Welcome to the Club - The First Days

Parenthood is a club with immediate membership following birth. No one checks your credentials or asks for your SAT scores before they let you in, although it seems a pretty important clique to be joining, so you’d think they might. But everyone tells you that, once in the club, you develop these instincts and that’s all you need to survive. That, my friends, is not true. There is significant “on the job training” that you also need – but parents know that if they tell you about that up front, you might snub their club invite.

The night after Roman arrived seemed eerily easy to Maurice and I – at first. Despite the natural childbirth, I was in almost no pain afterwards and just excited to hold my son. After his first bath and some time under the sunlamps, we were finally whisked to the recovery suite to spend our first evening as a family. After a shower and unfolding the chair/couch/bed for Maurice, we settled in and just held our son. It was an amazing experience. Everything about him was small and new and fragile, and I watched my husband’s chest swell with pride just watching him sleep in my arms.

Everyone told us to use the hospital recovery time was most valuable for the time they give you alone (if you want it) the first night. (well, that and for stocking up on diapers and other stuff in your baby cart…don’t judge me – I paid for that stuff when I checked in, dammit!). So after almost 20 hours awake, we took them up on the offer and kept Roman overnight in the nursery the first night, bringing him to us just to nurse/eat. That next morning, we were alert and ready for our baby. He slept the majority of the time, but occasionally opened his eyes and looked around. People came and went and we were basking in the glow of how peaceful our little one was. Not a peep all day, not even when he was wet. We decided then and there that his disposition was a gift from God.

Around 10pm, we couldn’t stay awake any longer. But rather than send Roman back to the nursery, we wanted to keep him nearby us in the room. The nurses were happy to oblige and left us with his crib, baby cart and a smile (which in retrospect, was probably a smirk). You are probably a parent if you predicted this next part. Soundly asleep after feeding him an ounce, we are awakened to what sounds like the shrill screams of an aircraft fighter, or perhaps a fire alarm. Believing that we were under attack and fearful for our lives, Maurice and I almost fled the room before we realized that the sound was coming from our very own terrorist in our suite. After confirming he would not calm down by (a) trying to feed him or (b) trying to hold him nor by (c) trying to sing frightened lullabies to him, we called the nurses in a panic, confident that something was deathly wrong with our little one. After finally answering our page and hearing the panic in our voices, she asked what was wrong. To which we answered “Please come quick, we think something is wrong with our son.” “What are his symptoms? Are his lips blue, is he breathing, does he show signs of trauma?” she asked. “No,” we answered “he just won’t stop crying”.

There was a nice moments pause, where I think she disconnected immediately, but suffice to say she didn’t come. And he didn’t stop crying for at least a few more minutes, leaving us frazzled and worn. And it finally dawned on my husband and I that those instincts might simply be present in the form of FEAR. Not fear of our child, though he still employs a scream sometimes that chills my blood, but fear of the unknown. Like what to do when your child can’t tell you something hurts or is wrong. Or like the fear of how you teach a baby how to walk or talk or do something as simple as eat from a spoon (which is so much harder than you think!). Or the griping thought that, one day, your child will have to fend for himself in a world that you know personally is full of crime, prejudice, nepotism and other generally unfair characteristics that deflate even the happiest of people. It was that fear that made me hold onto Roman tightly that night, even after he stopped crying. But ironically, that fear gave way to comfort in us both, even if it would be short lived, b/c we knew that at least today, Mommy and Daddy are still able to dry his tears.