Invisible strings

Immediately after conception, the zygote attaches itself to the mother in order to sustain life. Once development continues and that little cheerio turns into a fetus, there is a very noticeable connection -the umbilical cord, which connects a baby to her mother and is the highway for blood, oxygen and nutrients for the fetus.

I'd been told, however, that there was also an invisible string that connects a mother to her child. 

A string whose pull is so strong it's undeniable. Heart wrenching. Life changing.

I'd been told that string replaced the umbilical cord the moment the baby breathed her first bit of air and filled the delivery room with her first cry.

So as I laid there on the operating table with a room full of people (at least 12 humans, not including my husband and myself or the twinkies) and stared at a blue cloth draped before my chest to prevent my view of the surgery below, I waited and waited to feel that string.

Tugs and pulls were happening. I could feel those. But I felt nothing else.

Their first cries came and went. They even began sneezing in the OR. I recall asking my husband if they were okay and smiling with tears in my eyes when he reassured me they were alright.

But I still felt no string.

He brought them near me all swaddled up in blankets for our first picture together. But still, I felt nothing.

Well, that's not entirely true. I felt relief. And fatigue. A whole lot of each, in fact.

But I did not feel a wash of love come over me. I didn't feel my heart burst into a thousand little pieces and go flitting about the room.

And because I didn't feel those things, I began to feel abnormal. I began to feel like something was missing. Maybe my mom gene was M.I.A.? Maybe my invisible string did not function, almost like a parachute cord that failed to open?

I spent only 48 hours in the hospital before being discharged home. And in each of those hours, I promise you, I was looking for that string.

I held babies on my chest as they slept. I changed diapers, I nursed. I put their going-home outfits on them. But at no point in time did I feel that pull that so many moms described to me.

A hospital visitor even asked me "Aren't you just madly in love with them?"

And I told the truth.

I wasn't.

That elicited some strange stares. But it was true for me. The jury was still out. Though I learned not to say that aloud again.

I even had one mom tell me that colors appeared differently to her after birth and she would swear the leaves on the trees were brighter. Sadly, my hospital room didn't have a view, but I recall standing at our master bedroom window when we returned home and looking from my babies lying there on our bed to the crepe myrtles in our front yard hoping to see some change. But it all looked the same to me.

Everything felt the same.

I simply felt tired. 

And I felt very sad that this was all I felt.

In the hours after we returned home from the hospital, I wanted nothing more than to hear quiet surrounding me. I wanted to be left alone.

Sadly, my house was full of people. Long story short, in effort to include my bonus kids and not take time away from their regularly scheduled visit, we had them stay at our house with my older nephew who was adult enough to keep them safe and fed while we were at the hospital. My husband shuffled back and forth from the hospital to the house to check on everyone.

So when I returned to a house full of people, there was no quiet to be had. I asked the hubs to please remove everyone from the premises. I needed to be left alone and didn't want people disturbing the babies. I didn't want him to leave me alone with two brand new babies either, but there was no other alternative. We had to divide and conquer.

As the door closed behind them, the tears fell down in relief that I didn't have to put on any more "faces" for people. I could breathe.

I curled up next to my swaddled newborns who were lying on their backs, each propped by a nursing pillow. And we slept.

It was 2 hours of uninterrupted peace until I woke up with terrible stomach pains. I jumped up from the bed and raced to the bathroom. Out of habit, I threw the door closed behind me, but then remembered there were 2 people who needed my supervision still asleep on the bed, and so I quickly reopened it, only to race back toward the toilet.

Apparently the medicine that I'd been given was having its way with me. I sat on the toilet hugging a trash can when I heard a strange sound. I looked up to see one of the babies squirming in her swaddle. A moment later I heard a strange gurgling noise again and knew for certain it wasn't coming from me. Before I could get up, the baby's arm shot into the air and her movements seemed to be more of a struggle. I ran with pants around my ankles to grab her and when I got my hands beneath her noticed her face was purple and covered in vomit. She was gasping for air.

I raced back to the bathroom counter and held her over the sink while I performed the Heimlich maneuver for infants that I'd learned only hours earlier before I left the hospital.

I was panicked. Tears were streaming down my face as I shouted "breathe, baby!" over and over. I didn't even know which baby I had in my arms. There was no time to tell them apart.

I raced around the house looking for my cell phone with the baby on my forearm and beating her back. When I found it, I dialed my husband. He didn't answer. I dialed my nephew. He didn't answer. I dialed my stepson. He didn't answer. I dialed my stepdaughter. She didn't answer. They were all together - turns out they were whitewater rafting and couldn't have their phones. Probably not the smartest choice for activities at the time, but he was ushered out of the house in a hurry, so I'll forgive him.

I reached my mom and cried some more. She tried to talk me off the ledge and get me to check for the baby's breaths. It seemed like an eternity, but I'm sure the whole event lasted no more than 2 minutes.

Slowly, Charlotte Ann's color returned to her face (I could tell who I was working with now) and she began to take some shallow breaths.

My breathing however, was never the same the again.

Somewhere in the space between the bathroom and our bed, that invisible string had finally found me.

And it was tugging on my lungs and heart.