Years before I ever imagined becoming a parent, I likely had a chat with my mom about childbirth. I can picture her sharing stories of my birth, including my dad’s infamous tale of threatening to punch my obstetrician for being late to his vacation due to my early arrival. Knowing me, I probably asked her about her experiences during labor and hospital stays, even expressing a desire to have her by my side when the time came for me to give birth.
Fast-forward to my pregnancy, and my perspective shifted dramatically. The only person I wanted present during labor was my partner, Liam. I craved solitude in the hospital and definitely didn’t want any relatives there to greet us upon returning home.
During our prenatal appointments, I noticed many couples brought along family members. It was always a packed scene in those tiny ultrasound rooms, where it seemed like a small army was present. However, I decided that when our baby arrived, it would just be Liam and me. Given that we lived near D.C. and our families were in Florida, it wasn’t feasible to have them rush to the hospital when I went into labor. I was perfectly okay with that.
Then, at 33 weeks, I went into premature labor. Panic set in; we hadn’t finished the nursery, the car seat was uninstalled, and our baby didn’t even have a name yet. Thankfully, our little one stayed put, but after a grueling 12 hours of contractions and IVs, I felt utterly exhausted. I imagined how I’d feel after the baby arrived, knowing how I like to be left alone when I’m sick. The thought of well-meaning relatives hovering over me as I tried to recover was daunting.
Our parents offered to help with chores and nighttime feedings, but I didn’t want their first moments with their grandchild to involve laundry or cleaning. I planned to breastfeed, so what assistance could they truly offer?
Ultimately, it dawned on me that throughout my pregnancy, it had been just Liam and me, navigating each twist and turn together. We realized our son might be our only child, so we cherished the idea of those initial days at home as just the three of us. I knew I had to communicate this to my parents. While they may not have been thrilled, they respected our wishes and agreed to wait a week or two before visiting.
As we were wheeled from the delivery room to recovery, I spotted a large family eagerly waiting in the maternity area. They looked at me with a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. I felt sorry for the new mother who would have to face that crowd. I just wanted to return to my room with Liam and quietly marvel at our newborn. Of course, we still had phone calls and messages to share the good news, but at least we could silence our phones.
The first couple of weeks at home were a whirlwind. I had a C-section, and the recovery was tough. We set up camp in the living room to avoid climbing stairs. Despite being novices in baby care, we figured things out together, tackling every late-night feeding and diaper change as a team. Fortunately, we managed to eat, shower, and catch some sleep. By the time our parents arrived, we were starting to feel more like seasoned parents.
Seeing our family was heartwarming; I loved witnessing Liam’s dad’s joy as he held his first grandson, and it was delightful to watch my mother-in-law as she observed her son in this new role. Still, I’m grateful they waited to visit. Those first moments as a family of three were irreplaceable, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
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In summary, we opted for solitude after the birth of our child, focusing on bonding as a new family. By setting boundaries with our families, we created a peaceful environment to navigate the challenges of parenthood together.