My Little Man - A Mother's Love

I was big. I was as wide as I was tall and I could barely move.



I had horribly painful headaches through both of my pregnancies and they didn’t stop after my son’s birth. Ya. Having babies gives you a headache … not to mention your heart.

If you have a Type A personality, don’t ever have kids.

Hire a surrogate and then a nanny to help you raise your children; otherwise you’ll end up in a funny farm. I did, but that’s another story.

Childbirth is frightening. During pregnancy you’re body is inhabited by an alien who takes complete control. You will never be yourself again. You will be a mom. You know that when you hear your first child cry. Your heart sinks in your chest and starts beating in a different way. You are forever transformed. At the same time you realize that you have never known love until now. Not in it’s purest form. Not selflessly.

“It was not until I held my first child that I knew how much my mother loved me.” Anonymous

Truer words have never been spoken.

Do you think sex is personal? Try having a tiny human growing inside of you for nearly a year. That’s personal. That’s life altering. That’s becoming a mother.

When my daughter was born I realized how very little control I had in life almost immediately. They had induced me. Satan had an out of state race and I didn’t want to go through this alone. I scheduled everything around that man’s life. Everything.

After nearly twelve hours of labor, they became concerned when they couldn’t maintain constant monitoring of her heart beat. I could see on their faces that something was wrong. Very wrong. My doctor explained that I had a choice to make. He told me we could do an emergency C-Section and get the baby out, or wait, hope she moves, and the heart beat becomes stronger. That’s not a choice. I was momentarily confused and said, “What would be best for the baby?” He said, “It would be best for the baby if we got her out NOW!” I said, “Then do it.” Control??? What’s that? From the time you become a mother you are no longer in control of your life. Circumstances control you and you react as best you can for that little life you created.

When I knew I was pregnant with my son I told my doctor, “I already have the scar and I’m not pushing. Let’s just schedule a C-section, cut out the old scar and leave me with one new one.” He knows women are vain and did a beautiful job. I had already had a childhood surgery to remove a cancerous tumor and everything on the right side to include my ovary, and he had maintained a one scar maximum on my belly. God bless him!

My doctor always did surgery on Wednesdays so he wanted to schedule the C-section for that day. Since it was Valentine’s Day, Satan said he wanted that to always be “our” day so asked the doctor to do a special surgery on Friday the 16^th. Everyone needs to rearrange their lives around his. The doctor agreed and the surgery was on. I hate Valentine’s Day. It should have been my son’s birthday. It should have been a joyous day full of love to always celebrate.

The day before surgery we had my parents watch my daughter so we could have one last date.

Pregnant woman walking.

We went to dinner and a movie. During the night I went into labor. I was gasping for breath and afraid I’d deliver. Satan was always a heavy sleeper so I had to kick the shit out of him to get him to wake up and take me to the hospital. He was angry and annoyed. Once we arrived at the hospital my doctor instructed them to administer medication to stop the contractions. It wasn’t prime conditions for surgery considering I had eaten. The medication was administered, the contractions stopped, and we went home. The contractions stopped just long enough for me to get a few hours of sleep. Before I could get out of bed to go the hospital, labor began again. He wanted out! He wanted out now!

I am admitted to the hospital and wheeled into an OR so packed with medical professionals there was hardly room for me. It’s cold in an OR. Very cold.

Satan goes with me and the surgery begins. I wait. And I wait. And I wait. The surgery seems to be lasting forever, but I haven’t heard my baby cry. I finally ask, “Why haven’t I heard him cry?”

With an air of frustration my doctor says, “Well, I’ve never had to say this before, but I can’t get him out.”

I said, “What? Get him out!!!”

Determined, my doctor says, “I’ll get him out.”

The operation continues. I am numb from a spinal block, but can feel the pressure, poking, and prodding nonetheless. It’s getting bloody. Really bloody



I can see everyone covered in blood and Satan’s face is white as a sheet. He says, “I think I need to step out for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

I say, “If I have to be here so do you. If you leave I’ll divorce you. Go lean against the wall over there and try to pull it together.” It figures. I’m slit wide open having surgery and still have to take care of him.

The anesthesiologist laughs. I can only imagine the conversations between man and wife he’s heard throughout his career. The guy could probably write a book.

Finally a breath of life and a lively cry. Music to my ears!

....

The baby is placed into the arms of Satan who carries him over to me and lowers him to my face so I can say, “Hello,” before the next surgery begins.

A tear roles down my face as hormonal emotion takes over my being.

Given my history of cancer, it had always been recommended that I have a complete hysterectomy after I’ve had my family. One beautiful baby girl and one beautiful baby boy. That is enough. God gave me only two hands for a reason. I kiss my tiny, amazing, miraculous creature on the forehead and he stops crying and looks at me. Some people say newborns can’t see. Maybe they can’t. But with his heart he saw me. He felt me. He knew that he was mine. He still knows that.

After surgery I am brought to my hospital room. I can’t take my hands and eyes off my baby. I want to hold him, but my belly aches. I hold him anyway, stroke his face, and hold his tiny little hands.

My heart reaches into his body and we bond so closely I can never even imagine letting him go.

The pain in my abdomen continues. It continues and intensifies. My doctor comes in to examine me and tells me, of course I hurt, I just had two back-to-back major surgeries. I do my best to move around throughout the day, hold my baby, and in the evening decide to attempt dinner. I’m not really hungry, but figure my body needs nourishment, especially considering how crappy I’m feeling.

The pain intensifies and my abdomen is so tightly bandaged that the swollen flesh is made even larger by the IV drip and my flesh bulges over the top. My doctor comes to examine me again. Satan says, “Well she’s probably hurting because she ate so much. She shouldn’t have eaten a big meal.”

In the back of my mind I’m thinking, “Thanks for the medical advice, criticism, and lack of support after I just gave birth to your second child Asshole,” but I say nothing.

Throughout the night the pain continues. I am in tears and continue to push the pain management button on my Demerol drip. It’s not helping. Satan’s parents had come into town to stay with my daughter so he could stay at the hospital with me and he is asleep in my room. I page the nurse several times. Finally I sit up in bed bawling and ask him to get the nurse for me. He sits up in bed and screams, “Can you shut the fuck up so I can sleep!!!” I’m quite certain the entire floor heard him.

But, I listen, as I always did. I roll onto my side crying and try to sob quietly so he can sleep. The pain is never ending, both physically and emotionally.

The next morning the nurses are concerned and my doctor is paged to examine me again. I’m shrieking in pain and having his hands on me is more than I can take. I push them away. He orders the nurse to push morphine. It doesn’t even take the edge off the pain. I tell the doctor this and he is dumbfounded. He tells the nurse to push another dose of morphine. Again, nothing. He is mortified, paces the room wildly, and says, “What the fuck is wrong???” Seeing the uncertainty on his face scares me to no end.

He picks up his mobile phone and begins calling other doctors. It’s Saturday and I’m afraid he won’t be able to reach a competent doctor. Finally a second doctor enters my room and tries to examine me. I’m writhing in pain and fighting his hands away from me. My doctor tells Satan to hold my hands over my head so the doctor can continue to examine me. He does. I feel like I am being tortured. The pain is unbelievable and I break free from Satan’s hold, fling my arm across my body, and make contact with the doctor’s head knocking his glasses clear off his head and causing them to fly across the room. I didn’t mean to hurt him, or hit him for that matter. I just wanted the pain to stop. I just wanted them to stop touching me and make the pain go away.

They decide I need to be rushed back into surgery. Their diagnosis is that my abdominal muscles, otherwise referred to as you “six-pack” have split wide open. These muscles hold your intestines back and mine are trying to push through to the outside. The doctors are afraid that bile may have entered my system and could cause a fatal infection.

Because I am crazy out of my mind in pain, they determine I’m not capable of consenting to surgery, so give the papers to Satan to sign. My life is in Satan’s hands. As they wheel me out of the room he is crying. Why? Does he truly care? Does he know he’s been an asshole? Does he realize I could die? I don’t know and at this point I don’t really care about how he feels; if he feels at all. I’m just glad to be being moved away from him. I’m afraid of leaving my baby. What if I never see him again? What would he do without his Mommy? I’m crying. I’m medicated, but there is no medication in the world for this kind of pain. No medication at all.

Following surgery I am returned to my room where my baby awaits my loving arms. Satan doesn’t want to let me hold him alone so I ask the nurse to assist me. She does and there isn’t an army in the world that could have pried that baby out of my arms … out of my heart.

I’m in the hospital for another five days. My doctor orders them to allow me to stay in the birthing room. It’s larger and is designed like a small studio apartment to allow a more comfortable visit for family and friends. They keep me on the IV and my body expands even further with the fluid that is being administered. I can barely bend my arms and my fingers are the size of Italian sausages. That’s appropriate I guess, given my heritage. Finally I ask my doctor to let me bathe. The nurse assists me and I again feel somewhat human. I’m bored of the hospital and want to go home with my tiny little family.

I ask my doctor to send me home. Apprehensively he signs my release and writes numerous prescriptions for hard core pain meds in an attempt to keep me comfortable. There’s no comfort in the world that’s better than having your tiny little babies in your arms. I put my arms around both of them and hold onto them for dear life.

Life is sweet.

Babies are sweeter.

Little hippy babies with long curly hair and soft kissy lips are the sweetest of all.

I love him. I love him more than life itself. I would throw my body in front of a high speed bus to protect him. That’s just what mommies do.

Heart strings stretch across miles and are never broken. Never stand in the way of a mother and her baby. Never. For it is an unbreakable bond and it is my belief that anyone who tries to destroy it is dark and inhumane. Some people never learn this.

I won’t get to hold my son today; not in my arms anyway. I ache for him. There is a hole in my heart. A space that only he can fill.

If you have your children with you today, hug them. Hold them close. Tell them how much they are loved. They will never understand, but tell them anyway.

God bless my babies and may they always know the love I have for them. It is without end. Bless you my baby. Bless you today on your birthday and always. Bless your heart, bless your soul. I am a better person for being your mommy. Please know that I am always in your heart and you are always in mine. When you took your first breath I was your mommy. As you breathe today I am in the air and circulate throughout your being as you circulate throughout mine. I will always love you, no matter how far away I may be.