After I gave birth to Klara, I had this weird feeling that I had forgotten how to eat and sleep and that I’d never learn again.
On the third day, the nurse said she was taking Klara away for a car seat test and that she’d keep her at the nursery for a couple of hours to give me a chance to sleep.
So she took her away, and I crashed onto the bed, thinking “Yippee! Finally, I can conk out. Sweet dreams, here I come!!!”
I was almost asleep when suddenly a wave of the most horrible, howling anxiety grabbed me and dragged me off the bed. It was the bonding hormones that decided to come in at that time because, of course, they couldn’t have possibly waited until I actually slept.
So I crawled out of the room with my IV, my drug bag, and my ass hanging out in the air in the mesh panties for all the world to see. I saw my disheveled, swollen, half-naked reflection in the mirror and thought, “God, there sure are some ugly old hags trawling these halls at 3 am.”
A nurse caught me and tried to stuff me back into my room but I warded her off with my IV stand. “That’s my baby crying,” I vociferated. “I can hear her!”
“There’s a whole nursery full of babies,” the nurse said. “It can be any one of them.”
I was right, though. It was my Klara screaming. I found her and dragged her back to the room.
Since then, I unfortunately found out that I know how to eat better than ever.