Thursday 9/18
This is absolutely the nuttiest day, traffic flow wise, with a steady stream of testing, lactating, photographs, grandparents' final hospital visit, bath time, and farewell dinner. It certainly makes the day seem brighter when, finally, you're allowed to shower!
We are surprised by a visit from Dr. Convery who apparently fought off Garfinkel and called dibs on me for early morning rounds. She's super relieved to see that I'm up and doing well and is shocked by how large Tess is for her gestational age. She says, and I quote, "my full-term daughter wasn't even that big." (Worth noting that Convery is a wee Irish lass of about 5 feet.) I forget how truly blessed we are that there was no NICU stay, no real complications other than a touch of jaundice and some early nursing speed-bumps.
She checks out my incision, which has yet to be unwrapped, and apologies profusely because it needs to come off now. Totally dry. Apparently, I should have been allowed to sponge bathe it last night but no one told me to do that so I get a free bikini wax now. It's not so bad. She writes me a script for Percocet to take the first few days at home and says we are officially cleared for discharge tomorrow morning. Huzzah! I thank her profusely for all she's done caring for me and the baby up till now. We snap a photo for posterity and then I immediately make a move for the shower. AHHHHHH HOT WATER YES PLEASE and it is the weakest stream imaginable from a tiny removable shower head. I don't even care. I could stand there for hours using my daughter's baby shampoo to scrub the surgical tape from my abdomen which is shockingly not as puffy or distended as I thought it would be. Thanks, abs by Jillian. Hopefully the bounce-back will be painless.
After showering, the hearing test lady shows up, along with the birth certificate lady.
(I include this photo of Tess strapped up to the electrodes because it is so darn cute.)
The photographer unsuccessfully tries twice to set up in our room but the various screenings and bustle of activity prevents the official hospital portraits from happening until 5pm or so. We do get several beautiful shots and this one is my favorite:
Could there be anything more pure than this unabashed display of love?
Soon, my parents take their leave and wish us well upon our discharge. We'll see them again on Sunday after we've settled in at home. We await our meticulously ordered Discharge Dinner special. The nurse wasn't kidding when she said the phone order would be a like a ten minute call. They don't skimp here at Morristown. We both order chicken piccata, pilaf, salad, cartons of iced tea, and a fabulous brownie for dessert. Hey, this is awesome. I accidentally eat Rhett's brownie while he's sleeping that night. Too bad, buddy. You snooze, you lose.
That night at 11:00 PM, I am instructed to send Tess to the nursery so she can get a bath before discharge. I am not sending my baby anywhere without me so I wheel her myself. They stare at me like can we help you? and when I tell them, they're like, um, you can go back to your room and we'll bring her to you. I'm pretty clear that that isn't happening so I go back, get the good camera, and proceed to stalk them through the glass until they give up and bathe her for me. At first the other nurse is all like "no photographs" and I'm like, "hey, I'm her mother" and she checks my wristband sheepishly through the glass. Then she's all, "Oops. My bad." Tess likes having her hair washed. It's sweet. Then a 10 lb. 10 oz. baby boy is wheeled in next to Tess and he is like Gulliver and she is like a Lilliputian. It's hilarious. The bruiser's two grandmothers are chatting with me and they're very kind about how "well developed" Tess is for her size/age (it's their fourth grandchild so they know the drill here.)
After the bath, neither Tess nor I can sleep so I wheel her around in her hospital pram; the lone ghost in the halls after midnight. I take her to the family lounge and attempt to breastfeed her sitting up so it's easier on my shoulder pain. It actually works for a short while and I am pleased. Groggy, now, and soothed by my two cups of Lipton deaf with honey, we return to our room just in time for 3:00 AM vitals.
Friday 9/19
Today is the day! Shift change happens at 7:00 AM. I confirm with Donna, our pleasant, motherly nurse that we are, in fact, going home before 11:00 AM and she assures me the request is in and we just have to see the pediatrician one more time. I shower, get changed, and begin packing up all the gear like a madwoman, stuffing diapers and maxi pads and jumbo nursing pads and disposable underwear in the plastic bags they give you for your personal effects. By 9:00 AM, I'm ready to go. Donna casually mentions that we may want to order lunch because she doesn't know how long it will be. I'm like, "nah, we're good." Foolish.
By noon, it becomes clear that though Tess has actually been examined by the doctor, there is some kind of delay in the form of the freaking Friday staff BBQ. Come on! Really? Nurses and doctors are disappearing for lengths of time into the parking lot and the natives are getting restless in maternity. Plus, it smells delicious and that's annoying when you've passed on lunch. We've been waiting for our wheelchair for over an hour - they won't let me walk - so this sucks all around. Finally, Donna comes bustling in apologizing, going over all the paperwork that we'll need to show to leave the hospital and order the birth certificate and take to the pediatrician, etc. I put it in my Strawberry Shortcake folder so it's all in one place. I've clearly planned ahead. Go mom.
The low-jack comes off Tess' umbilical stump and we have a magenta pass that proclaims "this is our baby" so we can get past security. They take this very seriously. We buckle Tess into her carrier. The first time is touch and go but with a nurse to inspect the straps, we feel a lot better. All clear. We get the green light and goodbye and good luck!
I'm wheeled the long way through the main hospital because of the BBQ outside of the Simon entrance. The porter deposits us at a bench inside the sliding doors and Rhett goes to get the car. Inches from daylight and reality for the first time, I assume an oddly protective air whenever a stranger comes within five feet of my baby. I am proud to show her off from afar but I do not, under any circumstances, want anyone breathing near her. A grandmotherly type clad in Polo and tennis bracelets approaches. I instinctively position myself between her and the carrier, allowing her just the smallest glimpse.
"Boy or girl?"
"Girl."
"Ah, wonderful. I always forget that they start out so small. They don't stay that way, believe me. Enjoy her."
I thank her and she leaves.
Relax. No witches want to suck her soul. Jeez. People love babies, see?
I honestly want to make it out the door before anyone changes their mind about letting us go. That and, oh, I'm probably hallucinating fairy tales since I've been up since Monday with mayyyyyybe 6 hours cumulative sleep, tops.
As Rhett pulls up, I stand ready to bolt out of there. How strange, I think. We're leaving with a baby. They are allowing us to take this child home from the hospital so we must be doing something right. It's wonderful to be discharged for the first time ever having gained something instead of repeatedly losing and healing and losing again. No organs were taken from me. A baby was. My baby who is locked and loaded in the car seat to begin the journey home.
Thus one of the longest afternoons and nights of our married life begins as Rhett and I attempt to seamlessly integrate this new life form into our home. We are certainly as prepared as we can be, though no amount of stuff can take away the initial shock of being alone with a third human being you've created for the very first time. It's dizzying and wonderful and over, thankfully, with no harm having befallen the baby. We've made it to greet the weekend!
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