Every morning we drive right passed the hospital that I have delivered both of my babies and where we will hopefully be delivering our precious little boy later this year. Not to mention a stay that I had for a breast reduction or the time that Kyla and I had to be admitted because she had raging temperature that just wouldn’t go away after a whole week. Prior to being pregnant again I would look at it and either not acknowledge it or think back to the mostly fond memories that we have experienced there, despite the cause of the stay, it has always been a relatively pleasant one.
But now I look at it and a little bit of butterflies enter my tummy, but not the fluffy, fluttery kind of anticipation and excitement. I’m talking about the kind that stamp all over everything and make you want to get sick. I forgot what it’s like to be the sole person responsible for a tiny little human, for them to get enough sustenance to thrive in those first days. All I can think about is the stress of getting it right, the pain of getting wrong and the fear of getting it right/wrong in general. Breastfeeding did not go well for me before, I may have mentioned it in a post or 2 after Riya was born where I really persevered and didn’t just give up like with Kyla.
All I can think about is the pressure to do it and then to do it right. And you know you’re doing it wrong when your baby screams all the time, it’s quite a definitive indicator. Even after having 2 babies I feel unprepared and to be honest a little scared. I know when we are home it will be better because then Seth is with me and we can tackle it together without the prying eyes of the nurses (who let’s be honest are just doing their job).
I guess it’s normal to feel like this before the arrival of a new baby, and don’t get me wrong – I am so, so, so very excited to meet our first little boy and get to know him, but I can’t help thinking past that amazing bit a little bit too much.