1st year

Being home with a newborn is like a fresh start. Everything is going well for the 1st three days except for fatigue, a few sore spots and the constant succession of well meaning people. Every one wants to come and see the new addition which I didn’t mind but when they would bring gifts to the door, i.e. strollers, high chairs, playpens and throw them into your arms to carry back to your chair while they ran over to grab the baby was all a little too much. Every one wants to know how the labor and delivery went.
How many stitches you got? Do you have hemorrhoids? Was there a lot of amniotic fluid and are you going to save the umbilical cord in the baby’s’ scrap book? All I really wanted was to relax and get to know my baby. When all the visitors curiosity had been cured and I was alone again I could sit back and relish the feeling of something so small and helpless needing me. I studied every little feature; their fingers, toes, eyes, nose, chin, knees, head, and ears.
Everything about them was so perfect. I was on top of the world, I felt content, happy and then IT happened……….My milk came in!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I began to look like something off of a 4-H farm. I’d wake up at 4 a.m., grab a small stool, a milk bucket and wait patiently.
The next thing that would creep up on me would be the “Baby Blues”, and I am not talking about singing but total depression and it seemed that they would come calling at the strangest times. I’d be right in the middle of changing my baby’s diaper, the real messy kind, the kind that only mothers can change and live through, the kind that needs a sand blaster. The tears would start flowing and I would cry out, “I’m not worthy!” My husband who is praying he never has to change a diaper like this has heard me and believing I’m referring to the diaper change replies nervously, “Yes honey, you are.”
Men have this memory loss that comes with having babies. They act like the child you have carried for nine months and endured 19 hours of pain for was created solely by them. My husband like so many proud papas would carry a picture of the baby in his wallet next to mine. “Hey you want to see a picture of my child?” Someone might say then, “Nice looking kid. Then they’d point to a picture of me and ask “Who is the other picture of?” He would then respond, “Oh her? She is just the vessel that carried this fine specimen that I created.”
The months pass and a baby goes through many changes. The sleep I really deserved still hadn’t come. I learned to see the world through foggy eyes and brain. Babies are constantly learning; they will take in more during their 1st year than any other time in their life.
During this period of adjustment, I had learned that my body had not nor will it ever without the help of plastic surgery go back to any semblance of its original state. The stretch marks are here to stay and every time my husband looks at my nude body now, he gets all dreamy eyed, looks out the window and replies, “I hear Kathmandu is nice this time of year.” Some say that gravity has come to call, where once I had knockers, I now have knee knockers. I just tell them that parts of me are very relaxed.
I breastfed all my children, usually I didn't produce a lot of milk so after a short time I would put them on formula. That depressed me also, I felt that I was distancing myself from them. My last child I breastfed as I had more milk than most dairy cows. The feeling was that I was finally doing it right.. I breast fed her for almost 5 months, no sore nipples, good milk supply, she was on a really good schedule. One evening after giving her the bath and rubbing her down with lotion and getting her dressed, she was so sleepy and relaxed, the next thing was to nurse her and that should be about it before my little angel was ready for sleep. I'd sit in my chair that rocked and begin to nurse her.
I would be humming softly and taking in this gift of perfection, I found it very relaxing, Then I would feel teeth bite my nipple, teeth searing into the flesh, I let out this yell, well it scared her so bad she started crying, so in trying to comfort her I explained to her that the nipple is not a chew toy, "Honey I don't even let your dad do that." After that when I tried to nurse her, my breasts would retract so it was time to put her on a bottle.
One of my favorite times in my child rearing was bath time. As long as everything went okay. A warm bath always relaxes my babies. I’d give them a bath, get them ready for bed, nurse them and they would be out. Not every time went so smoothly though. Sometimes putting them in the tub and letting them play would be my first mistake.
After washing their hair and getting them clean, I would decide to read while they played. It was at those times a smell would reach my nose and I would find something smeared all over; in their hair, their bodies, teeth. Nothing like a warm bath to relax the bowels. I have learned how to maneuver without getting too much on me. After spending what seemed like hours retching in the toilet, I’d manage to get them clean again and out before they decided to get artistic again. They are so pleased with their freelance art work even if you’re not.