I spent the rest of the day in a haze of magnesium sulfate, pain killers and the stench of my own vomit in my nose. The most unimaginable amounts of it kept coming out of me because of the drugs I was on for my blood pressure, I remember being given a tiny little pan that was the shape of a kidney bean, the expectation was that it could hold what I was producing. Instead, I ended up getting more all over myself and my bed than anything else.
The next day a huge blizzard came, exactly twenty three months ago today. Google tells me seventeen inches of snow moved into this city that day. The hospital became a ghost town as I watched the world inside my room become a more contained version of what my life had now become. A baby screaming, sleep deprivation kicking in and never being able to get comfortable enough when I was given the opportunity to sleep. Nurse checks every hour, endless pills, blood drawn so often that the tape they used afterwards ripped the skin off of my arm. And that baby, that little beautiful peanut of a person, he seemed to be as irritated as I was at the entire set up.
But we made it. Those first weeks, months, year are a total blur. I look back on pictures from one year ago and it's like I'm taking a glimpse into the life of someone else. My lanky toddler, the kid who can correctly identify every Sesame Street character, who knows the alphabet, thinks most colors are purple and who is still the worst sleeper in the universe, he used to look that that? There was a time when he couldn't run laps around the living room and break into the refrigerator to eat leftover spaghetti? You mean he used to just be a blob? No way. But here we are, 29 days until my first child turns two. TWO.
It's pretty amazing, actually.