Almost three years ago, I had one of my darkest of darkest days. Shadow baby had arrived, all pink and healthy, a baby girl of close friends. We had shared the pregnancy. Mine had ended far too soon, and hers was full-term. My baby girl was gone, and hers was chubby and healthy.
I think I went to bed for 2 days, maybe 3. It was agonizing.
Fast forward to yesterday. A phone call came at a similar time in the morning: It's a girl. 7lbs 10oz. She's perfect, mom is amazing. Their #2 had arrived, uncomplicated vag delivery, like the first. Everyone is great.
Yesterday, I did not need to go to bed. I did lose my breath a little bit, almost like someone had hit me in the stomach. I'm not sure if I was still uneasy because it was a little girl (I have had so many encounters with baby girls to this point I should be getting immune), or if it was a flashback to those dark dark days of three years ago. Probably a little bit of both.
I called M at work to tell him the news. We debated going up to visit in the afternoon, but decided that she was likely exhausted, would probably be discharged the next day and it was better to wait. A convenient excuse as neither of us was particularly excited about going. Horrible people, we are.
At any rate, I am nearly done my obstetrics rotation at school. I have given newborn baths, postpartum checks and helped moms breastfeed. I have witnessed births from a few feet away. I have watched excited grandparents fawn over babies, help new moms dress their baby for the first time and passed tissues to emotional dads. It has all been a whirlwind. I have coped and come home emotionally exhausted. I have two clinical days left and then I can say I survived.
How much can change in three years. Yet, the core is still the same.
