Mama’s Boy
I didn’t get to see Zander for a few hours after he was born. Wyatt, my Baby A, was fine, healthy, breathing great. Zander, however, had a few issues breathing. I have heard since that it’s pretty common for Baby B to have some breathing difficulties, especially when they’re delivered via c-section. Something about suddenly having room to move around in the uterus for a brief moment and not getting the fluid squished out of their lungs the way it would in a vaginal birth.
Whatever the cause, Zander headed straight for the nursery, where he was hooked up to all kinds of wires and IVs and monitored.
A few hours post-c-section, after the nurses and doctor decided I wasn’t going to bleed to death (a story for another day about my post-op from delivering Colby), and the numbness had just worn off from my spinal, I was asked if I wanted to go meet Zander. I had only a mere glance of him at this point, and a few pictures shown to me from our camera. It tore me apart that I couldn’t figure out what Zander looked like when I closed my eyes. I was determined to get out of bed and take the mere two steps to the wheel chair so I could get to my baby.
Inside the nursery, I took in my little guy for the first time. He wore only a diaper and lay with his arms outstretched in the isolette, as if he was relieved to finally have space and be freed from his previous cramped quarters. He grunted with every breath, which they informed me meant that he was expending too much energy for breathing. His breathing was rapid. I’ll never forget those sad little noises that came out of my tiny little guy.
The nurse asked if I wanted to hold him.
“Can I kangaroo with him?” I asked.
I had seen and read several places that babies flourish when they’re skin-to-skin with their mommy. I wanted to help my baby out, if I could.
They helped me undress and carefully handed Zander over to me, maneuvering cords and wires this way and that. I held him to my chest, feeling his warm, soft body against my skin. I patted his bottom and softly shhh‘d in his ear.
His breathing regulated.
His grunting stopped.
The nurses walked over and grinned. “There’s something to be said for nature,” they said. “He needed his mama.”
Clint came in with Wyatt and I got to hold both of my babies for the first time.
“You need to recover, Lindsay. You had a major surgery,” the nurse said. “Let me know when you’re getting tired and we’ll take you back to your room.”
I didn’t want to leave Zander behind and go back to my room. I knew this wasn’t a life-or-death thing, I knew my baby wasn’t in dire straits or he would’ve been on his way to a larger, more equipped hospital. I stayed until I began nodding off from the painkillers I had to take.
The nurse gently took Zander from me, still encouraging me that he’ll be okay, that I needed to rest up and recover so I could take care of all four of my kids.
“Wow. Four kids,” I remember thinking.
The next morning, twenty-four hours after he was born, Zander was released from the nursery with a clean bill of health. I was finally able to snuggle him whenever I wanted.
Fast forward to 9 1/2 months later… and just 30 minutes ago. Despite the fact that he’s my more active kid and always wants to be on the move, he’s also a total mama’s boy.
Today I have been organizing, cleaning, and basically trying to entertain the kids and still get stuff done. This meant less baby picking up and less pin babies down on the bed, blow on their bellies, while saying, “Who’s yo’ mommy?” (Their favorite game.)
At nap time, I placed Wy and Z in their cribs. Immediately, Zander freaked. I closed the door, figuring he was simply too wound up to sleep quite yet and would calm down. Several minutes later, he was still freaking out. Wyatt was laying in his crib, staring over at Zander like, “Dude, get over it. Can a brotha sleep over here?”
FACE, Mommy!
I scooped my naked-except-for-a-diaper Zander up into my arms, grabbed his soft blankie and a paci and brought him to the couch with me. He laid against my chest and stared at me. He buried his face in my chest and rubbed his eyes. He yawned. We spent 15 minutes that way (and 15 minutes in wiggly baby time is several hours). I brought him back to his room, placed him in the crib, and said, “Now, go to sleep, silly man.” He smiled up at me and flashed those gorgeous baby blues. When I closed the door, he didn’t freak out.
(Of course, 5 minutes after I closed the door, he did freak out, so I made him a bottle. Turned out he was hungry. There I was, thinking I was all special, getting all sappy with newborn memories, and he was using me for my bottle-making abilities. Punk.)
