"I knew in my head and in my heart that Noah was my baby, but I also didn’t feel like he was mine at all - I didn’t even feel like a mother."
Waking up in recovery after childbirth without your child is truly heart breaking. As many of you already know, I was put to sleep for a forced (unnecessary) c section (after 17h of labor)– this means I didn’t meet my son when he was born. I actually didn’t meet my son until he was FIVE hours old. When I woke up in recovery, my wonderful midwife was there – she showed me a picture of my son in an incubator & explained that he went into shock but was 100% okay. She then told me to smile so she could take my picture to show my mom that I was okay too. A nurse came in shortly after to bring me up to a room, I had assumed my son and family would be there – Nope, still no baby. My mom and boyfriend came to see me, telling me all about how beautiful Noah was, but I still couldn’t meet the sweet boy I had just birthed. I eventually got to facetime someone who was in the room with my son, I vividly remember asking that nobody other than his father touch him. This was when I found out that my mom had held him and my gramma, my boyfriend, his mom and his aunt had all met my son too –before me. I wanted to be happy that my son was surrounded by love, but all I could feel was jealousy and a strong urge to force these people away until I could see my son.
During my pregnancy, I expressed how excited I was to have immediate skin to skin and breastfeed right away so I'm sure you can imagine how hurt I was that I was denied the opportunity to do this. I hand expressed colostrum into a small cup so that the nurse could bring it to my son - I missed his first time eating, but apparently it really calmed him down.
I missed his first cry, his first feed, his first skin to skin. I didn’t get to make choices for him like delayed cord clamping, skipping the bath, etc. I didn’t get to see what he looked like in his first 5 hours of life. He is now a year old and I can’t even type this without tears forming.
I knew in my head and in my heart that Noah was my baby, but I also didn’t feel like he was mine at all - I didn’t even feel like a mother. I can’t tell you what it felt like to finally meet him, because I don’t remember (thanks anesthesia) – but I do remember putting him to my breast as soon as I could. He was hungry and latched on great, but if it weren’t for pictures with time stamps – I'm not sure I'd actually remember that.
My mom and Noah’s dad often talk about the way he looked when he was born – the way he cried, how big his head was – even what the nurses said. When someone asks me, I can’t answer - I feel like I'm being asked details abo23ut someone else's birth because I wasn’t present for my sons. I know everyone means well when they talk to me about those 5 hours but it breaks my heart knowing I missed his first hours outside of the womb. My boyfriend’s aunt and I have spoken less than 15 times, yet she can tell me more about my sons first hours than I actually know.
Do you know how it feels to see your child for the first time on a phone screen? It really makes you feel like you’re looking at someone else’s baby. I went into the OR pregnant and in labor - I came out baby-less and confused, then hours later I was handed a child and told he was mine. I can’t quite explain my feelings exactly when I try to say that I felt disconnected from my son – yet completely in love. It felt like I had adopted a child, this child was mine to love and care for but I did not grow the child. It has been the hardest feeling I've ever had to overcome and I didn’t admit these feelings until very recently. I was numb, anxious and quite honestly – depressed. Not in the way they tell you about though, I was grieving the birth I had planned, I was still coming to terms with the fact that I'd just had major surgery and then I was exhausted and had to care for a new life.
12 months later and I still can’t handle leaving my son because I have attachment issues caused by our birth experience, 12 months later and I panic walking into a hospital, 12 months later and I cry thinking of our birth, 12 months later and I still hate every single person who had a part in our birth plan going to shit, 12 months later and I still have to tell myself that my son is my son.
I want to love every post I see about a beautiful birth, I want to feel joy when I speak of the day my son entered the world, I want to relate to other mothers when they talk about things about their newborn baby – like their first cry. I so badly want to have heard that first cry and to have been there to see every inch of his beautiful olive skin and the big tears everyone told me he cried.
I hate when people tell me I should just be happy that we’re both healthy - I'm left to deal with symptoms similar to PTSD and what I think may have been postpartum depression, but I lived and then lost a bunch of weight so I was “healthy” right? Of course I'm happy we’re both alive but that doesn’t change the feelings and thoughts I have - I felt crazy and selfish for feeling like my son wasn’t mine – I knew I should just be happy that we were “okay” but instead I cried for 2 weeks straight and blamed hormones. I'd stay up even when my son was sleeping and I'd cry until I fell asleep because I couldn’t understand the feelings I had - I never knew you could feel so distant from a child that you loved so dearly.
I have started to talk about our birth more openly now to raise awareness and maybe get closure. Although I understand I'll probably never fully be okay with how our birth went – it's time to start teaching myself that it’s okay to be unhappy but it isn’t okay to assume that every situation will end badly just because of one traumatic event. I’ll probably always tear up at the thought of others meeting my son first, or strangers hearing him cry – but I'll just hug him a little tighter and let him know that mama will always be right by his side no matter what from here on out. Our detailed birth story will be out when I get up the strength to force myself to remember everything – for now I've forced out some of the trauma but I'll always be happy to answer questions through our Instagram.
From left to right: A photo of my son that was taken while he screamed in an incubator during the time they denied me access to see him, the photo the midwife showed me in recovery, A screenshot of me facetiming Noah (aka our first photo together)