The doctors analyzed a tennis match, I gave birth

The doctors analyzed a tennis match, I gave birth
The doctors analyzed a tennis match, I gave birth
Anonim

After a short interlude in the delivery room, our reader soon found himself in the operating room, where he wondered among the humorous doctors: what does the woman have to do with the birth itself?

Fabula's birth story.

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I am not a mother of girls. Although I always knew in my heart that he would be the first boy, I was afraid of what would happen if he didn't. What if a little girl comes, I won't be able to love her enough because I can't see beyond myself.(You're still afraid of such things at first, aren't you.) Then Ádám came and, as planned, kicked everything up a notch. His incredible energy was already palpably manifested inside, he was drumming in such a way that I just watched. And after he arrived, he continued to do the same thing out here - practically he hasn't stopped since.

We don't have that "Baby, it's only half past six, come and hide here with Mommy a little longer!" Ádám wakes up, sits up in his bed and calls out: "Thomas" at the age of one and a half. Now it's past two, now he announces in front of him: "I slept a lot", then starts to assemble the train. Let's say six ten. I love that it's like this, but if I could wish, well, I'd like a day off to sleep.

But back to Fabula. We were really looking forward to it. We waited because we didn't want a big age difference between the children, we waited because we dreamed about it, and we waited because we finally needed pink in the apartment. And interestingly enough, I was totally hooked on pink during pregnancy. The first thing I saw anywhere was pink, I liked pink clothes (yikes!), I ate pink ice cream, and you can imagine how popular it was with us during this time on punch minion.

As the belly grew, the difference between the two children became more and more apparent. Even inside, Fabula was completely different from his brother Ádám. Ádám was head down from the first moment, ready to go, no wonder he arrived two weeks early. Fabula sat in comparison, sometimes in a Buddha posture, the mention of which made the doc nervous. Who was, of course, different than the first time, not because of me, because of the prices of Kútvölgyi that changed in the meantime - but that's another time, somewhere else. Fabula was doing huge karate in there, kicking in several places at the same time, I couldn't even count how many legs he would have now. Although there were two in the picture. I think he had fun in there.

Then Fabula set off. I already guessed it in the evening, but I stopped continuously from three, after eight minutes of pain I went out to take a shower (and shave my legs, so that the poor child wouldn't see a yeti for the first time), at five minutes Err was already standing at the door in a tuxedo holding a bag, saying, shall we go? We're going. We would go, but we can't find the entrance to the hospital, because the one right next to the maternity ward, which I always used to go through for examinations, is closed until six. No, I won't open it - the security guard mumbles sleepily from inside, okay, then we'll go around, even though he could really do that much for us at a quarter past six. The curse of women in labor reaches far. By the time we find the other gate, and the guard explains where to go ("up the serpentine, left at the large bend, a little right at the pavilion, then straight, then…" - well, there was no thread here), so the pains at the entrance are three minutes. And by the time we go up the stairs (!) to the second (!), two. There is an elevator, but only for the staff.

Finally. I'm upstairs in the CTG, Fabula is also indicating that she wants to come out, so I go into the delivery room, it's beautiful, renovated, yes, that's why we came here. I look at you, sometimes I hold on to the edge of the bed, but otherwise everything is okay. Then the doctor comes, and as he looks at the dilation, all he says is: "But there's a leg here!" Fabula didn't turn up, in fact. So that's all for me about the beautiful delivery room, let's go to the operating room. I look at the ceiling. The plaster is hard. The kind, middle-aged nurse occasionally goes over to the dispatcher and reports: "There's his leg!" "He's almost got hold of the doctor's instrument now." "We're almost done." While working, the two doctors are jokingly analyzing yesterday's tennis match, and I'm thinking with my eyes closed that I have nothing to do with this birth?

Eight o'clock. We're ready, they bring a wrapped little package, who was cut in half like Ádám was, but I can't even caress him, they're already taking him away, because it's cold in the operating room. I'm alone. They push me into the room, change the clothes, I can't feel my legs because of the epidural (which I've always dreaded, and when Ádám was born, Err was told that if he heard this word, he shouldn't let anyone near me). And nothing.

I can't even get up the next day. I lie down, when I sit up, I pass out, and I look with envy at the many great-grandmothers who gave birth smoothly and an hour later are chatting in the corridor pushing children. Then I start slowly, I struggle until I finally manage to sit up, I stand, let's go. Back. I play this five more times and then I finally get it. Counties. This evolution is worth something. So I go out to the babies and ask for the baby. Finally.

EpilogueFabula is a small miracle. Miracle package. But for weeks I couldn't get rid of the thought that I failed him on the first day because I wasn't there for him. It haunted me for days that she was in the infant ward and crying, I wouldn't go. Stupid thought. I think I will always try to love in such a way that I don't think about it anymore. Looking at the past few weeks, I can say about myself: Fabula made me a real mother of girls.

Author: Ditto

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