Yes I know….it’s been quite a while since my last entry. And I know you’re probably thinking that I’ve slacked on my resolution to write every day. Well, you’d be right. But I have a very good excuse. I pushed out a human baby 3 weeks ago and the hospital made me take her home with me. And despite the fact that I keep expecting her parents to come and get her any day now, it’s slowly starting to hit me that we are her parents…and she will be staying here for at least the next 18 years!
Don’t get me wrong. That might come off like I’m not over-the-moon thrilled to have a daughter. But it’s still pretty surreal. I guess it hasn’t really hit me that I’m actually a mom now. This tiny human is actually my responsibility. Yikes! I have a strong tendency to kill house plants. (Seriously….I have whatever the exact opposite of a green thumb is. Black thumb, maybe?) I just hope I fare better caring for a person. Nonetheless, I love my little girl and love the joy she has brought into my life in only 3 short weeks.
What I didn’t love so much was the hospital visit encompassing her arrival. I know you’ve all heard horror delivery stories but don’t worry – this isn’t one of them. My delivery was frightfully easy and relatively painless. (Ladies, if you plan on having children ever or should you be in that predicament despite having planned otherwise, the epidural is your best friend!!!) It only took 8 hours from start to finish, and I didn’t even realize I was in labor for the first few hours of it. (This is why I keep my personal information private from the general public….I know thousands of women would be camped out on my doorstep waiting to break my knees and pull my hair out upon reading this!) No, it wasn’t the delivery that left me with haunted memories. It was my postpartum nurse.
If you’ve been following my journals so far this year, you know one of my biggest pet peeves is being called “Hun” or “Sweetie” or any other term of endearment by anyone other than the man I exchanged wedding vows with or the woman who gave birth to me. But after giving birth to my own daughter, I discovered there is actually something even more annoyingly condescending….a person who insists on using toddler language when speaking to me about medical issues.
I realize I just squeezed an infant out of my body but that doesn’t mean my brain is suddenly on the same wavelength as my offspring! I am a thirty-something-you-all-don’t-need-to-know-the-rest year old woman. Please don’t ask me if I’ve gone “poo-poo” or “pee-pee” today! Do not baby talk to me whether or not I feel up to “going potty” without assistance! There is nothing worse than being spoken to like a baby while you’re holding your own.
I swear, the whole thing just made me want to pukey-puke!