Cofidence Killer
My second pregnancy and birth were infinitely better than the first. After an easier pregnancy and a scheduled C-section, I was feeling confident in my skills at being a second time mama. I felt competent and prepared. However, I had no idea what I was about to experience and how it would kill any confidence I possessed.
When Malia was a week old, I took her to her first doctor’s appointment. Since I used the same doctor for Mason, I knew the process of where to park, which elevator to take and where to sign-in. I decided to change things up a little and park in a different section than I usually did. After gathering the diaper bag, pulling out the stroller and snapping Malia in, I discovered that I had parked in the wrong area. Rather than put everything back in the car, I had the brilliant idea of walking, figuring it would be great exercise. This was my first mistake.
[My sweet Malia at one week old]
It was the middle of summer, in Vegas, and I had major abdominal surgery one-week prior. What normally would have been a nice walk turned into a challenging hike. By the time I reached the doctor’s office I was profusely sweating, out of breath and totally exhausted. Once I had finally signed in and sat down, Malia began to cry. I checked my phone and realized it had been two hours since her last feeding. I carefully took her out, covered her and began nursing. I smiled to myself thinking, “Wow; I am doing such a great job. Sure that walk was rough, but now here I am, feeding my baby like a pro. This is a piece of cake.”
Once Malia had finished nursing, I adjusted her in order to put her back into her car seat. It was then that I realized that she was covered in poop. It was everywhere. The poop had blown out of the sides of her diaper, up her back, coming through her clothes and seeping into mine. I was so confused. How could so much poop come out of someone so small. Also, when did this even happen? I did not hear a thing. I was bewildered that this poop explosion happened and it was completely silent. I grabbed some wipes and headed to the bathroom to try and clean us both up before seeing the doctor.
While in the bathroom, I began thinking that the poop incident was a minor set back. I reassured myself that I knew what I was doing, and that I was so awesome for remembering to pack and extra outfit for Malia “just in case.” Sure my clothes were covered in poop, but I was totally still winning. My thoughts were interrupted by the nurse calling Malia’s name; it was now her turn to see the doctor. I quickly finished wiping her down and put on a clean diaper, but opted not to dress her-- I would have to undress her as soon as we got into our room anyway. Any experienced mom knows that.
The rest of the appointment went much better. The doctor weighed, measured and checked Malia over. He was impressed that she had already gained weight and remarked that I must have “super breast milk.” With the doctor’s encouragement I was beginning to feel like a capable mother again. I thought that the small hiccups we had earlier were nothing; I had handled them like a champ. I could totally do this with my hands tied behind my back.
On our way out the door Malia began to cry. I figured she was hungry and that I had better feed her before our fifteen-minute drive home. I took her out into the lobby, and began nursing her. Just then, a friend from work passed by. She stopped for a moment and said that she would check her daughter into the doctor’s office and come back out so she could meet Malia for the first time. I finished feeding her, adjusted her cute little bow and got ready to show her off.
Since we had not seen each other since school let out for the summer, my friend and I caught up on the latest work gossip. As we were chatting, I realized that I had not yet burped Malia and began to gently pat her back. Then, out of nowhere I was hit by a wave of wetness that covered my entire body, hit the floor and splashed onto my friends’ clothes and shoes.
At first I was confused. I could not figure out what had just happened. When I looked down at my tiny baby she smiled as breast milk dripped from the corners of her mouth. Apparently I had over fed Malia and as a result had projectile vomited on my friend, herself and me. I sat in awe for a moment before taking any action. The only thing I had available to clean up the mess was my nursing cover. I profusely apologized to my friend as I bent over to clean the milk off of her pants and shoes. My friend was gracious and ran to the bathroom to grab paper towels to help me clean up.
By this time my emotions were raging. I was humiliated and exhausted. I fought back tears, because I didn’t want to look foolish and cry for the whole waiting room to see. The moment the last drop of milk was wiped off the floor I headed for the door and prepared myself for the mile hike back to the car. As we walked, I sobbed.
I reached for my phone to call my husband to tell him about my disaster. When he answered he was immediately concerned. I described the entire incident from the wrong parking spot, poop explosion and projectile vomit. My husband went from concern to amusement in a moment of seconds. I wanted to kill him. He tried to comfort me by saying, “Oh honey, I’m so sorry, but I promise you will laugh about this later.” Yes, much later.
I learned a few things this day. First, if you know what you are doing, don’t change things up especially when you have a newborn, have had a recent surgery, or both. Second, always be prepared with extra changes of clothes and blankets. Third, don’t over feed your baby. Make sure you stick to a feeding schedule. And last but not least, it is better to call a girlfriend in a situation like this; your husband, while good intentioned won’t give you the kind of comfort you need.
