Before my first was born, I had my plan of how things would go. He would pop out, drug free of course, breastfeeding would be simple and my new family would go home together the next day.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
First there was the 70 hour long labour, which ended in a Caesarian. Next there was a infection from the operation, which resulted in a three week hospital stay, including another major surgery. And on top of that, there was no breastfeeding as my baby wasn’t with me and I had too many drugs being pumped into my body. It was truly the shittiest start to motherhood.
So nothing went to (my) plan. Oh the guilt. The guilt of not bringing him into this world like he should have been. The guilt of not breastfeeding him from birth. Guilt that he would one day go to day care and I couldn’t protect him forever…off the mothers guilt train went…choo choo!
I think about it a lot. It has taken me sometime to come to terms with how the whole thing happened. I’ve tried counselling, but it wasn’t for me. I used to cry a lot about the birth. Probably should have tried counselling again…I get in my head that I failed as a woman, that my body failed me. Then not being able to breastfeed, I’d now failed my son. The guilt from these thoughts can paralyse you and some days did.
My scars are there for life. I hate them. I still get upset when looking at them, wishing they would vanish or wash off with soap. My husband sees past them, bless him. I guess I should look at them as a badge of honour. If I didn’t have them, I wouldn’t have my family. This is something else I have to work on…baby steps.
Number 2 was going to be different. I was given the go ahead for a vbac with the support of the doctors, midwifes and an online support group. We went into labour, all signs were pointing to the birth I wanted. After 18 hours, when the doctor said Caesarian, I lost it. I’d failed again. Things seemed to go slower with the operation this time. I found out it took 13 minutes for them to pull baby out, he was stuck completely. Then he didn’t breathe for another minute. Guilt! I thought I’d killed him due to my stubbornness of wanting to birth my way. Then he cried. Guilt growing less. I pass out…
The little guy has not left my side since. He took to breastfeeding straight away, a few minor set backs but nothing stopped either of us. There were no infections, the doctors took every precaution and put me on antibiotics before we could blink. We got to go home as a family a few days later. It was not exactly how I planned again, but now I look at it as what’s done is done. I can’t change it now.
I look at my boys and think, ‘would they be any different if they popped out?’ Maybe the toddler wouldn’t have such an odd shaped head, and possibly there was some magical sleeping juice the baby could have drank along the way but missed…but then I think, ‘they are here, alive, smiling, happy, growing, gorgeous boys and I wouldn’t change it for anything!’
Faces only a mother could love…my heart is theirs forever.
Marshal – 10 seconds new…
Maverick – 1 hour new…
Is there room for number 3…?