Initiation

"Oh what a day!"

Holy roller coaster ride! I think maybe today was Motherhood Initiation Day. Only instead of wearing all white, reciting vows, and singing ritualistic chants like I did when I pledged Alpha Phi in college - this initiation was less ceremonial but more of a metaphorical rite of passage. I laughed, I loved, I cried, I threw things (Kleenex).

This morning we woke up to say goodbye to Granny and Papa Pablo, and then Alex gave me a little treat and let me sleep in. Following my nap I found Alex downstairs reading Hunger Games with Francie swaddled in his arms. I felt deliriously in love with the both of them. It felt almost scary to love these two individuals so much - and to know that I could do very little to protect them - and as though my love alone might cause them to combust and disappear.

We gave Francie her first bath this morning. She's been smelling less newborn-delicious and instead a bit sour. Turns out she has some sort of nasty diaper rash-like thing in her armpit. And she had discharge caked inside her vagina (yes, apparently baby girls get discharge and even a little mini-menses after birth because of their bodies' adjustment to all their own hormones and those from breast milk). Also, her left eye started getting all goopy and leaking nasty pus-like splooge whenever she cries. She didn't exactly love being bathed, but she smelled sweetly again. In order to give her armpit, vagina, and thigh rolls time to dry out, I cuddled her naked on the couch. Turns out she must have REALLY hated bathtime, because before I knew it her tiny little butthole began errupting nasty orange lava all over her cute duck towel, oozing onto the Boppy on which she was propped, and began spilling down towards my lap. I was horrified at the prospect of being trapped in this cottage-cheesy baby poop with nothing to protect our couch but my body, and began screeching before I was caught up in a fit of giggles. Now that's what I call New Mama Initiation.

And as if I hadn't had my fair share of bodily secretions for the day, I was greeted in the nursery by a pile of dog shit on the rug and two pee stains. This is domestic bliss, is it not?!?

My mood shifted later in the afternoon, transitioning from love and laughter to anxiety and apathy. Francie couldn't seem to get a good latch, and at one point I thought she choked on milk and wasn't breathing. I know cognitively that babies deglutition/respiratory systems are designed to protect their airway, and that their breathing, coughing, hiccuping and occasional choking are all perfectly normal. But I was struck with the realization that I wouldn't even know what to do if my precious baby girl was indeed choking or required CPR. The instructor breezed over that in my last First Aid/CPR course.

I also found myself obsessing over this small spot on my calf that was tender to the touch. I remembered that the nurses and midwives checked my legs daily while in the hospital postpartum, presumably for edema or for clots. Google became my partner in crime, feeding my conviction that I was exhibiting signs and symptoms of deep vein thrombosis (DVT) and that my risk of a pulmonary embolism was skyrocketing. Alex offered to take me to urgent care, if only to calm my nerves. But ultimately I decided that feeding this anxiety would only serve to empower it, which I am unwilling to do.

In the evening, I became more stoic, less emotional, and feelings of apathy seeped their way into my psyche. "What if I don't love her enough?" "Maybe this parenting thing isn't really for me." "Is this my new life? A monotony of eating, sleeping, pooping, repeat?" "Is this boredom that I'm feeling?" "How on earth am I going to stay at home with an infant for three months without stabbing my eyes out." I became very frustrated with Francie, after she fed for 3+ hours, nearly continuously, and continued to show signs of hunger. "I can't even meet her needs. She's insatiable!" I'm not proud. These are the feelings most women are ashamed to admit. I'm ashamed to have already experienced this mean-spirited aggravation, particularly on the heels of days of such utter bliss. I worry that maybe the novelty has already warn off. Like getting bored of new toys just a week after Christmas.

Again, cognitively I understand that a wide array of feelings and experiences are perfectly normal in the postpartum period. This barely even qualifies as "Baby Blues." And I know that this emotional instability is likely purely a factor of hormonal changes. But I want the hormones that make me feel blissfully in love, with both my husband and my daughter, and fear those that bring out the worst in me, worrying they will take root some place in my soul, and rear their ugly head undeservedly. I'm hoping a night's rest (6 hours sleep in 2 hour chunks) is just what the doctor ordered. And besides, raising an infant reminds me a bit of the Oregon weather - if you don't like it, just wait five minutes.

P.S. My daughter is STILL rooting. I used to say, "I don't understand why people don't breast feed." I spoke too soon. I'm starting to understand. The insatiable monster (that she inherited from her dad's side) would gladly stay latched 24/7 if given the opportunity. And my boobs are on fire.