Motherhood : A World of Pain

Look what I made!*

10 months of blood, sweat and tears all wrapped up into one cute bundle! (no that's not a typo, they are lying to you
it's 10 months, not 9)

It's true, I've officially spawned and popped out a brown half Bangladeshi-half Salvadoran baby boy!* Zakir Aristides Alvarado was born on Sunday, March 29 at 1:44 am after 24 hours of labor and 2 hours of pushing. All I have to say is thank all that is holy in this world for epidurals because I really feel like my contractions would have sent me spiraling into madness before it was all over. I had no contractions before that, none of that Braxton Hicks stuff, nothing, just suddenly early Saturday morning BOOM they rolled in and kicked labor into high gear.

So let me be clear, pregnancy sucked pain-wise, especially at the end. For me, dragging an extra 38 pounds of weight almost exclusively on my belly, especially on my 5'2 frame was a non stop world of severe discomfort. My lower abs felt swollen. It hurt so much that I would actually feel dizzy. At night, I could hardly turn over in bed. My feet went missing. It wasn't fun to say the least. Sure the moving baby was cool, but that sort of got overshadowed by the fact that my entire body felt like a massive liability. Plus I couldn't even power-waddle anymore.

And I KNEW labor would be bad, hell everyone knows that. Funny enough though because of the epidural, labor wasn't that bad. Contractions (before the epidural) felt like that scene from The Return of Jedi where the evil Emperor tried to murder Luke Skywalker via writhing convulsions with jets of electricity from the dark side of the force while Darth Vader looked on. I was Luke Skywalker, labor was Emperor Palpatine

See: Labor

Funny enough though, labor and pregnancy weren't even the worst parts. Oh no, no, no. Post pardum made labor and pregnancy look like fun memories. For example, my kid split me in half. It's quite alright. You see, women are complete bad asses and have been split in half or straight up killed by pregnancy from the beginning of time, so it's really no big deal. You just need to get stitched back together, that's all. Oh yea, and you can't sit for a week...or go to the bathroom too successfully. Also the day after labor, the pain of the stitches, plus the trauma of labor on my body gave me uncontrollable shakes. Did I mention that I had to take care of a newborn whose sole sustenance and needs can really be addressed by his mom? Oh yes, in this state I was breastfeeding. Now let me tell you something about breastfeeding....

Oh how precious!

So in movies and in photos breastfeeding looks like a wonderful and beautiful bonding experience where the mother gazes upon her beautiful pride and joy and they join in mother/baby nursing bliss.
They need to revise this image to show a mother shrieking in horror and pain as a baby piranha chomps towards her helpless chest.

If you have nursed and that has not been your experience then congratulations, I hate and envy you. But my beautiful bouncing Bangladoran baby basically went slaughterhouse buffet on my chest. How come no one tells you these things? My guess is so that the human race continues to perpetuate itself based on the willful ignorance we throw at unsuspecting mothers to be.

Seriously, breastfeeding has been the most painful experience of them all. It has been worse than labor for me. WORSE THAN LABOR. Let that sink in.

When my kid whines one day that I don't love him because I won't let him borrow the car, I will simply start shouting "BLOODY NIPPLES!!!" at him. Because, seriously, what the hell. Isn't breastfeeding supposed to be natural? The best and perfect choice for your growing love bug? Why is it a hellish descent into non stop nipple torture? In the middle of the night, when both Zakir and I were wailing, him because he was hungry and me because my bloody chest couldn't take anymore piranha like sucking, I swear I half expected Pinhead from Hellraiser to make an appearance and gloat at my punishment for all my sins. My biggest question is seriously, when the hell does all the hurting stop?

Never, it never stops MWAHAHAHAHA

From what I can gather, never really. Because though it's hard to be sleep deprived when your kid is a baby, at least then they are cuddled up on your chest being all cute and chubby. When they are teenagers and you just had a blow out fight, I'm sure all you can think is why can't they be that chubby little innocent baby again. Nipple torture and all. Or when they are in their 20's and they haven't returned your phone call and you are convinced they're dead, starving, passed out in a gutter somewhere, the thought of that baby curled up in your arms may seem like the best time ever. 

But to put things into perspective, mother octopuses eat their own arms for sustenance as they incubate their eggs, and are so tired from the ordeal that as soon as they leave their lair after birth they get promptly eaten by predators since they are unable to defend themselves.

So I guess it's not so bad, I haven't had to eat my arms yet. Breastfeeding still hurts, but Zakir has already gained 1 pound since birth and it's only been 2 weeks. Oh yea and I have a kid that's my kid and my favorite person in the world forever and he's here because of me.*

I have that.

MINE...ALL MINE (for now)

* After my husband's protestations upon me reading the article to him, I am obliged to say that he had something to do with making the baby too. He got to do the fun parts.

Pre-Daddy Blog: Lessons in Hormones and Crazy Town

Some words on pre-daddydom by Tate H.

Are you getting EXCITED!  This is the typical female greeting these days for all of the females in my life that are associates of my wife Hannah and our baby boy Steven due on May 31.  My response is the obligatory smile and YEAH! That goes along with these types of generally casual exchanges regarding a monumental change in life.  The fact is that there is a good deal more than excitement involved with the unknown mission that is to come.  Currently I have found a new appreciation for the absence and emptiness that will be soon be filled by a new person in my life.  Parents that have already embarked on this adventure often offer a good deal of variety in their accounts of these days and the fact that the hard part is yet to come is a truth they rarely spare.  As a man who operates in a very logical and methodical way I am optimistic and ultimately feeling strong that this kid will find a solid home to rest and grow.  The kid is not what I worry about.

Living with a pregnant woman in the last couple of months of the baby making process is something that is not taught in school or amongst peers in any useful way.  I have leaned on a couple of old dads that gave me some words of wisdom that have helped to carry me.  One thing that I have surrendered to is that Hannah is at this point doing the large majority of the work and bearing more of a burden than washing clothes, cleaning dishes and running errands could ever match.  With this approach, the simple rules of roommate etiquette are effectively awarded a pass for my wife while at the same time my efforts to comfort and clean are generally regarded as the bear minimum of my contribution.  The second item of wisdom is that my wife’s roller coaster emotions are not personal even though they may be directed at me.  In large part having a woman rely on me as their primary beacon of sanity can at times be overwhelming depending on my own emotional state.  Reframing this as an honor and sacred duty helps me to get through what would otherwise simply be a nightmare.  It is a relief to know that it is normal for a pregnant woman to go from cartoonish joy to rage in a period of an hour or so.  It is also a relief to invariably hear that I will get my more stable wife back after her body has allowed the baby to be born.

Making a phone call and venting my mental process to another vetted ‘dad’ makes all the difference and usually renews my approach.  It always improves on what I have come up with on my own.

So as of now Hannah and I are enjoying the last little stupid spoiling that a person without a drooling poop goblin can enjoy.  Dinner at Whole foods throwing the trash away and strolling out the door hands free into the Atlanta spring evening.  Spontaneous plans to go and have coffee with a friend and not have to schedule a sitter.  Staring at the wall and embracing the sheer boredom of the emptiness that I have for so long took for granted.  Looking forward to a person who will soon be more than a figment of my imagination.