How to Survive the First Year of Motherhood, Part I

Congratulations!

You've read all the books, attended all the classes and, what's more, you've hung with rapt attention to every word uttered by your instructors. You've learned new and interesting ways to breathe (remember them - they'll come in handy in a few years; say, when your little darling puts a garden hose through the basement window) and you've been bombarded with advice from well-meaning family and friends. You're ready.

Or are you?

There's nothing quite like the arrival of a new baby - whether it's your first, your third or even your fifth - to bring joy to your life. Nothing like that little bundle of sweet innocence to fill your heart with love and hope for the future. Nothing like that little angel, that cherubic little paragon of perfection with the wide eyes, soft, dimpled skin and cupid's bow lips, to make a liar out of everyone and turn your life upside down.

Just remember to take it one day at a time and not rush. You'll blink and your baby will be a year old and you'll be wondering how it all happened, where the time went. Remember to laugh, even (maybe especially) when things seem impossible, and treasure the memories you're creating every day. Oh - and make sure you file away a few ‘special' memories. It never hurts to store away some blackmail ammunition for the future. Odds are, you'll need it.

That's okay, though. We've all been through it. Your mother survived. Her mother survived and her mother before her.

You'll survive too.

You've made it. It's over. Well, let's amend that. This part is over. Now, just sit back and take a minute. Or two. Or ten. Look at what you've just accomplished. Face it; this is one of the greatest, most important achievements in the world. Go ahead, be amazed by those ten little fingers and ten toes and that tiny little mouth. Everything's perfect and it's almost unbelievable that this little person came from you. It's inconceivable, incredible, miraculous - and true. You've done it and now nine months of pregnancy - give or take - and hours of labor are behind you.

Unfortunately, so are the hemorrhoids. I know, I know...ewwwww. Who wants to think about hemorrhoids at an idyllic moment like this, with your beautiful little angel sleeping peacefully, either in your arms or only a few feet away? Think about it, though. Just for a minute, think about what your body's just gone through: the months of carrying that extra weight around 24/7; the fact that your digestive system has had to share space with six pounds of flailing, squirming, growing baby; the pressure of the actual delivery.

It doesn't happen to every new mother, but odds are, if you don't have them already - you will. Just wait.

Or don't. Better yet, start thinking two words and make them your friends. Start now. Repeat after me: fiber and Tucks, fiber and Tucks, fiber and Tucks. Develop a taste for such culinary delights as dates, apricots and prunes (they're not just for Grandma anymore). Learn to enjoy high-fiber cereals (there are worse things...think real cardboard). And cajole your husband - call your mother - plead with your best friend - but send for the Tucks.

And, while you're at it, remember those jeans that you packed for the trip home? Don't bother. I know, I know, they're two sizes bigger than your pre-pregnancy size but still, have your husband/mom/friend stop and pick up the outfit you wore last week to your obstetrician appointment. Think of it this way - it's much better for your self-confidence, not to mention your comfort, to wear something a little too big than to squeeze yourself into something that should be a little big - but isn't.

*****

The nurse has just brought your baby back after what has probably been the longest hour of your life. He's been cleaned up and had his first blood tests taken. He's been poked and prodded and measured and examined and whatever else it is that they do to him in the nursery and he's exhausted and sleeping, swaddled snugly in his little blanket with that little knitted cap on his head and surrounded by all that...stuff. What is all that detritus in his isolette? What ever happened to teddy bears?

Pay attention. All that ‘stuff' is there for a reason. These things are going to become as familiar to you as your left arm:

The bulb syringe: No, no, this isn't for drawing blood or giving injections. This is also known as a ‘nasal aspirator' or a ‘snot sucker' and it's the rubber thingamajig with a big bulb at one end while the other end tapers to a blunt tip. It's usually a greenish color and about six inches long and it's going to save your life. Granted, it's also going to make you feel like a torture master but it's a necessary evil. You'll be okay. It's trickier to use than it looks so pay attention when the nurse shows you how to use it and be patient. This is going to be your first test because most babies hate it. Go figure, they have an aversion to hard rubber stuck up their nose while what probably feels like half the contents of their head are sucked out. Never mind that once it's done they can breathe. Welcome to the wonderful world of motherhood and one of the first times you'll utter the words, "It's okay, honey. It's okay, it'll be better in a minute," even though the baby's fussing so hard and so loud that there's no way he heard your soothing words. It's good practice. It'll be one of the first times but, by no means the last.

Thermometer: This might not be as visible as that big bulb syringe, but it's there. It's generally in a long, white case and it isn't one of those fancy electronic ear thermometers that they use on you. This is your old-fashioned, glass and mercury, blunt-tipped rectal thermometers and yup - you guessed it - a rectal temperature is the most accurate reading. The good news here, though, is that this doesn't seem to annoy the babies as much as sucking the mucous out of their little noses.

A&D Ointment: This is truly wonderful stuff. It comes in a yellow and white tube, although they've probably got the little packets of it for your baby. It's kind of like Vaseline but not quite as thick and it's essential to the comfort of your little darling during the temperature-taking process. And, if your little angel is a boy and you've elected the circumcision route, it's necessary for diaper changes as well. You might want to have your husband/mother/friend pick up a tube of this marvelous stuff while they're getting the Tucks.

Alcohol Swabs: The nursing staff uses them for a variety of reasons; you're going to be using them mostly for umbilical cord care. Your goal here, especially once they've removed that awful plastic clamp, is to swab the cord with alcohol several times a day until it dries up and fall off to reveal the cutest little belly-button ever. It's going to take roughly ten days for this to happen, though, so if you run out of swabs don't panic. A cotton ball soaked with alcohol and then squeezed over the cord works just dandy. Oh, by the way, this is probably going to be another one of those things that will make you feel like you're torturing your poor baby. I suppose the alcohol is cold...

Diapers: The reason for these is obvious but they're so tiny. You're probably wondering if the ones you have at home are going to be little enough and if you've got enough of the tiny little newborn size. Relax. Your baby is going to grow out of these before you can sneeze without wincing. You'll be amazed. And, in the meantime, take every free diaper sample they give you, regardless of size, style or brand. You've just become a new market demographic. Take the freebies and enjoy them while you can

Classes: Most hospitals these days offer classes, some even require the pleasure of your company for at least one of them. Don't fight it. Take the class. It'll do you good. If nothing else, it gets you on your feet and out of your room and around other new moms. It helps to know that you aren't the only one who feels a little overwhelmed by it all and besides, when you get back to your room you can be amazed by how much more beautiful your baby is than everyone else's. How rough all the other new moms are looking. How it really COULD be worse. It could.

You've got your Tucks and you're tolerating prunes. You've watched, along with a dozen other new moms, while a nurse bathed a doll. You've learned about bulb syringes and rectal thermometers and how to care for your baby's umbilical cord and wondered whether it'll end up being an ‘innie' or an ‘outie' (only time will tell). You've learned how to diaper your baby and how to swaddle him and you've even dressed him in the tiny little outfit you brought along for the trip home.

It's time. Time to gather the cards and flowers and teddy bears and balloons. Collect all of the paperwork and your personal things: your toothbrush and shampoo and hairbrush, the book you didn't get a chance to read and the note cards announcing the birth that you didn't have time to write. Make sure you get all the free samples packed up and oh, don't forget the baby.

Let's go home.