She's my baby

Fourteen years ago, at this particular moment in time, I was in transit to the hospital. My water had broken at 11:45 pm, luckily just as I was sitting down to pee. My ex, myself and several friends had just finished watching When Harry Met Sally and I was getting ready for bed. I wasn't due to give birth for another 2 wks so when all this liquid came gushing out into the toilet I was more than a little shocked.

The ex immediately called the doctor who said get to the hospital asap. I of course decided I needed a shower first. I wasn't in any pain, not a single contraction had hit me yet, so I figured there was no need to rush. I probably didn't even start feeling any kind of pain until I was in the hospital, slipping into one of those oh so sexy gowns.

Most of my labor pains came in the way of severe lower back pain. I wanted them to rip me open and massage my spine because the ex couldn't press hard enough to reach where the pain was. Supposedly I was given something to help me relax and relieve the pain, but I don't remember that and it sure as hell didn't work. All I remember was screaming at these people to quit sticking their fingers up my pussy and give me a damn epidural. (I never was one for politeness, especially when I feel like I'm dying and no one's helping me.)

My baby was born at 7:42 am, almost exactly 8 hours after my water broke. A 9 lb 7 oz butterball that came out swinging. Literally. She whacked the nurse in the face with her fist. I refused to watch any of the delivery. I had no interest in seeing how something that big was going to come out of a hole that small. I had no interest in even seeing her after she was born or holding her. I didn't cry a single tear of joy or of sadness.

Thinking back, I exhibited every single symptom of postpartum depression from the get go, yet no one said a word. None of the nurses, my doctor or other hospital staff questioned why I didn't want to hold my baby or feed her or change her. I tried at first, but I felt nothing. No connection, no love, no anything towards this baby that I had carried for 9 months. It was as if they had randomly thrown me in the maternity ward and handed me a baby that someone else had given birth too. The only reality that I had to go off of that this was really mine was the excessive bleeding, the pain from the stitches, the stretch marks and the leaky nipples.

It took me nearly a year after she was born to bond with her. I think the postpartum which transformed quickly into psychosis didn't help the situation. But I think just her being more independent was a major factor in our finally bonding. She could walk, she could talk a little. She wasn't such a burden. I feel guilty for saying it, but at the time, that's how it felt to me.

Fast forward to January 2006. My baby is now 14 years old and has seemingly overnight transformed into a young woman. I can't believe how much love I have for this girl. How honored I am to say I'm her mother. She is the only light in the darkness that consumes my life.

Happy Birthday baby! I love you with all my heart.