My daughter had some breathing issues that necessitated her admittance to the NICU immediately upon birth. For the first 36 hours after she was born, she stayed 4 floors above me in a warmer next to a premature triplet girl who weighed just over 1lb to my daughter's almost 7. During the day I tried to stay with her for as long as they would let me or until sitting became an agony thanks to the second degree tear I earned shoving her out into the world. During the night I journeyed up into the quiet beeps of the NICU every two hours to feed her and to get updates on her.
Sexyhusband was with me the majority of the time as he did not have to wake every two hours to try to breastfeed the baby or pump when the breastfeeding failed.
Both of us were exhilarated and exhausted. I at least had the benefit of the post birth adrenaline that makes you feel like you can do anything.
The hospital I had given birth in provided single rooms to all the new moms. The bed provided was, of course, a single. Sexyhusband was lucky enough to score a cot as opposed to the toture device that was a chair that theoretically flattened out into a bed but was more like a rock designed to twist your spine out of recognition. There was a privacy curtain between my bed and the door to the room, which did not lock. People knocked, or at least they knocked before barging in regardless.
The second night after our daughter was born, she was released from the NICU and like all the other moms, I was given the option of having her "room in" with me. Which I definitely did as it was our first chance to be alone with her.
Sexyhusband and I squeezed into the hospital bed and watched the LM sleep, her chubby cheeks and dark swirl of hair captivating us. Like all new parents we watched her in awe, marveling how something as incredible as this little girl could have come from a single fertilized cell. We talked about the various ultrasounds I had had, how she had changed from a tadpole to something vaguely lizardlike (with a tail) to something that actually looked like a baby. We laughed about the ultrasound pic my OB has referred to as "alien face". We reminisced about feeling her kick. And about how stupid I had felt and how funny it had been when I showed up for my induction and had actually been in labor...."I just thought she was pushing her butt against my ribs" I had said. Sexyhusband talked about watching me give birth--he had been holding one of my legs and had had a front row seat for the main event, so to speak.
Talking about all of it while watching her brought about a rush of love. For the baby and for my husband.
Even though it felt like an 18 wheeler truck had slammed into my vagina, I turned over to face Sexyhusband and we began to kiss. The kisses led to touches (more me touching him, as there were very few parts of my body that were not sore). Before either of us really knew what was going on, I was giving him a handjob.
I realize that I am in the minority here (well, maybe not among MY readers, but certainly among the general new mom population if the boards and online communties I frequent and the women I've spoken with are any indication) but at least in our initial days, I felt more loving towards my husband than ever before...and I felt sexual. Maybe it was the oxytocin (the love hormone) that my attempts to breastfeed, the pumping and the shrinking of my uterus were producing. I knew that I wanted to express my deep love for my husband and sex was certainly out of the question. Perhaps that why I instinctively reached (if you'll pardon the pun) for a handjob.
I've often wondered where things would have gone from there if our child hadn't become so sick as she did. But she did, and as a result, my sexuality became the last thing I would think of for some time.
But that's another post.
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