So it’s officially official: we are home, and she has her baby announcement online.
Like… I have a baby.
A real, actual baby.
I truly did not expect to come home with a baby when I went to the hospital on the 13th. I thought I was going to the hospital because something weird was happening, and somehow the plot escalated into an emergency C-section, a NICU stay, and now there is a tiny human sleeping in a bassinet in my room.
Okay, cool. Totally normal.
It still hasn’t fully hit me yet. I think the moment it really hits me will probably be when Hector goes back to work and it’s just me and this tiny person staring at each other like, “So… apparently we’re doing this now?”
I also genuinely haven’t had time to process everything that happened at the hospital or even figure out exactly how I’m feeling postpartum. I don’t know if I would call it postpartum depression, but I can definitely say there are moments where the feeling of being completely overwhelmed takes over.
There have been a LOT of emotions.
I’ve cried about what happened. I’m still processing what happened. And I think I need to talk about it in my own way, which, apparently, means sitting down and telling all of you on the internet every single thought I have.
So later today or tomorrow, I’m planning to write two posts: one about the birth experience and another about the hospital experience. Not because I have everything figured out, but because I need somewhere to put all of these feelings. I’ve spent this entire pregnancy talking about my anxieties, fears, frustrations, and everything happening in my brain, so I don’t really see why that would magically stop now that she’s here.
Especially because THERE IS NO MANUAL.
Everyone tells you to “sleep when the baby sleeps.”
Okay.
But what they forgot to mention is that when the baby sleeps, I stare at her.
There are no nurses coming in every few hours. No monitors next to her. No one checking on her while I’m lying there wondering if everything is okay.
It’s just us.
And she is perfectly content sleeping in her bassinet, looking like the most peaceful little creature on Earth.
Meanwhile, I’m lying there thinking:
Is she breathing?
She’s breathing.
Okay, but is she breathing enough?
She’s literally breathing.
Okay, but what if—
And then I remember that we were told no blankets while baby sleeps, but she’s swaddled, so does that count? Because apparently motherhood is 47% love and 53% Googling whether something you just did is secretly dangerous.
I know this anxiety is probably part of the adjustment. I know I’m exhausted. I know I just went through something physically and emotionally intense. I know I don’t have to have every feeling figured out right now.
But knowing that doesn’t necessarily stop my brain from doing what it does best:
Overthinking.
The weird thing is that underneath all of the anxiety and fear, I’m genuinely happy.
I look at my baby and I’m happy.
Even when I’m scared.
Even when I’m overwhelmed.
Even when I’m crying.
Even when my brain is running through every possible worst-case scenario at 2 a.m.
She makes me happy.
I just think I’m going to have to learn how to be happy and anxious at the same time, because apparently those two things can coexist.
I spent five months worrying about getting her here safely.
Now she’s here.
And naturally, my brain has simply moved on to worrying about keeping her here safely.
So yes, we are home.
Yes, she is officially on the internet.
Yes, I am officially a mom.
And no, I absolutely do not know what I’m doing.
But I’m here. I’m learning. I’m processing. I’m crying when I need to cry. I’m soaking up every tiny newborn moment I can.
And eventually, hopefully, I’ll sleep.
Maybe.
Probably not tonight.
Because my baby is sleeping peacefully and apparently I have decided that staring at her chest to make sure it moves is more important than sleep.
Welcome home, baby girl.
Your mother is already a little unhinged.
