I expected to be happy after the birth but was scared and sad as my baby was taken to the special care unit. I also expected to feel a rush of love for him which did not happen, those feelings came later. But I did feel an immense sense of longing, that I needed to be with him, which made me crawl out of my hospital bed and stumble down corridors, clutching my painful abdomen, worried it would tear apart, just so that I could stare at him in his incubator during the middle of the night.
None of the articles or books I read during my pregnancy could have prepared me for those first few days after bringing Baby Leo home. The only useful preparation would have been to hold, change and feed an actual baby but there were none available to borrow.
"That was some weird shit" George Dubya Bush is reported to have said after the Trump inauguration which pretty much sums up my encounters with baby poo.
Not being able to breastfeed made me feel like a big fat failure and then really angry towards breastfeeding zealots.
Looking after a newborn baby is performing the same tasks over and over - make bottle, feed baby, burp baby, sterilise bottle, change nappy, clean baby, etc etc repeat repeat repeat.
The only visitors who were genuinely welcome in those first couple of weeks were the ones who brought food with them.
Baby clothes are awesome. I never realised how much I would enjoy picking clothes for my baby or appreciate the clothes people bought him. Yes, it's been a learning curve getting his head and limbs through those tiny openings but there's only been a few tears (mine). What's with all the blue clothes though?
I'm glad I've taken lots of photos, he's changed so much in only a few weeks.
The cuddles are amazing, my baby sleeping on my chest blows my mind. Best. Feeling. Ever.
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