Welcome to the Tales of a Kitchen Witch Blog.
I have a feeling writing this is going to cause a few problems for me but screw it. I’m constantly getting myself into trouble with my blog… These are my thoughts and I like to share them… Why stop now?
My cousin had a baby a few weeks ago, and I’m sad I can’t be there to meet him. Thank goodness for Facebook! I get to look through the pictures and coo over his tiny hands and wrinkled baby skin. It made me think back to my hospital births with my first four babies, and Henry’s homebirth…
The first baby:
Everyone, I mean EVERYONE, came to visit. They brought flowers and balloons and playfully fought over who’s turn it was to hold the baby. It was kind of weird, because I was trying to figure out breastfeeding and people kept popping into the room and I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. It was all fumbling and blushing and falling down hospital gowns and receiving blankets and proudly showing off the tiny new person I had made.
I also had the added weight of being a seventeen year old new mom so everyone was of course happy to see the baby, but it all felt a little awkward and the nurses were a bit prickly and not at all sympathetic to my feelings. And then my ex showed up with his parents, who I had met one time and I was sitting there with my boob out. I still have the picture of them and Hannah. Looking at it now they look as awkward as I felt.
The second baby:
There is still fanfare, people were happy for us. I had a girl the first time, so now I was having a boy with my new husband and we got lots of little sporty outfits and a big party to welcome him home. Patrick was born on my dad’s birthday (he died in 1982) so it was all quite poignant and weepy. My grandmother was even there when he was born. She held him first, and we named him after my dad.
The third baby:
This time, people weren’t so excited for us. I called to announce it, with the test still in my hand. Instead of a CONGRATULATIONS! I got an “Oh, Joni…” in this disappointed sad little voice, as if I were a dog that crapped on the carpet. It was later explained to me that this person was worried about me having too much to handle, they didn’t want me to struggle as they did. But to me, that is a memory that will always stick out like a sore thumb. This baby didn’t garner much celebration. Enough so that James went out and filled a wagon with balloons and flowers and tiny pink clothing to surprise me with at the hospital.
The fourth baby:
My friend Lorna through me a beautiful baby shower, something I had always wanted to have. After the birth, no one visited except one uncle that happened to be in the area. My husband had to drop me off at home from the hospital on his way to his first day of work. I fell right back into routine, washing dishes and cooking dinner within a half hour of being home. I got really angry about that. Not because I expected to be showered with attention and gifts, but because it would have been nice to have some help while I was still bleeding like a stuck pig and walking around on swollen balloon feet leftover from my twenty-seven hour labor. And while I’m sure it was all a bit old hat for our family and friends, Cooper was a brand new person and I felt like his birth should be a happy occasion. Instead of bonding with my baby I cried a lot about dishes and laundry and feeling overwhelmed. I cleaned and scrubbed and cooked like a maniac. I think I was going through a weird version of postpartum depression that turned me into SuperHomeMaker.
The fifth baby:
I live too far away for family to visit, but my mother came to stay and took good care of me. I learned my lesson from the other births and I refused to get out of bed for over a week. I was not going to work myself to death when I was supposed to be recovering.
Facebook is a thing now. I thought it was a great way to announce Henry’s birth, especially since he was born at midnight. So I posted before I went to sleep with my fresh new bub. Some of my family felt differently and I started off my first morning with my new baby getting yelled at because they were mad I didn’t call them to announce the birth before posting on Facebook. Bearing in mind, that by the time we got cleaned up and tucked in bed it was two o’clock in the morning and I called them as soon as I woke up…. At eight o’clock in the morning. I hung up and cried hysterically for two hours. I still haven’t spoken to that person… And Henry will be six months old next week. It really hurts. I know I should forgive and forget, but I can’t bring myself to pick up the phone when my memory of my last baby’s first morning, the peaceful homebirth baby I had desperately wanted, wished for, fought for- and my memories of that morning are filled with me crying hysterically after getting yelled at.
Kind of a bummer.