As I sat, looking through the pictures of another beautiful birth story, I couldn't help but feel sad and mad and angry and a little queasy. I didn't get that beautiful birth story. I didn't get to be the first person to hold my baby. Heck, I was the last person in the room to see him. I didn't cry tears of joy when I heard him cry for the first time (which is incredible when you think about it, as I'm the biggest crier in the world almost). I didn't get to smile in his face and let people take pictures of his first moments while Andrew stared lovingly at both of us. I was robbed. I trusted the wrong person to help me make decisions about the birth of my child and I laid on an operating table while someone clinically cut me open, ripped out my son, handed him off to someone who took him across the room. I listened to him cry for me. I listened to the nurses talk to my baby while I laid there, numb, not just from the chest down, but all over. My husband cut the cord and I didn't see it. He took Ethan's first picture and I didn't see it. He picked him up and held him and I couldn't see it.
This time, it has to be different, things have to be different. I can't take this pain two times in a row. I love Ethan with all my heart and I'd go through that surgery another thousand times if it meant he'd be here safely now. But it isn't fair. It isn't right. People tell me to "get over it", but I can't and I won't. I'm making my life better and my experience better, because now I know better. Pictures of a baby's first moments should be one's of joy for everyone, but mostly, seeing other people's happy moments makes me feel sad and hurt and a little numb again.
This picture is my favorite and least favorite picture. It should be different, I should be in it.
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