Mommy-ism #4: Every baby is the perfect baby...while you are still at the hospital. Stay at the hospital as long as you can!
I spent four days in the hospital with five-star dining, platinum-rated nurses and staff, and more "lactation-safe" narcotics and pain relievers than I could ever dream of. With the exception of the gas pain I felt (which felt like a meat cleaver stuck in my side) - I wondered what all the fuss was about because having a baby ROCKED!
The nurses encouraged Patrick and I to let the baby sleep in the nursery so we could rest, but Roman was such a cool baby that he slept in our room every night only waking twice a night to be fed. Despite much worrying and anxiety, my milk came in like the mighty Mississippi river and Roman, being the 10 pound gladiator that he was waisted no time figuring out how to get some food! Everything just seemed to come together...
The most challenging part of my stay was trying to pass gas as my doctors were reluctant to release me until I had reached that milestone. By the end of the week I had the option to stay another day but I was feeling confident in my ability to do get this motherhood thing on and popping!
Sure, I wouldn't have the meals on demand. And granted I would have to change the baby on my own during the night. But I had my husband, parents, and lactation-safe narcotics on my side so how hard could this be??
To this day, I don't know when or how it happened but somewhere between the revolving hospital doors and the door to our home our son went from a sweet little angel to a HUNGRY, CURSING, MONSTER!
Around 7:00 pm I took Roman into the bedroom to begin his bedtime routine:
I gently cleansed his face and body with warm water.
I changed his diaper to ensure he was starting the night off dry and clean.
I dressed him into his newborn onesie.
I proudly wrapped Roman in his blankets using my perfected swaddling technique that would rival that of any veteran Au Pair.
By 7:45, Roman was in his crib sleeping peacefully and soundly until...
...8:00 pm.
At which point Roman began to cry uncontrollably. Anxiously, I quickly unwrapped his perfect swaddle, almost tore open his onesie, and loosened his diaper to see the blackest and stickiest booboo that I have ever seen in my natural life.
Relieved that I quickly found the issue behind his crying, I repeated my earlier routine.
I put on a clean diaper. I put him in a clean onesie. I wrapped him in the world's best swaddle.
By 8:30 pm, Roman was back in bed sleeping peacefully and soundly until...
9:30 pm.
At which point I ran into the room to see Roman's arms out of the world's most perfect swaddle, swinging back and forth toward his pursed lips as if he was saying, "FEED ME WOMAN!! CAN'T YOU SEE I AM HUNGRY??!!"
This continued every hour, on the hour, for the next 24 hours.
By the time the sun came up the next morning my husband and I had less slept less than 2 hours over the course of the night. For the first time in my life, I realized how sleep deprivation could make you delirious. My nipples were raw (TMI?), my boobs were as heavy and hard as boulders (so I couldn't sleep on my stomach), the meat-cleaver-stabbing-gas-pain in my stomach was back and in full force, plus EVERY time I rolled out of the bed to walk to the crib it felt like my uterus and stomach were ripping open.
So I did what any over-confident first time mom would do -- I called my mom for help!
Within an hour, my mom was there with food, prune and apple juice, and apple sauce as Pat and I walked around the house like zombies. Eventually we both fell asleep -- but not without wondering (at least once) what the h*ll we had gotten ourselves into.
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