“The baby’s getting stressed…the toxicity levels are too high.” That was the gist of what the nurse said after doing a quick test involving a needle in the baby’s scalp. Within 5 minutes, I had been whisked out of the delivery ward, into the elevator, up to the operating room and was prepped and under, while Anders was left standing alone in the center of the delivery room we had been in for the last 19 hours, stunned by the speed with which the staff had reacted to the emergency.
I don’t remember much after that, until coming to and being horribly sick from the anesthetic I was given during the caesarian. Anders was holding the baby and nurses were bustling around in quiet efficiency. Then they left us alone and we curled up with our new little boy and just stared at his face. His miniature fingers, tiny nails, the rosy glow of him. We slept. I learned afterwards that the umbilical cord had been wrapped around his neck.
A bit later, the nurses smuggled my mom in, clucking in sympathy that she had been in Sweden for nearly 4 weeks, waiting for a baby who was 3 weeks delayed. We stayed in the delivery room all night; there were a LOT of babies born the day before. My mom had come in good time, we thought, a week before my due date, her second trip to Sweden during my pregnancy. 3 weeks went slowly by, pushed along by crossword puzzles and experimenting with the tens machine,* and learning to play cribbage.
Stuck in the neo-natal ward with the other complication cases, in a room with 3 other mothers and their screaming infants (OUR baby was well-behaved from the very beginning, of course), and the heat turned up to broil, I was determined to get the hell out and be at home for the last week of my mom’s visit. What if she left before being able to impart all her knowledge on how to deal with a baby (OHMIGOD A BABY) and raising children?? It didn’t bear thinking upon. I was told that I couldn’t leave the hospital after a c-section until I could stand and shower by myself. So, after a day and a half, in which I decided, judging from the pain, that during the emergency they had sliced me completely in half instead of giving me a bikini cut, I shuffled into and out of the shower, dressed myself and rode home, clutching my middle.
We learned fast with the baby…that breastfeeding wasn’t going to be an option, that he liked to sleep with a soft cloth completely covering his face, that after filling out he resembled my father to an eerie degree, that he could produce the most incredible range of expressions.
7 years ago today, our little boy child joined the family. We are constantly amazed by this person we produced, the laughter and the sparkle and the intelligence he brings to everything. Happy birthday, Martin!
Really Great Writing Out There Right Now: I Want Something Else!
Hippity Skippity Happity Birthday Wishes to sari as well!
*I don’t know what it’s called in English. It straps around your waist and is meant to deliver small charges of electricity to help combat/distract/diffuse labor pains. All I know is that it was a huge annoyance and hurt more than early labor.