I just realized I don’t remember being handed my baby. 26 months later and I've never realized this before; instead, I sit here sobbing. I'm sad, mad, downright pissed off actually. I don’t remember the hospital staff giving me Chickie-Pea. I remember the violence right before I pushed her out, the already cold hospital atmosphere that quickly turned horrific when he wouldn’t respect my body. Then I remember my doula reminding me about vernix which I just couldn’t care less about (sorry, I know you understand) and I know Chickie-Pea was in my arms at that point, but that’s it. I just don’t remember. I don’t remember my baby girl’s first moment of in-someone’s-arms love. She was born into a hostile environment and I can’t remember that first moment for her. I can’t tell her of the joy I felt when she was finally safely in on my chest that first moment, because I didn’t feel that. Chickie-Pea & Mommy Not for reuse! I vaguely remember “joking” with my husband that she was an ugly baby. What a horrible thing to say. The next thing I remember is relaxing in a hospital bed in the recovery maternity room. Those are moments I may never remember; stolen at the hands of someone who lacks the respect and decency for his patients, or at least me. When I look at one of the only photos I have of Chickie-Pea and I immediately after her birth, I see goop in her eye that she didn’t need and I’m pretty sure I put in our birth plan that she was not to receive that stuff. I see an exhausted & pale mom, who isn’t right after labor? I see a half-ass smile, one of those “If you don’t hurry up and take this picture I’ll squirt you,” kind of looks. It’s not a: “*Sigh* Look at this beautiful baby,” look. She looks unhappy. I look unhappy. I look beaten down. I asked my husband, Zombie Prep Dad if he remembered. He said no. He remembered that they did give Chickie-Pea to me right away as asked and because of that, I had “blood and vagina particles splattered” on me from the guts of labor. Nice, eh? Somewhat amusing… But he doesn’t remember “That Moment” either. I don’t remember those first moments in her life. I remember the disconnect I had with my own baby. I remember knowing she was MY baby, and feeling like she was MY baby, but not really feeling happy about it all the time. You know those stories we hear about how mom lovingly brought her own baby up from birth and placed her gently on her own chest? Or when the doctor placed baby immediately and gently on momma’s chest while she continued fourth stage labor? I didn’t get that. I don’t remember that. I don’t remember being gifted with my daughter after everything we went through. All I remember is looking my doctor in the eye as he continued his abuse against me. That’s not what I want to remember. I don’t remember those first moments in HER life. Do you have Stolen Moments? Did you ever get over the idea that you may never get those memories back?
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AuthorWelcome to Momma Trauma's Blog! Thoughts, empowering posts and stories straight from Momma Trauma herself, Birth Trauma families & birth professionals. Archives
July 2015
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