Well, it’s been quite the journey through "Pregnancy
Land". I’ve officially ridden the main roller
coaster known as Childbirth, whipping up and spiraling down through the
laboring process, and gotten off on the other side of the park into "Mother
World".
I could detail the whole birth story, but it wouldn’t be
terribly interesting. The only purpose
in retelling it would be for the preservation of the memory for my own sake,
but that’s not what this blog is all about.
Instead, I’d like to retell a day that came a few days
later.
The day I truly became a mother.
It was about a week after Joey was born and we had an
appointment at the pediatrician’s office to finally get his circumcision
done. Though he was about to get
snipped, I was the one who was a nervous wreck.
The poor kid had been poked and prodded when he was born and had just
gotten over his jaundice, and now we were about to purposely inflict pain on
our little baby boy.
The doctor came in and reassured us (mainly me) that the
procedure was routine and quick and that he would be numbed up so he would feel
very little pain. Just as he was about
to leave with him, he asked me a surprising question.
“Did you bring a blanket with you, by any chance?”
As a matter of fact, I did have one in the diaper bag. I was about to hand it to him when he told me
to wipe it on myself.
“Bathe yourself in it.
He loves you; you’re the food provider, so by wiping it with your scent
it will give him comfort,” he explained as I began wiping myself with the
blanket. I was suddenly overwhelmed with
this warm feeling of awesome responsibility and protectiveness. I was the mom, the food-provider, and the
comfort-giver. It was my job to be there
and to take care of this little human being.
That simple gesture of wiping myself with a baby blanket quickly became
a symbol of this new role for me.
Just as he was about to leave with Joey and the me-soaked
blanket, he mentioned we could sit outside the building if we felt too nervous
waiting. I told myself I wouldn’t leave
the room, wanting to be around just in case he needed me.
I was managing OK for a few minutes, but as soon as I began
to hear Joey’s cry, I felt too sick to my stomach. I had to get some air. And probably cry, myself.
I went outside the building, cried a little to my mother
over the phone and then pulled myself together to go back inside.
As I walked back in, the nurse at the reception desk
informed me that the procedure was finished and that they were waiting for me.
Damnit, I cursed myself.
I should’ve been stronger and waited inside so I could’ve been there as
soon as they were done.
When I walked in Joe was holding Joey, who was whining and
screaming. However, the doctor assured
me again that everything went beautifully and that he was a little trooper
throughout the whole process. The only
time he got angry was at the very beginning and very end.
“He looks great,” the pediatrician grinned. I smiled wanly in return.
Back at home, I was still angry with myself for not being
there. It felt like I had failed my
first “mom” mission. I knew I was
probably being too hard on myself, but I wanted so much to start practicing
those parenting things and really start to feel out this whole “motherhood” experience.
Hours later as we were all lounging around the house, we
began to smell that unmistakable stench of a dirty diaper. Since we had to be extra careful with Joey’s
tender nether region, a diaper change became a two-person task. As we began to unwrap him from his swaddle
and blankets, we began to realize the magnitude of this dirty diaper.
When we finally uncovered him, Joey had pooped up and down
his back, nearly leaking out. We thought
we had it under control until Joey began to flail furiously, staining his
onesie. I got a new outfit and we began
stripping off his dirty clothes and redressing him. With our attention elsewhere, and his diaper
off, Joey suddenly released a stream of urine that arched onto the wall, the
changing table, his face and his chest.
We were afraid to apply the wipe to his freshly snipped member, so we
just laughed and waited for him to be done.
As we scrambled to wipe him off, a hot spray of poop popped out of his
butt, nearly catching me in the face but instead just getting my arm. I squealed in horror and laughter as I ran to
clean it off. Finally, when he was all
cleaned up, we all relaxed.
Unfortunately, Joey specifically relaxed his throat and spewed up
undigested milk all over his face and fresh clothes. We stood back, shocked and amazed at how this
little person just demonstrated the wrath of his bodily fluids, but we also
laughed hysterically at the ridiculousness of it all.
As I went to the sink, washing off the combination of urine,
poop, and vomit on my hands and arms, I became enveloped in that same feeling
of inclusion and importance I felt when I wiped myself with the baby blanket. I felt like this was the official baptism of
motherhood. It wasn’t the birthing
process that made me a mother, nor was I less of one by not being in the room
right after Joey’s circumcision. It was
moments like these that made me feel like a mother. The ability to get your hands dirty
(literally) and always striving to be there for your kid are what make you a parent. Sometimes you might miss it, sometimes you
might get the brunt of it, but remembering to keep trying is the most important
thing.
And for the next few days, Joe and I became like mechanics
at the Indianapolis speedway when it came to diaper changes.
