Happy Mother’s Day, Sweet Ada
May 4th, one of the happiest days of our life.
Ada has made me cry a total of 6 times.
First: She was born and I could see and hear her as she was brought to the warmer for clean-up.
Second: Before taking her to the nursery for all her tests, the operating room nurse set her down by my head inbetween Mac and I and let me look as long as I wanted while I was being sewn up.
Third: The first night that she slept with me in the hospital bed. I couldn’t get up, and after I feed her, I just bundled her up and let her sleep the whole night. I couldn’t sleep or stop staring at my beautiful baby.
Fourth: The day we went home, I was letting her sleep and Mac wanted to have her go to the nursery so we could clean-up and leave the hospital. Before he got her, she posed in one that looked just like she did in her 3D sonogram.
Fifth: Her second feeding after she got home. Still in pain, and slow moving, Ada burped up some of her breastmilk, her eyes rolled up into her head, and then she stopped breathing. Most of it was a blur, other than not being able to get out of that chair fast enough, patting her on the back, and then having her start and stop again. Mac finally got a hold of her and patted her on the back until she started.
Sixth: Her third feeding of the night was Mac and myself because of the earlier scare. It was a wonderful experience getting her to feed with my husband, especially since she has been cranky all day and Mac helped in the hospital. It went well, until I went to burp her and found my shirt and her cloth covered in blood. We ran her to the hospital at 10:30 pm and returned home at 1:30 am, knowing that either she has a rough spot on the back of her throat where she was suctioned after birth that bleed, or that my breasts are expressing blood, which I pumped and they weren’t. Now, she rests in her cradle right in front of me. I watch her in the dim glow of light hanging on the side of her cradle with soft music playing. Everytime she moves, doesn’t move, breaths too fast, breaths too slow, spits up, or gurgles, I’m over her. She sleeps, and I watch her sleep. I haven’t stopped crying.
The thought of having the scars from my daughter and not my daughter terrifies me.
[...] Part of my agenda is cleaning up old posts. I read this one tonight that includes the line The thought of having the scars from my daughter and not my daughter terrifies me. [...]