My sweet baby girl will be three months old on the 27th and I feel like I’m still processing her birth.
I’ll be laying in bed at night and an image will flash through my mind.
For those of you who don’t know, I had her at home. It was a fast 4 hour birth and it was nothing like my first.
I think that’s one part that I’m processing – just how different it was. It wasn’t zen. It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t gradual. It was hard and intense and primal and my last.
Here are some of the recurring images:
- blood coming out of the iv they put in my hand because I was GBS positive soaking through the facecloth, bright red
- clutter of toys in the living room and clutter of people
- food on the kitchen table that I asked my husband to put out for the midwives that went untouched
- my dog barking barking barking
- looking at the clock – 5:14 am – and wanting it to be over even though it had only been three hours
- plastic laid out on the living room floor
- kneeling on the plastic, taking my shirt off ready to push the baby out while leaning against the couch my husband no where near me tending to our son upstairs
- grasping for something to hold on to and finding nothing while the contractions ripped through me
- feeling for her head and finding nothing. wondering why she wasn’t there
- crawling naked up the stairs to get into water
- desperately needing the water
- stopping at the top of the stairs in unbearable pain, screaming
- turning the shower on, stepping into the shower and feeling a release – my water broke
- squatting in the shower screaming like I was being ripped in half and pushing pushing pushing needing that baby out of me
- feeling her head
- second push screaming, the student midwife telling me to move closer to her, someone telling her to turn the water off
- blood on the shower wall
- my baby. my sweet beautiful dark haired baby girl.
I have more to say, but I’ll leave it at that for now.