thing you know the doctor was handing our baby off to the nurse who took him across the room. There was silence for a moment, but no one seemed to be worried so I stayed calm. Then came the cry. Then came my cry. John got up and went over to him. They cleaned him up, wrapped him and put him in John’s arms. He brought him over to me and I stared in awe.

Now I have to mention that throughout the short surgery I was truly put at ease by the doctor’s banter. It was just like Grey’s Anatomy. They were talking about restaurants they had been to, and about different doctors they had worked with. I kept half listening for them to drop a swear word or something as a sign that something, anything was wrong, but they never did. In fact it was quite the opposite. Before the surgery the anesthesiologist was complementing me on my bony spine saying it was perfect to put a needle into and at the end of my surgery Dr. Vincent told me I have “juicy ovaries”. Yep, that is the exact quote from the good doctor. Apparently from beginning to end it was a text book c-section.

Once I was stapled they wheeled me into recovery and that’s when I got to hold my son for the first time. It was strange and wonderful. It still didn’t feel real, but it felt right. I was in recovery for a couple of hours as the numbing wore off. At one point I felt very nauseous, but it passed. Then they put the baby in my arms and took me down the long hospital hallway to my room. It was honestly such a long hallway, and we were being wheeled by all sorts of people. I felt like I was in some kind of parade, problem was, for once in my life I didn’t feel like being the center of anyone’s attention. It was such a vulnerable and special time, it felt weird to see so many strangers in that moment. I was relieved when we got to our room, just the three of us.

The next few days in the hospital were tough. In the first couple of days I said to myself, ‘nobody told me it would be so hard’. Actually I was trying to fool even myself and use words like “challenging”, but truth be told it was hard. Breastfeeding is hard. It’s frustrating, and stressful, and worrisome. Dealing with the pain of a c-section is also very hard and frustrating and tiring. And then there are the hormones which made me cry for all sorts of reasons. Thankfully the incredible nursing staff got us through those first days. They helped me to get our little guy to latch. They shared tricks of the breastfeeding trade. They showed us how to bathe him. They talked to me about everything I was going to feel before I felt it, they kept me hydrated, and they answered all the questions we posed to them. I can’t imagine a better care team. We are so fortunate in this country to have access to that.

On Friday the source of my worry and tears was the name. We still hadn’t named our little guy and we were being discharged the next day. Now legally you have up to 30 days to name your child, but obviously John and I didn’t want to wait that long. John giggled at me when I said to him through tears, “he deserves a name”, admitingly a funny thing to say, but I was very serious at the time. Here was my roadblock; the name we both agreed upon is also the name of my cousin and I wanted to talk to him first and get his blessing before I really felt comfortable with it. I got a hold of him Saturday morning and of course he was incredibly sweet and flattered and gave us his blessing. That’s when our “little guy” became Evan Fenech.

It’s Monday now and we’ve been home since Saturday. Since getting home all has seemed right in the world. Evan is eating well, pooping really well and peeing well. He comes alive at night and sleeps through the day, but John and I are still managing to get our sleep when we can.

I am really in love with him, something which did take a couple of days. It’s hard to explain, but some of you might relate. I loved him before he even came into this world of course, but I didn’t really connect with him during the first couple of days in the hospital. I think I was too shell shocked. It was difficult seeing John fall so hard and so fast. I was perhaps even dealing selfishly with the realization that I had just become second fiddle to Evan in my partner’s eyes. I feel much better now. There is more love in this family than I could ever ask for; plenty to go around!

Before I take off I figure I should probably share my first funny poo story with you. It happened yesterday. I was nursing Evan in my bra and underwear in bed. John came up to check on us and was there to witness Evan’s explosive fart which happened to be linked to explosive poop… out the side of his diaper. Problem was he was feeding as he was pooping and I’ll be damned if I was going to unlatch him. When he was done with the right breast I could tell he still wanted more. I transferred him to the left breast and that’s when he dropped the second bomb. This time it went all over the pillow, the blanket I had wrapped his diaper with to protect me from the first explosion and all over my underwear. I was determined not to let the mess interfere with his feeding so I kept at it. When he was done I very carefully removed myself from the bed and changed him. Like every good mother I took care of myself last. I didn’t realize that would entail walking around with poop on me, but now I know.

Dancing with the IV...


John, ready to rock!


Our first family photo...


Me and my baby...


Evan and his very proud, very handsome father...


The cuteness that is Evan Fenech...




First car ride!


Home sweet home!


Guess who took this shot?


Resting peacefully...