I was still feeling a bit woozy from the medicine injected into my spine before my C-section was performed.
I looked around the room at all the babies in these little plastic cubicles. So tiny they all were. Tubes running in directions that I couldn’t even identify. Parents and loved ones taking extra precautions in touching or holding them.
Baby M is in my arms. She looks a little out of place in this critical area of the hospital weighing in at over 9 pounds. She’s being monitored for her breathing after swallowing some fluid on her way out of her 40 week habitat. I sit and stare at the tiny IV in her arm. The same one that my husband almost lost his cool with the nurse who tried over a dozen times to get in there. My mom had told me she had never seen him like that. Still to this day I was thankful I was in recovery and didn’t have to witness any of that.
She was in the pink polka-dotted jump suit that I had brought to take her home in. Only she wasn’t going home that day. Neither was I. I felt selfish feeling so pitiful. Here was so many other parents with babies that had been there for weeks and months. Mine was only staying for 3 days. I wanted to hug all of them for looking so strong. The mothers who would come there everyday to nurse their babies and leave bottles of breastmilk…taking the empty bottles home instead of their babies. I am sure when they dreamed of the days of motherhood…it wasn’t envisioned quite like this. I distinctly remember the young couple with the baby who was roomed with Baby M. They couldn’t have been more then 20 years old. I only saw them visit once. Their baby was colic and cried around the clock. Baby M didn’t seem to mind the noise. For me it rattled my brain exceedingly.
I was glad to leave that place on the 3rd day.