There are many, many things I'm learning about myself since last week. If you thought this site was intorspective before, then welcome to emotional spelunking. It's all a new can of worms, babe.

The first night that Nick returned to Nora and I on the delivery ward, we had our first doozy.

Nora and I had adapted a routine - she and I got on like a house on fire, and we generally knew how to interact with each other. Nick - a tiny, sickly, struggling little thing, was new to our routine. With Nora came gassy smiles and the ability to take down a bottle in the blink of an eye, followed by happy sighs and passing out either on my chest or in the bassinette. With Nick came fights to get him to drink his 30 mls every 3 hours. Fail that, and it's back to the care ward.

Nick's first night with us was also on the dreaded Day 3, which is the day that the hormones hit hard and the tears flow. Angus had been with us as long as he could, but when visiting hours were over he had to leave. He fed Nick while I fed Nora, kissed me, and then left. It was just me and two teeny babies left.

Nick was very fussy, which I found strange - before he left Nora and I he was such a calm baby, eyes wide open, taking things in. He wouldn't settle. I tried talking to him, holding him, not talking to him, but nothing worked. I found that his tears made my breasts leak, which surprised me, and I spent the evening stuffing my bra with paper towels to staunch the flow.

The midwife shift changed while I was trying to settle him.

And in came the woman I came to call Midwife Mussolini.

While Nick was fussing, she came in to take my vitals. Distracted by Nick, I didn't answer her questions fast enough and earned myself a one way ticket to her Exasperation List. She went out to get my medications, and just then all hell broke loose. Nick turned purple and went rigid. I freaked out. Vomit exploded from his nose and mouth and he howled, apoplectic with rage.

Midwife Mussolini was annoyed with me. "He's got wind, can't you tell?"

My poor boy was exploding like the Exorcist Baby. "No! His father fed him and said he winded him! I thought he was ok!"

Midwife Mussolini sighed with irritation. "The midwives station will look after him tonight. We don't help every mother, but obviously you don't know what you're doing. We'll take him tonight."

And this is where Helen's Big New Trait came in. I felt my ribcage expand like a balloon, my indignation was so intense I could have breathed right through a Nora on my lungs. I was willing to take Midwife Mussolini down, and do it hard. This fucking bitch would take care of my child when hell froze over, but not before then.

"No," I replied. Tears flowed from my eyes, as I struggled to calm Nick down.

"Would you please just change him then?" she snapped.

"I'm working on it!" I shouted. "First, I'd like to calm him down a bit."

"You have to feed him every 3 hours. No exceptions. We will come in and wake you to check to make sure you are doing this," the mini dictator said. "If you don't, we will take care of him for you."

"Don't bother. I got this," I said angrily. I was sobbing at this point, both with guilt at poor Nick's vomiting and anger with both Midwife Mussolini and myself. I was coming undone, while at the same time finding something in me to fight back with.

I am many things.

One of them is stubborn.

The other one - a new one - is protective.

Oh, I'll protect others. I would go to the ends of the earth for Melissa and Jeff. I would walk through fire for Angus. But I realized that for my babies, I wouldn't just walk through fire to save them, I would throw people on the fire to aid our escape. Supermodels and their silicone would make the place smell like new car, people would tell me I was a bad person, but there is nothing I wouldn't do to protect my babies, even against something as innocuous as spending the night at the midwives' station just because Midwife Mussolini said so.

That night I got up every 2 hours and 45 minutes to feed my boy and girl. Nick, being extra collicky, would then get burped for half an hour. I would not make the same mistake. That woman - who felt the need to belittle me and threaten to take my kid away - would not win. I could take care of them both.

A little while later, still feeling gutted that my little boy had been through what he had, the door opened. A cheerful face stuck its head through. "Need some formula for the night, love?" asked a raspy voice.

I nodded. "Yes please. And the preemie nipples, if you don't mind."

The face smiled and disappeared. A few minutes later it reappeared, attached to a body with more tattooes than I had ever seen in one place before. The woman was in her mid-40's, cheerful, with a tooth missing in the front. She looked like she could - and would - kick some ass every Friday down at the pub if need be.

She set the bottles down. "Are you ok, dear?" she asked. She stopped to coo over Nick and Nora.

I felt weary. I was covered with baby sick, dried milk, blood, and gore. "I didn't wind my baby enough and he got sick. I feel terrible. And worse, a midwife thinks I'm an idiot and can't take care of my baby."

She smiled kindly. "Babies are so different, one from the other. I have 6 kids and I still got lots of things wrong. Babies love and forgive you, and they show you how they like things. Don't blame yourself. Having a baby is hard work, you know." She smiled, and vanished, but not before I took comfort from her.

At the 4:00 feeding I heard footsteps approach my door. I looked up. I heard Midwife Mussolini.

"I haven't heard a peep from her, I'm sure she's not been feeding them - " Midwife Mussolini said, breaking off when she opened the door and saw me, with Nick cuddled in my arms, as we worked to get 30 mls down his throat. Midwife Mussolini walked in and stopped talking, shocked I was up and feeding my baby.

And there, behind her with an enormous smile, was India.

"India!" I excalimed, nearly in tears with relief and joy.

Her face lit up as she hugged me and then went for the babies. She lavished huge praise on them, her face lit up. Midwife Mussolini made a sour face, disappointed she hadn't caught me slacking on the job, and left. India told me she'd been away and just come to work that night, that she always checked the board for my name as she wanted so much to see my babies, she said. She sat down next to me and talked to me for a while, reassuring me, relaxing me. She told me that I could do this, that I would do this, and that, as she's approaching 60, she wouldn't be around to help Nora deliver her baby, she would still always remember me, remember my babies, and remember the letter I wrote.

When she left I slept like a baby next to my two babies. I reached in and pulled out the stubborn and found that even when I make mistakes, you can't take how I feel about my babies away from me. I guess that's something new about me.

I kinda' like it.

And this site might be hit and miss for updates, and the new posts may come at unusual times (it's all baby sleeping dependant, as you can imagine). My daily blogging routine is by the wayside until Nick's got the all clear from the doctor.

-H.

PS - to L in HK (wanted to protect your anonymity!) - our favorite Parcel Post deliveryman dropped off this yesterday. Thank you so much - it will keep the babies safe on those days when I need to have a quiet moment for 5 minutes. Plus, the Parcel Post man got to poke his head in and see the babies, which made my day. Thank you, L - I really appreciate our lovely play den.

PPS - As you may know, I had another blog going on the side for a while now. I created it to talk about my IVF treatments, to get away from both my family and from people who wanted to tell me to "just adopt". I've closed the site now and will only be updating this site, but I don't mind if anyone wants to read about it (you know. If you want to. No obligation here.) You can read about some of the IVF treatment cycles I've been through - including the one that conceived Nick and Nora - here, where I blogged under a different name. I will ask, if you don't mind, that if you follow the links of some of the commenters that you treat them with love and kindness. IVF is a hard, hard process, and even though these women are warriors and goddesses, they still need all the support and grace they can get.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 09:37 PM | Comments (19) | Add Comment
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