A greater writer perhaps can, but for me, it is quite impossible to put down in words what I went through on that day. So I will just stick to chronicling the events.
On 28th morning, I woke up. I felt fresh and new. I listened to my flute tune, showered and put on make-up carefully. The trademark lipstick was a must. How could I leave that out from my birth experience :) And then waited for Sippa to get breakfast. He took forever and scared the shit out of me. And why? Because he was getting flowers! Lovely and yellow, just as I liked them. How I loved him for that. I ambled out to receive him, ate like a pig for what felt like the last time, and got ready, really ready. Amma and Appa arrived, nervous and prayerful (really, there is no other word for it) and predictably, their nerves steadied mine.
We all left with great fanfare, flowers and all, after a happy photo session. At the hospital, while Appa began rapid reading his verses or whatever he was reading, a heart monitor was strapped to me and I could hear and see goatu's heartbeat.
Soon, everybody was herded out and a mint-fresh nurse was sent in - to shave my private parts. Yikes. Who are those people who get those Brazilian waxes done? Awful, painful, embarassing and I uttered not a word. The indignity done, I was asked to change into hospital overalls -- the ones handed to me had a bum button missing so basically I was expected to walk in uncaring and so I did. Then at the appointed hour, I was wheeled inside the OT and on my way, I could see Sippa nervous but determined not to show, Appa and Amma nervous and determinedly showing and an assortment of baby pink nurses. From the wheelchair I was herded on to the hard surgery table and there came the nicest doc I have met in while. He exchanged pleasantries with me and nicely told me the epidural is going to pinch like hell and I am going to feel both hot and cold at once.
I steeled myself, reminded myself that I am the lipstick girl and nothing is going to make me yell like a donkey. Whatever it takes. The nice doc was super surprised that I stuck it out - believe me, nothing feels as good as a compliment does, when you are lying prone on a cold hard table with your back feeling like it has been just under a truck and you are determined not to spoil it all with an almighty screech.
After that epidural, things began to get iffy for me. I remember looking out for Sippa, asking the doc where my husband was and I wanted him to be there and then suddenly, I saw what looked like my husband in some kind of a blue fancy dress. And before I could digest his presence, I could hear a strange yowl from somewhere in the room. A staccato cry very unlike how I imagined babies cry. And then the nice doc told me 'it is a girl baby'. Now Sippa tells me immediately after that I told him we will name her Alinah. But I remember nothing of that. In fact, I felt nothing. Perhaps all my dreams, all my preparations and all my anticipation had coalesced into nothingness. I am not surprised. Life has a way of making you go still.
I only remember the yowl materialising beside me, a tiny pink and white bundle. All I remember is the hair - loads of it and me hesitating to kiss its forehead because of my lipstick. My hesitation caused all the staff to titter and joke about henceforth telling moms to go easy on the lipstick in the OT!
The haze that had begun enveloping me right after the epidural completely took over after that. I vaguely remember the nice doc telling me I should nod off. Not that I needed any encouragement. I lost all sense of time though I believe I slept off for not more than 15 minutes. Like in a dream, a nurse brought in my baby for its first breast feeding and sadly, I remember nothing of it. She latched her to my breast, she took her away.
The haze receded and I saw my goatu. Really saw her. Saw her big black eyes, her well-formed eyebrows, her big nose, her bow lips and her hair. Her bleachy white hands and legs and how tiny she really was. But then, the pain hit me with all its brutal force. Post-operative pain is rarely talked about - I guess only experienced. It meant I spent the two days in the hospital, swallowing pain and painkillers, breastfeeding every half an hour or so without a clue about how much milk I was generating or whether I was generating at all and feeling very unreal, elated and nervous all at once.
I cannot really say if I bonded with my baby in those two days. I was so overwhelmed that I was underwhelmed if that means anything at all. But on the morning of our discharge, when our tiny goatu was weighed and we realised she had become tinier and I looked down at my dry and already sore nipples, I felt the first twinge of motherhood.
It had begun.
On 28th morning, I woke up. I felt fresh and new. I listened to my flute tune, showered and put on make-up carefully. The trademark lipstick was a must. How could I leave that out from my birth experience :) And then waited for Sippa to get breakfast. He took forever and scared the shit out of me. And why? Because he was getting flowers! Lovely and yellow, just as I liked them. How I loved him for that. I ambled out to receive him, ate like a pig for what felt like the last time, and got ready, really ready. Amma and Appa arrived, nervous and prayerful (really, there is no other word for it) and predictably, their nerves steadied mine.
We all left with great fanfare, flowers and all, after a happy photo session. At the hospital, while Appa began rapid reading his verses or whatever he was reading, a heart monitor was strapped to me and I could hear and see goatu's heartbeat.
Soon, everybody was herded out and a mint-fresh nurse was sent in - to shave my private parts. Yikes. Who are those people who get those Brazilian waxes done? Awful, painful, embarassing and I uttered not a word. The indignity done, I was asked to change into hospital overalls -- the ones handed to me had a bum button missing so basically I was expected to walk in uncaring and so I did. Then at the appointed hour, I was wheeled inside the OT and on my way, I could see Sippa nervous but determined not to show, Appa and Amma nervous and determinedly showing and an assortment of baby pink nurses. From the wheelchair I was herded on to the hard surgery table and there came the nicest doc I have met in while. He exchanged pleasantries with me and nicely told me the epidural is going to pinch like hell and I am going to feel both hot and cold at once.
I steeled myself, reminded myself that I am the lipstick girl and nothing is going to make me yell like a donkey. Whatever it takes. The nice doc was super surprised that I stuck it out - believe me, nothing feels as good as a compliment does, when you are lying prone on a cold hard table with your back feeling like it has been just under a truck and you are determined not to spoil it all with an almighty screech.
After that epidural, things began to get iffy for me. I remember looking out for Sippa, asking the doc where my husband was and I wanted him to be there and then suddenly, I saw what looked like my husband in some kind of a blue fancy dress. And before I could digest his presence, I could hear a strange yowl from somewhere in the room. A staccato cry very unlike how I imagined babies cry. And then the nice doc told me 'it is a girl baby'. Now Sippa tells me immediately after that I told him we will name her Alinah. But I remember nothing of that. In fact, I felt nothing. Perhaps all my dreams, all my preparations and all my anticipation had coalesced into nothingness. I am not surprised. Life has a way of making you go still.
I only remember the yowl materialising beside me, a tiny pink and white bundle. All I remember is the hair - loads of it and me hesitating to kiss its forehead because of my lipstick. My hesitation caused all the staff to titter and joke about henceforth telling moms to go easy on the lipstick in the OT!
The haze that had begun enveloping me right after the epidural completely took over after that. I vaguely remember the nice doc telling me I should nod off. Not that I needed any encouragement. I lost all sense of time though I believe I slept off for not more than 15 minutes. Like in a dream, a nurse brought in my baby for its first breast feeding and sadly, I remember nothing of it. She latched her to my breast, she took her away.
The haze receded and I saw my goatu. Really saw her. Saw her big black eyes, her well-formed eyebrows, her big nose, her bow lips and her hair. Her bleachy white hands and legs and how tiny she really was. But then, the pain hit me with all its brutal force. Post-operative pain is rarely talked about - I guess only experienced. It meant I spent the two days in the hospital, swallowing pain and painkillers, breastfeeding every half an hour or so without a clue about how much milk I was generating or whether I was generating at all and feeling very unreal, elated and nervous all at once.
I cannot really say if I bonded with my baby in those two days. I was so overwhelmed that I was underwhelmed if that means anything at all. But on the morning of our discharge, when our tiny goatu was weighed and we realised she had become tinier and I looked down at my dry and already sore nipples, I felt the first twinge of motherhood.
It had begun.
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