So, while Dave and I were waiting to go into theatre on the day Luca was born, I decided that was the right time to discuss the possibility of me going mental (my reference to post-natal depression or the baby blues) and what he should do in the event that it occurred. He was to have me medicated immediately. But, it wouldn’t happen to me! Not happy-go-lucky Nicki! Never!
So, on day three when I woke up and was packing my bags to go home and the third day blues hit, I was very unprepared. I cried because (necessary and totally standard) tests were being done on my baby, involving blood being drawn from the heel of his foot to test for jaundice and thyroid activity, a lady with a scary machine came in while I was struggling to nurse Luca amidst the barrage of people in and out of my room, making him fussy and me, mental. She stuck a tube (or something) into Luca’s ear to test his hearing and, while Luca slept through the entire ordeal, I cried like a lunatic. A woman arrived from the Department of Birth Registrations arrived to collect forms (which I hadn’t yet completed) to register Luca’s birth. I cried when I couldn’t remember Dave’s ID number and when I realised I didn’t have the exact change to hand to the birth register lady. A lovely girl came to take a photograph of Luca’s tiny fingers holding onto my pinky finger for R50. I did it and then cried because I could just imagine how beautiful it was going to come out. (It is beautiful!) The amazing Cavim Knight popped in to see if the advice she had given me on breast-feeding on Tuesday night had worked. It had. I cried because I thought she was a saint and no one truly appreciated people like her. My gynae came in to inspect the cut and gave me a script after looking at me almost humourously as I blubbed through a snotty nose and red eyes that I was still waiting for my husband to arrive and that I had packed my bags to early and now I was tired and my baby didn’t want to eat. That script was for Eglynol. Thank goodness she gave it to me. Saved my life. Then I cried a bit more when Sister Musgrave came in and saw me crying and gave me the biggest, longest hug I have ever been given. The hospital seriously needs more people who give hugs and allow crazy new moms to drool and snot all over their shoulders. Sister Musgrave, you are awesome. I cried again when Dave arrived and I felt a huge sense of relief wash over me. I cried while I was waiting for Dave to pull the car around and a sickly todder coughed and spluttered too close to my tiny baby in his enormous car seat. I cried when I couldn’t get the seatbelt around the car seat and I cried when the sun shone into Luca’s eyes as we crawled up Malibongwe Drive in the afternoon traffic.
In essence, I cried A LOT. About pretty silly things. But, had I been prepared and been told how these blues would hit when I least expected them to, perhaps I would have cried a little less and behaved somewhat more sanely. Husbands, prepare yourselves for the tears … your wife will change from perfectly rational to totally demented and emotional. But it will pass … with support and love and in experiencing the joy that comes from becoming a mum, it will pass. I just want you to know … the third day blues are real!