Now that Ive stopped sobbing...
... I think I can manage a blog update.
To say the past 4 days have been hard would be an understatement. All last week I felt nothing but relief, elation, and gratitude. The worst was over. Mason was out, safe, and healthy. I wasn't pregnant. I wasn't a ticking time bomb. My world seemed to be coming back to relative normalcy.
On Thursday I was discharged from the hospital. I still could barely walk, stand, and breathe at the same time, but the doctor sent me home, anyway. I guess that is normal for csection patients. When we left the hospital it finally hit me: I was leaving, and my precious baby wasn't.
It was like the mad rush of postpartum hormones came crashing down on me all at once. I sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed some more. How unnatural to leave your brand new baby in the care of someone else! How could I just LEAVE him? Did he know I was gone? Are his nurses holding him, rocking him, kissing him? Does anyone in the NICU even know his name without looking at his name tag?
Going home without a baby in my arms was the worst feeling I've ever experienced. I know he will be fine, and I know he is well taken care of, but I still can't shake the emptiness I feel every second I'm away from him.
Along with the feelings of guilt and sadness over leaving Mason at the hospital, I was experiencing an entirely different cocktail of emotions. Since January 1st (my second admittance to the hospital and subsequently the beginning of bed rest), I have been overwhelmed with emotion: I felt helpless, I worried that Danny would feel abandoned and ignored, I feared that Steve would develop an unintentional resentment towards me, I hated asking for help day in and day out. The list went on and on -- and it wasn't just negative emotion, too! I was unbelievably grateful for the help, offers of help, visits from friends, positivity from Steve, love from family, and the blessings of continual health every day. These past two months of just laying in bed and doing absolutely nothing for the welfare of myself and my family (and anyone else for that matter) were torturous.
In a blink of an eye, my mundane world warped into a completely different, action-packed life. I was shocked, then scared, then relieved... And the second I left the hospital without that sweet baby in my arms I was crushed. Although I no longer have to force myself to stay in bed while I feel fine, I now have to force myself to get out of bed while I feel terrible! Isn't it funny how life does that?
The point is this -- I am a basically a mine field of emotion. One second I feel extreme happiness that things are the way they are. Everyone is safe, healthy, and taken care of for heaven's sakes! The next second I crumble into a fit of sobs thinking that I can't be near my baby, I can't clean my own house, and I can't pick up and hold my two-year-old who I've all but ignored for two months, already! It's a roller coaster, that's for sure.
It's a fine balance I'm learning -- getting rest for myself (while pumping milk every three hours), spending time with my family at home, and spending time with Mason at the hospital. I haven't broken down today, so that is promising. And I'm feeling better and more comfortable every time I have to say goodbye to Mason. He will be home before we know it, right?
Now for some of the latest pictures.
To say the past 4 days have been hard would be an understatement. All last week I felt nothing but relief, elation, and gratitude. The worst was over. Mason was out, safe, and healthy. I wasn't pregnant. I wasn't a ticking time bomb. My world seemed to be coming back to relative normalcy.
On Thursday I was discharged from the hospital. I still could barely walk, stand, and breathe at the same time, but the doctor sent me home, anyway. I guess that is normal for csection patients. When we left the hospital it finally hit me: I was leaving, and my precious baby wasn't.
It was like the mad rush of postpartum hormones came crashing down on me all at once. I sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed some more. How unnatural to leave your brand new baby in the care of someone else! How could I just LEAVE him? Did he know I was gone? Are his nurses holding him, rocking him, kissing him? Does anyone in the NICU even know his name without looking at his name tag?
Going home without a baby in my arms was the worst feeling I've ever experienced. I know he will be fine, and I know he is well taken care of, but I still can't shake the emptiness I feel every second I'm away from him.
Along with the feelings of guilt and sadness over leaving Mason at the hospital, I was experiencing an entirely different cocktail of emotions. Since January 1st (my second admittance to the hospital and subsequently the beginning of bed rest), I have been overwhelmed with emotion: I felt helpless, I worried that Danny would feel abandoned and ignored, I feared that Steve would develop an unintentional resentment towards me, I hated asking for help day in and day out. The list went on and on -- and it wasn't just negative emotion, too! I was unbelievably grateful for the help, offers of help, visits from friends, positivity from Steve, love from family, and the blessings of continual health every day. These past two months of just laying in bed and doing absolutely nothing for the welfare of myself and my family (and anyone else for that matter) were torturous.
In a blink of an eye, my mundane world warped into a completely different, action-packed life. I was shocked, then scared, then relieved... And the second I left the hospital without that sweet baby in my arms I was crushed. Although I no longer have to force myself to stay in bed while I feel fine, I now have to force myself to get out of bed while I feel terrible! Isn't it funny how life does that?
The point is this -- I am a basically a mine field of emotion. One second I feel extreme happiness that things are the way they are. Everyone is safe, healthy, and taken care of for heaven's sakes! The next second I crumble into a fit of sobs thinking that I can't be near my baby, I can't clean my own house, and I can't pick up and hold my two-year-old who I've all but ignored for two months, already! It's a roller coaster, that's for sure.
It's a fine balance I'm learning -- getting rest for myself (while pumping milk every three hours), spending time with my family at home, and spending time with Mason at the hospital. I haven't broken down today, so that is promising. And I'm feeling better and more comfortable every time I have to say goodbye to Mason. He will be home before we know it, right?
Now for some of the latest pictures.
Comments
I know that you know all this but sometimes it's nice to have someone else tell you too! Hang in there!