I have been reading the updates on Impish (aka Miss Doomkat) and baby (yay for her excellent husband who is provide us with daily information) and it's bring back a whole lot of memories of when Torby was born and we were in hospital.
I remember this wacky space where MrNw would disappear and come back with clean clothes or real food (the crunchysalads, the crisp vegetables, the joy!). Sometimes he would be gone for hours, sometimes seconds depending on how much sleep I'd had, how much crying Torby was doing and wether or not I'd recently been doped up on the painkillers. He'd also bring back news of the weather and the fact that Sydney was still there and hadn't dissapeared. People would visit and go away again.
I remember the wonder and the joy.
I remember the tears and frustration.
I remember the accomplishment of getting out of bed the day after the C-section for a slooooow hobble to the bathroom for my first shower (the delicious cleanliness).
I remember Torby lying so happily under the heatlamps after his bath. All warm and peaceful.
I remember demanding of a midwife at about 3am 'don't show me how to do it, just get him on and feeding' when the last 10attempts had been unsuccesful.
I remember the same midwife then suggesting that Nw takes Torby for a walk and leave the sobbing, overwrought mother alone to sleep for a bit.
I remember falling asleep in the middle of feedings. Waking up to find Torby off my bosoms and lying peacefully next to me.
I remember Torby hating the plastic box of doooom (aka his crib)
I remember getting home and wondering what we do now.
I remember finding out a week later that a friends son had killed himself while we were tucked away. People had, quite rightly so, made the call not to tell us at the time.
Such a weird headspace and time of our life. Your world narrows down to this new creature who has entered your life. It's quite odd.