I have a confession. When Elliot was born, I was afraid of her. I was overcome with fear from the moment they placed her in my hospital room. I frantically called for the nurse when she awoke as I had no idea what to actually do with her. I felt like I needed the nurse’s permission to feed her. For the first few months of her life, I found it difficult not to resent her. Lack of sleep was testing my sanity and my body hurt in its most vulnerable places. I spent the first months feeling like a complete fraud, instead of the loving, instinctual mother that everyone was telling me I was supposed to be. I was terrified that by some miracle my baby would learn to speak in her first month and would scream out to strangers, “Help! This woman doesn’t know what she’s doing. She doesn’t feed me enough and she has no idea how to dress me for the weather.” Eventually, after some blurry, rough spots, I learned to love her.
With Arlo, everything is different. Because I have done this before, I have not been held hostage by my paranoia. I no longer question what has to be done and because of this, I was free to love him from the moment he was born. Which made it all that much more difficult when we had to rush him to the emergency room when he was only three days old.
Jason had been carrying him in a baby sling and when we removed him, we looked at his shoulder and then at each other. “What the hell is that?” Jay asked. But we both knew what it was. Blood. A puddle of bright red atop a much larger puddle of dark brown which looked like it had been vomited up. We looked for an obvious exit site. His ears? His mouth? We couldn’t see anything and Arlo wasn’t screaming in pain. Just looking at us with a blank stare wondering what was going on.
Because he couldn’t possibly have done this during any time other than rush hour, the usually short drive to the hospital was extra tense. Adding to the tension was Arlo screaming in the back seat every time we stopped for a light or a traffic jam. Then, when I tried to comfort him by reaching back and stroking his head, Elliot screamed, “Stop it! Don’t touch my baby!” Then she began to cry. So on top of worrying my baby was dying a slow death while we were stuck in traffic, the noise of two kids screaming uncontrollably made it difficult for me to hold back my own tears.
When I carried Arlo into the hospital, a sweet old British doctor stopped me. “How old is your baby?”
“Three days,” I said.
“Well, congratulations. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely perfect.”
I managed not to cry until I was out of his sight, then sobbed down the hallway. It was so unfair. He was perfect. Why had I been lied to? There was obviously something very, very wrong with him. No healthy child pukes up blood.
Luckily, if you bring a small child into emergency you get seen almost immediately. When we went in, the first thing they asked was if I was breastfeeding. “Nipples sore?” Yup. “Cracked?” Yes. “Bleeding?” Well, yes. But, my god. Do you really think they could be bleeding that much? Look at his sleeper. There is no way that came from me. Is there?
The doctors calmly assured us that this is quite common and that there is almost nothing that could make a baby this age throw up his own blood. Especially a baby that looked as healthy as Arlo. Jay and I looked at each other in disbelief, certain that we would have heard about this before if it were so common. Certain that our child was going to expire and that there was nothing the doctors could do to stop it from happening, so they were choosing to feed us lies instead.
Sensing our disbelief, they offered to send Arlo’s sleeper to a lab to determine if it was my blood or his. Thankfully, it was mine. Jay looked surprised that I could be going through so much obvious pain while breastfeeding and not think twice about it. Like it is normal to be ecstatic that you have “hamburger nipples” and have to bite on a blanket while your child is latched on and sucking blood from you like a demonic mosquito. But I am his mother. And I’m just so relieved my perfect boy is alright. For him and for his sister, I would willingly endure any pain if it means sparing them some.
Congrats Andi, Amanda said you’d had your baby but couldn’t remember the details. I’m glad to hear everything turned out alright. I love the name you guys decided on.
See you soon
Wow. What an amazing post. How your heart must have been hurting! No wonder it was so hard to accept that everything was alright. Well, mostly alright. =) Glad your perfect baby is as perfect as you thought he was.
Amamzingly enough, I didn’t have the paranoia and fear with Sacha. I felt like I had no clue about anything when I brought him home, but I also felt like I’d loved him since the beginning of heaven. I thanked the stars everyday that I didn’t get the PPD or baby blues like I was certain I would, and I could just spend my time loving him and learning all about him.
I’m here via Plain Jane Mom….
I know exactly what you are saying, from the fear of the first to the bleeding nipples. My nips are just beginning to heal.
Great post!
Your paranoia was never obvious to me. You always looked totally in control as a loving, intelligent new mom .You earned a “standing ovation” in my eyes.
Oh Andi – that’ terrible. I’m glad to hear he’s well. And I understand the whole first child fear/ resentment thing –definitely found it better with the 2nd (until he developed colic…..) – but you’re right. Free to love from the get go with the second one.
Hope you’re getting some sleep.
T.
Hamburger nipples….so apt. I’m sorry you had such a scare.
I also love his name.
Wow – I had no idea that could happen either! I would have been just as scared as you. And, Grandma’s comment made me tear up! Sounds like you’re doing a great job!
congratulations, andi.
my older daughter had the same reactions to the new baby as elliot did, and she’s five.
also had the blood scare. freaky, no? scared the living crap out of my dad and stepmom, too. hurts like hell, but eventually it’s worth it.
best of luck with everything and welcome to the 2-kid club.
awe your poor boobies, I’m glad he’s ok! You can gross him out when he’s a teenager by telling him about all the blood he ingested. I guess it’s more iron for him?
I had the same reaction to my first child too. I also had the same reaction to my 2nd. I blame hormones.
Thanks for the happy thoughts everyone. And yes, Pluckymama, if I’m ever in the mood to scar him for life as a teenager, I’ll be sure to tell him the story.
And Grandma, guess I deserve an Academy Award for the first, huh? Thanks for your usual sweetness.
And Megachick – You’re back! Yay.
I started a reply to this the other day and got distracted by my current nipple biter.
When my first son was born, he had something like an alligator latch: he would clamp down hard anytime anything would even slightly touch his tongue. I could never make it in in time.
Eventually, our pediatrician asked me to stop bringing in his bloody clothes and burp clothes because it really did look worse than it really was. I kept bringing them in, you know, just in case.
I feel ya, honey. Thank you for sharing this post because more moms should read this stuff and know that they are not alone, it can be scary, and we can do this.
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