That 2 second clip was enough to drag me from being engrossed in the movie to thinking about my daughter. This baby didn't look or sound like her, yet instantly I missed her.
When Abby was born, she was a "thick mec". Basically, she pooped in utero, which can be dangerous because babies breath amniotic fluid until they are born. Because meconium (baby poop) is thick and sticky, this can lead to meconium aspiration, where it gets stuck in the respiratory system and can lead to breathing problems, and in extreme cases, death.
Fortunately, it was pretty obvious to me when my water broke that this was the case, so that is why we went to the hospital before I started having contractions. Given that my labor went so darn fast (not even 2.5 hours from first contraction to first push), it is a good thing that we went!
So, after 2 hours of pushing, out she came. Because they didn't want her to take a big breath and get that meconium in further, they didn't stimulate her. Tyler didn't get to cut the cord. I honestly don't think they even showed her to me. Off to the warmer she went where Dr. Levin (my fave pediatrician), NICU staff and respiratory staff was waiting for her to intubate and suction.
I swear I could hear the seconds ticking by, and I remember looking over at Ty a few times and trying to seem cool and collected, but really I had a sense of dread...I was waiting for that cry. That frantic, wavery, pissed off-healthy newborn cry that is the universal signal to all parents that their baby is here and healthy.
We waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And then she cried. And it was so beautiful, and my heart started beating again, and I realized that I had been holding my breath. Tyler teared up and I encouraged him to go see her.
When she finally got the all clear that she was staying with us and didn't need to go to the NICU, Tyler brought her over to me. Looking at him holding her, I knew he was head over heels in love, and bonded. He didn't want to give her up right away, and his face...I can't describe it, but take this picture and times it by about 100 and you get an idea of how he looked.
Look how tiny!
Finally, I got to hold her. My baby. The one I had been loving and carrying for 10 months (less a day). The one who had been kicking me, sitting up under my ribs, and keeping me up at night. This was her.
And I felt confused. I didn't feel that surge of motherhood connectedness that everyone talks about. She was beautiful, but looked so different from what I pictured. I was so bewildered....I just kept thinking "I get to keep this tiny little thing? This is mine? Forever?" and I couldn't get past that for a little while.
Don't get me wrong, I loved her from the start. No question there. I just had self doubt about myself as a mother. Everyone had talked to me about "that feeling" that you get when your baby is placed in your arms for the first time, and I didn't get that. What was wrong with me?
Not too long after, it was just Tyler, Abrielle and I in the delivery suite. I realized that she was hungry, so I tried to feed her. I assumed that I wouldn't actually know what to do (even though I have technically taught women how to do it) or that she wouldn't know what to do, but that wasn't the case. We got it. Right from the start.
And then I felt that rush. This was my baby. This was my little one, who depended on me and needed me. My little girl.
Maybe it was the time between her being born and me getting to see and hold her that caused the delay. Who knows? It really doesn't matter to me anymore, and I am not ashamed to tell my story. Because 10 minutes or so in her whole lifetime of me not feeling like a mother doesn't matter.
Watching that baby cry on the screen last night and getting a heart pang for my daughter, I know.
Something's changed.
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