And Then There Was a Little One

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.