Sometimes you just need a drink...

If there is ever a time when a woman deserves your sympathy, it is after the birth of their child.  Sure congratulations are in order...

Congratulations, 41 weeks of a miserable pregnancy are over!!

Congratulations, you did not DIE in childbirth!!

Congratulations, now that you are totally bloody and beaten up, here's a squishy little alien that needs your attention 24/7, good luck keeping them alive!!

Ladies have a lot of physical healing to do at a time when they are totally thrown off of an emotional cliff into the exhausting world of motherhood... plus insane hormones...  We deserve congratulations, yes, but we also deserve sympathy, hugs, food, rest, space, and hot showers.

However, after the birth of our child, most of our relations were calling to see 1) how is the baby? and 2) how is poor Trevor?  He totally stole my thunder...

About a month before the big day both Trevor and I came down with the same head cold.  It lasted a few days. Mine got better.  His got better, but then turned into a sinus infection, then a crazy itchy rash, then blisters on his eye lids, then as the days were winding down closer and close to the due date he started having really weird symptoms like his hands and wrists were really hurting him.  He thought maybe he played the piano "too hard" or reassured me that it was probably from swinging an ax chopping fire wood.  I politely reminded him that he is 34 years old and that piano playing has never crippled him in the past and that he was chopping wood like a week ago...

The doctors tell me I am going to be induced.  So now I know the due date.  The night before, I am cleaning up the house and packing the bags and then we settle in to watch one last TV show at home as a party of 2. Trevor gets up to go to the bathroom.  He is limping.  I ask him "why are you limping?!"  He says he must have walked too much...

If I hadn't been so worried about myself and the near-death experience I was about to endure I would have been terribly worried about him! I started to google his symptoms that night, but scary things like AIDS, hepatitis,  and autoimmune disease and crazy tick illnesses were coming up. And I couldn't sleep as it is... I put the phone down, barely slept a wink, then we drove my gigantic belly to the hospital to give this baby the boot.

During labor and delivery, I had to help Trevor open doors.  I had to help Trevor unscrew the bottle caps from my water bottle so he could get me water.  He was getting ice for himself to ice his hands and joints.  The baby was born. We had a wonderful few days in the hospital, and Trevor's symptoms would get better, then worse. 

We got home as a family of 3.  The first night home, the baby DID NOT SLEEP A WINK.... She was up and upset ALL NIGHT LONG.   She wasn't born a breastfeeder and she was actually pretty dehydrated before we left the hospital so in order to feed her I had to squeeze milk out of my boob into a spoon, suck the milk up into a syringe, and stick the syringe into her mouth with my finger, and train her how to suck by rewarding her with a drop of milk from the syringe when she would properly suck on my finger.  It would take about an hour to feed her, she'd finally fall asleep on me, I would be terrified to move her and wake her up for the next 30-45 minutes so I'd let her stay on my lap until I felt dangerously tired, then I'd lay her in her bassinet and we would both sleep for maybe another 20-30 minutes before she'd wake up again and we would have to repeat the process ALL NIGHT  LONG.  This on top of having I don't-know-what-kind-of-war-wound that requires gigantic adult diapers and a terrifying fear of what the next bowel movement might do...

But oh my goodness, how is poor Trevor?!

Well poor Trevor didn't sleep the first night at all either, and it wasn't me and the baby keeping him up.  On top of me trying to take care of the baby, and not spilling breast milk everywhere, and dealing with literally the period from hell, Trevor is lying in bed next to me writhing in pain, unable to bend his legs, asking for ice and if I can prop his legs up with pillows and blankets...all night long...

Luckily my mom stayed overnight.  I texted her if she could come down when she wakes up.  I hand over the baby and close my eyes for maybe an hour before my alarm goes off.  We have an 8:30 am pediatrician appointment to see if the baby's jaundice is better. I am so tired, I feel blind, I can't see straight, I feel nauseous.  I can't drive. Trevor can't get out of bed.  My mom takes me and the baby to the doctor's office. I call Trevor's parents if they can come take care of their baby.

At the pediatrician appointment they tell us we need to get the baby's blood work done but because its a Sunday, the lab is closed so we will have to take this prescription to the local hospital to get the test done.  We drive the half hour there then wait a half hour to speak to someone, then it literally takes an hour and a half to get us set up in the system.  The check-in lady is giving me a hard time that the baby is not on our insurance plan.  SHE WAS LITERALLY BORN YESTERDAY!!!  Meanwhile, the baby shit herself and, as this is my first outing as a mother, I properly forgot to bring the diaper bag. 4 hours after leaving home we start heading back home. I check my phone and there is a text from Trevor saying "just don't want you to be alarmed if you come home and there is an ambulance in the driveway." 

He needed to get to the hospital but he couldn't get out of bed and so they had to call 911.

He goes to the hospital.  He gets medicine and gets better.  I get to bed, momentarily.  I get better.  The baby gets older.

Fast forward a year.  We have all finally recovered from the post-traumatic stress of pregnancy, labor, delivery, early infancy, and whatever the hell Trevor was dealing with.  The baby is now a toddler and just gleefully celebrated her first birthday about a week ago.  Everyone is focused on adorable Phoebe, and congratulating Mom and Dad on a job well done.  Yet, once again, a certain someone steals the spotlight...

The baby absolutely loves being outside and as a result we are all covered in bug bites.  Trevor tells me he has one bug bite that particularly hurts, and I offer my sincere condolences.  He often has bug bites that really hurt.  I'm sorry you got bit by a bad bug again, but I have to attend to this diaper full of crap and this maniac toddler that insists on eating rocks, chewing on wires, standing on the windowsill during diaper changes, and sticking her hands in outlets.  The next morning I am getting ready for work and as I am WWF wrestling a toddler with crocodile strength to try to get sunblock on her face, I catch a glimpse of my strong, handsome 6 foot 3 inched, bearded husband CRAWLING on his hands and knees to get to the bathroom.  WHY ARE YOU CRAWLING TO THE BATHROOM?!  He says it really hurts and that he is going to go to the doctor.  I now realize this is a problem.

I walk out the house and we forgot to close the garage the night before and some animal dragged garbage and poopy diapers all over the driveway.  I quickly throw it all in one general direction but don't have time to clean it up.  I spent all morning looking for the crutches from last year and now I am late to work.  I get to work and I am the first one there.  It seemed strange as I was running late.  I open my email and there was a work email that went out the night before saying that everyone could work from home.. Damn.

Since I'm there already I stay.  By the time I get home Trevor is  home from the doctors and is on antibiotics for an infected bug bite, but now has a fever.  Obviously the drugs are not working.  I call the doctor while he's sleeping and they say give it more time. They drew a circle around the infection and by the next day the infection was obviously spreading, the fever was persisting.  I was struggling to take care of Phoebe alone, to take care of Trevor, and to keep Phoebe away from Trevor who obviously needs more drugs and less toddler poking at his wound and saying "oww!"

We decide he will go to the hospital, but he doesn't want to go just yet.  I tell him to start getting used to the idea.  If he doesn't want to go now he can take an uber after the baby is asleep.  I pour myself a glass of wine.  I need it!   But it is getting close to the baby's bed time.  So I set it down in the loft to save it for later.  I try to get the baby to go to sleep but she's a smart cookie and can likely sense something exciting is going on and refuses to go down. After about an hour of rocking and reading and bottles and rolling around and singing and rocking and more books and more songs and bouncing, I give up.  Trevor is laying on the ground in the loft outside the baby's room.  I leave the baby with him, while I go pack him a fanny pack with his insurance card, wallet, phone, charger, water bottler, a couple snacks.  Then I hear Trevor yell, "NO, PHOEBE, NO!!!" at the same time as some liquid gurgling....

And the little tiny monster who has never before in her life drank from a cup manages to seamlessly lift a very full wine glass to her lips and attempt to drink it! Most of it ended up on her pajamas after Trevor yelled at her. 

After getting the husband with the disgusting leg infection into the car with the wine-soaked baby, I couldn't help thinking, Trevor is going to die or lose his leg, the baby is drunk, I am going to lose custody of my only child and end up in jail...widowed...the baby will be orphaned...

We drop Trevor at the curb of the ER. The baby falls asleep on the way home.




I can proudly tell you that we survived the first year.  We are all alive with all of our limbs intact.  We are only age-appropriately drunk. And we are all free of prison... for now!