There are few moments in life that truly take your breath away: cradling your newborn baby in your arms for the first time is one of those moments. When my daughter was placed in my arms, my heart stopped. Four years later I can still vividly remember everything about that moment. After nine months of waiting, wondering and hoping, there she was. As I counted her tiny fingers and toes, and gazed into her big beautiful brown eyes, I knew nothing would ever be the same.
Struggling Through PPD
As much as I loved my new baby, I struggled to adjust to motherhood and to bond with her. One of my biggest regrets is that I didn’t enjoy those first few months with Ava. I struggled with postpartum depression and spent my days wishing for the newborn phase to be over; wishing for things to get easier; wishing for time to pass. Even though I know that my postpartum depression wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t help but feel guilty that I didn’t cherish those precious moments more. After I got my life back on track, I promised myself that next time I would enjoy it more: next time I would be a better mom. I put so much pressure on myself and “next time” that it made struggling to have another baby that much harder. I longed to be able to experience that first look moment again. My fertility journey the second time around was long and arduous. It was filled with so many tears, trials and disappointments until finally, we were able to conceive Max. Throughout my entire second pregnancy all I could think about was that magical moment when I would meet my baby for the first time, hold him in my arms, feel his skin on mine and know that he was real.
“Next time” and Unmet Expectations
Unfortunately, nothing went as planned. During a routine stretch and sweep at my 39-week appointment, my water broke. Since my body didn’t naturally start labour, I required Pitocin to get my contractions started. I remember feeling excited as I felt my contractions beginning; my husband and I even snapped a masked-selfie to document the moment. We talked and laughed, the nurses and doctors came in to periodically check in on my progress; everything was going smoothly… and then it wasn’t. When it came time to push I started having what is known as “labour shakes”. My body began shaking uncontrollably, my teeth were chattering, I felt dizzy, disoriented; I vomited. It was something I had never experienced before, and I was terrified. From here on it’s a bit of a blur: I remember pushing as hard as I could, but it didn’t seem to be enough. I remember the concerned look on the nurses faces as one of the machines I was attached to started to rapidly beep. The resident obstetrician who had been attending to me stepped aside and the obstetrician on call rushed in with the vacuum. I kept pushing and pushing, and when I looked over I saw that the room was now crowded with people. I panicked. What I didn’t know was that even though my baby was head down, he was on his side making it difficult for him to get out of the birth canal: he was stuck. Thankfully the doctor was able to wretch him out, but he wasn’t breathing. He was immediately passed over to the other people who had appeared in the room, who I later came to learn were the neonatal specialists.
“Where is my baby? What is going on? Is he okay?” I asked over and over again, but no one could give me a reassuring answer. I sat up and saw a team of people hunched over my baby, put him in some sort of clear incubation machine and roll him out the door. He was going to the NICU where he would have to stay until he stabilized. Max was born at 3:33am, but I was not able to see him until noon that day. When I saw him for the very first time my heart sank: my precious little boy was inside a clear plastic incubator, hooked up to beeping machines, an IV and a breathing tube. Seeing your child like this (as I am sure many other NICU parents would agree) is a feeling that is nearly impossible to put into words. Helpless, powerless and vulnerable don’t do it justice. As I reached through the hole in the side of the incubator and held his little hand for the first time he squeezed my finger. This was our first meeting: it was nothing at all like the moment I had hoped for. Research has shown that the first 60 minutes of a baby’s life are critical to a child’s growth and development. This is often called the “golden hour” because what happens in this first hour sets the stage for bonding between mother and child. We missed our golden hour. Max is a fighter. He made great progress in the NICU and was discharged after a few days. Our NICU experience was a rollercoaster of emotions: I was happy that my baby was doing well and growing stronger each day. I was grateful to the NICU staff for their amazing care and expertise. But I also felt deeply disappointed that I had been robbed of that special bonding moment with my son. I was devastated that his introduction to the world was so chaotic: that the first faces he saw were those of the frenzied medical staff and not me.
A Magical Moment, Just Delayed.
Today he is a very happy, and healthy boy who just loves, loves, loves his mama! When he snuggles close to me I wish I could stop time because I know that nobody in the world will ever love me as much as this little boy does right now. We may not have had that magical moment right away, but we have sure had many magical moments since.
Meet The Author
Amanda is a high school teacher and mama of two based in Toronto, Canada. She is passionate about bringing awareness to issues like postpartum depression and pregnancy loss, in the hopes that conversations about these topics can become more visible in the mainstream. Our ideas and expectations of motherhood come from the carefully curated images that are repeated over and over again in media. Through her no-holds-barred account Amanda hopes to provide a glimpse of true, uncensored motherhood with the Instagram world via @theuncensoredmommy.
