48. You can always Tell me Again
forty-eight
You can always Tell me Again
Leah
T wo days later…
“So, your mom got the travel crib set up for us?” I ask Dylan as we are driving home from the hospital.
“Yes. That will get us through the next couple of days. I’ll work on getting the nursery set up.”
“Sounds good.”
He reaches over to hold my hand. “Hey,” he says to get my attention.
I look over at him. “Yeah?”
“You’ve been really quiet, and let’s be honest, that’s not like you at all. What’s wrong? Are you still hurting?”
“I’m a little sore, but that’s not it.”
“Okay, what is it?”
I sigh. “I just feel all over the place. The past two days, I have had a ton of people telling me what to do and how to be a mom. The lactation nurse told me I was doing it wrong. Then that other nurse who told me that I’m probably going to have to use formula because I wasn’t producing enough for Luna. Your mom and sisters tried to give me advice, which I appreciate, but—”
“It’s a little too much all at once?”
“Yeah. I’m already questioning myself as a mother, and hearing other people try to give me their two cents makes me question it even more. It doesn’t help that my hormones are all out of whack. I’m sure I wouldn’t usually be this crazy about it. I’d just let it go.”
We are stopped at a light, and he looks over at me. “It doesn’t matter what your hormones are doing. What you are feeling matters. I’ll tell my mom and sisters to chill out.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. “I don’t want them to think I’m not grateful for everything they’ve done for us.”
“They won’t be offended, gorgeous. They’ll understand. You need to figure out this motherhood thing on your own, and you can ask for their input if you want it.”
We go back and forth, and I make him promise to let it go. I hope he actually listens.
Not only has the past couple of days been overwhelming with all of the opinions that have come pouring in, but it’s also been rough trying to recover. My incision is super sore, so the doctor recommended putting an ice pack on it a few times a day. To keep me from having to hold it on there constantly, they gave me what can only be described as a giant mesh diaper to wear that keeps it in place.
Do you know what’s not sexy?
A giant mesh diaper.
Do you know what’s even less sexy?
Having to have your partner help you take a shower and go to the bathroom because you’re too sore to do it yourself.
Dylan has been great—the perfect boyfriend and father of my child. But I wonder if he will still be attracted to me when I get back to feeling normal.
Right now, I just feel like a big, swollen lump. A lump wearing a mesh diaper.
He looks over at me. “I’m sure you will feel better when we get home and get settled.”
“You’re probably right,” I say to reassure him, but I’m not so sure. When we get home, there’s a whole hell of a lot of work to do. We have practically nothing for the baby, and what we do have isn’t put together yet.
The next couple of days should be interesting to say the least.
Guilt washes over me. Right now should be one of the happiest times of my life, but I can’t seem to get out of this funk. I feel this huge, heavy weight bearing down on me, and I’m struggling to keep it from squishing me.
I don’t want to say any of this out loud because Dylan is so happy, and I’ll be damned if I say anything that’s going to bring him down.
A couple minutes later, we pull into the driveway. Dylan grabs the car seat, and we all head inside .
When we get through the front door, we see a large banner hanging on one of the living room walls.
WELCOME HOME, BABY LUNA!
There is a note hanging by the front door that Dylan takes down to read.
“Welcome home, guys. We wanted to make sure your first few days home were as easy as possible. House is clean, the fridge is stocked, and be sure to check out the nursery. Love, Mom and Dad.”
“You seriously have the best parents in the world,” I tell him.
He sets the car seat down and gets Luna out. She stretches but doesn’t even wake up.
“Let’s go see this nursery,” he says while holding out his hand for mine.
When we open the door, I see the most perfect nursery I could have ever imagined. There’s no way I could have made it look this good even if I tried.
The crib is put together on one wall with pink sheets that match all the other pink stuff around the room—the curtains, a rug, and a small lamp. There’s a dresser and changing table on the opposite wall and a rocking chair in the corner. There’s even a small bookcase filled with an assortment of children’s books.
I walk around, trying to take all of it in. The dresser is completely stocked with clothes—some that Suzanne and I bought on our shopping trip and some I haven’t seen before. The changing table has assorted diapers on the shelf along with bath products. There’s even a breast pump.
“Holy shit,” I gasp. “Your parents have thought of everything. ”
“I wish I could say I’m surprised, but this is a pretty typical thing for my mom to do. One of her kids needs help, and she's the first one to jump in.”
I point my finger into his chest. “Now, you really can’t tell her to stop giving me advice. After doing all this, she can give me all the unsolicited advice that she wants.”
“Alright, I won’t say anything. I didn’t mean it before, but I definitely mean it now.”
He walks over and lays Luna down in her crib. After another stretch, she settles.
We stand at her side and look down at her. Dylan wraps his arms around me. “See that? You and I made that cute little thing.”
“I may have carried it, but based on her looks, I think you did more of the making. ”
“She may look like me, but have you heard the lungs on her? That’s all you, baby.”
He leads me out of the nursery and back to the living room. In the middle of the floor, he pulls me close, holding me while he sways even with no music playing.
“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” He says.
“You tell me you love me all the time.”
“You just had our baby. I don’t think that I’ve told you nearly enough.”
Looking up at him makes me feel the slightest bit better. “You can always tell me again.”