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Home at Last
Bringing baby home from hospital
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On Sunday, every bed on the ward empties out but ours.
The woman with twins from the bed across pokes her head in on the way out.
“Sister,” she asks, “you are going home, too?”
I shake my head but wish her the best. And then it’s just us.
At least it’s quiet. I draw back the curtains around our bed so the air can move.
I’ve been mobilizing with high-knees marches, butt kicks, leg lifts to the side and back. There is a lot of sitting with breastfeeding, and my tailbone has enough to contend with already. It helps a bit to activate the glutes between feeds.
Cleaning staff come to ready the empty spaces. Medical staff linger; other rooms are more chaotic today.
But the peace doesn’t last. On Monday, all the beds fill up again. It’s now been four days of crying newborns, restrictive rules, medical staff coming in and out.
“Would you like to be discharged today?” The midwife on shift asks us in the morning.
“So much,” I breathe.
As long as the baby’s lab tests keep trending in a healthy direction, there’s no indication that we should stay. His latest…
