My first four days as a mother

Consider this a part two of my epic journey into motherhood. Here is part one.

Right after Luke was born, they whisked him away for some tests in the nursery and Hub went with them. I had them leave the picture they took right after his birth so I could just stare at it. I was a little shocked that he was actually there, live and in person, and mine (all mine). I kept looking at the picture and picking out features I didn't see. It was a picture of a tiny little stranger that I sort of knew because, well, he was my tenant for 9 months. This picture was so different than the grainy black and white of our ultrasounds.

As I mentioned in the first post, I hadn't eaten in close to 24 hours and you know what they gave me? The crappiest breakfast known to man: ONE biscuit, two slices of bacon, a tiny bowl of fruit and a bowl of grits. Come on now. I just pushed out an almost 9 lb baby and you're going to feed me grits? I'm offended professional and personally.

They moved me to my room for the next 24 hours, and I was running on pure adrenaline. I couldn't sleep if I wanted to. The room was in the fancy new wing of our hospital and super nice (as nice as a hospital could be). My sister and in-laws came by to visit and stayed for a little while and around 4 I finally got an hour nap with him on my chest -- which felt like I slept hours. It was heavenly.

The downside to the new side of the hospital is that there is no nursery, so I woke up at every little sound he made. I would change him and then try to feed him and then pray he went to sleep for a few minutes. He hated being in the dark, so we slept with the lights on. Meanwhile, my body felt like I had been hit by a train. It wasn't the funnest of nights.

The next day the feeding problems continued. I wanted to breastfeed. I took the classes. I thought, "this will be a piece of cake". It wasn't at all. He wouldn't latch -- just refused -- and then cried bloody baby murder because he was so darn hungry. I talked to every nurse on the unit and then to the lactation consultant. They all gave me advice and none of it was that good. I'll write more on this whole journey later, because I know you all love to read about my boobs.

We left the hospital about 24 hours after he was born. I hadn't showered and because I didn't realize I would be staying for the long haul, had forgotten my toothbrush, so I was ready to get back. As they wheeled me out and we fastened him in the car, I was thinking, "what now? What am i supposed to do with this child?"

The first night was brutal. He hated being in the dark, still. He hated the pack n play we set up for him to sleep in. He was grumpy. He still wouldn't eat. I still hadn't slept much AND I was recovering from delivery. It was by the grace of God I got through that first 24 hours at home.

The following days weren't much better. We saw a lactation consultant a few days after we left the hospital and she informed me that our baby wasn't sucking right, that he had a suck more like a baby who was pre-term, and that he'd lost more weight since his delivery than she was comfortable.

And after that appointment, the inevitable crash happened. My girlfriends at work had warned me that my emotions would catch up with me and I'd have a breakdown, but that it gets better after that. Seventy-two hours after my child was born, I lost my mind.

I cried over everything; the biggest, saltiest, fattest tears you'd ever see. I should have gotten an award for the amount of liquid that came out of my eyes.

I cried because he cried, I cried because he was asleep. I cried because he spit-up and I cried because he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I screamed at Hub and told him he was unprepared for me after pregnancy.

I snapped at my in-laws.

I told Hub that we had a terrible child.

And in the dark of night, when no one else was awake but me and the baby, I thought to myself, "Where is the warranty on this child?"

And it made me cry that I thought that.

But just as it got bad, it got good again. I mean, it's not good all the time, I'm not going to lie. I hate that I don't get to sleep much. I hate the feeling I get when he cries. I hate feeling helpless, like nothing I can do will make him happy.

However, I love looking at his face. I love when he makes eye contact with me. I love his tiny fingers and toes, the way his little baby butt fits into my hand, the curve of his tiny little spine, his sweet pouty lips. I love nursing him. I love the special connection I have with him because I'm his mother.

He's been in our lives over a month and it gets easier every day. Thank God for my Twitter friends and Mommy friends at work, or I'm not sure I would have made it.

He's changing daily and I can't wait to see what the next month has in store.