Chapter 195 One Hundred & Ninety Five

Chapter 195 One Hundred & Ninety Five
EMMA POV
The first thing nobody tells you about having a baby is that you don't actually get to rest afterward.
I thought labour was over. I thought I'd be done. I thought I could finally sleep.
I was so wrong.
They moved me to a recovery room and a nurse came in almost immediately to explain all the things my body was about to do.
Bleeding. Lots of bleeding. Like a heavy period times a thousand. They gave me pads the size of small blankets.
Stitches. Apparently I'd tore a little bit. Nothing major, but it hurt. Everything hurt.
Pain medication. They offered it. I took it gladly.
And then they told me I needed to breastfeed.
"Already?" I asked. I'd just pushed a human out of my body hours ago.
"The sooner the better," the nurse said. "It helps with bonding and helps the baby learn to eat."
She brought Grace to me and showed me how to position her.
Grace latched on immediately.
And oh my God, it hurt.
Not like labour hurt. Different hurt. Sharp hurt. Like tiny knives attacking my nipples.
"Ow," I said.
"That's normal," the nurse said. "You'll get used to it."
I didn't think I would get used to it. I thought my nipples were going to fall off.
Ryan was watching from the chair.
"You okay?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I'm not okay. She's eating me. This is cannibalism."
"You're exaggerating," he said laughing. It's been grinning so hard am scared his jaw would hurt by now.
"I'm not exaggerating," I said. "This is literally one of the most painful things I've experienced and I just pushed a entire human out of my body."
Ryan came over and rubbed my back while Grace fed.
"You're doing great," he whispered.
"Stop saying that," I said. "I'm not doing anything. Grace is eating. I'm being eaten."
But as the minutes passed, it did start to hurt less. And there was something incredible about feeding my daughter. About her tiny mouth working to get milk. About the fact that my body was doing this. That I was keeping her alive.
"She's beautiful," Ryan whispered.
"She looks like an angry potato," I said.
"A beautiful angry potato," he amended.
Grace finished eating and immediately fell asleep on my chest.
I was terrified to move.
What if I dropped her? What if she stopped breathing? What if I did something wrong?
"You can relax," the nurse said, like she could read my mind. "Babies are tougher than they look. You're not going to hurt her."
But I couldn't relax. Not really. I was hyper aware of every breath she took. Every tiny movement.
Ryan fell asleep in the chair beside my bed.
I didn't sleep.
I just stared at my daughter and thought about how much I already loved her. How terrifying that was. How fragile she looked.
At 2 AM, Grace woke up screaming.
I had no idea why she was screaming.
"What's wrong?" I asked the nurse who came running.
"Could be hunger. Could be gas. Could be nothing. Babies cry," the nurse said.
She showed me how to hold Grace over my shoulder and pat her back.
Grace spit up all over me.
"Oh my God," I said.
"That's normal too," the nurse said.
What wasn't normal was how much liquid a tiny baby could produce.
Ryan woke up at the sound of Grace screaming.
"What's wrong? Is she okay?" he asked, immediately panicking.
"She's fine," the nurse said. "Just normal newborn stuff."
But Ryan was already up, watching like he could somehow will Grace to stop crying through sheer force of love.
We eventually got Grace to fall back asleep around 3 AM.
But then I had to pee.
Which was a whole ordeal because I could barely walk. My body felt like it had been hit by a truck. Everything ached. Everything hurt.
Ryan had to help me to the bathroom.
"This is so romantic," I said sarcastically.
"The most romantic," he agreed, helping me sit down very slowly.
By the time I got back to bed, it was almost 4 AM and I was running on pure adrenaline and pain medication.
I tried to sleep but every time I closed my eyes, I panicked that Grace had stopped breathing.
So I just watched her sleep instead.
At 6 AM, a lactation specialist came in.
I didn't know those existed, but apparently they do.
She spent an hour showing me different positions for breastfeeding. She told me about latch and supply and all these things I didn't know I needed to know.
"It gets easier," she kept saying.
I didn't believe her.
Grace fed for what felt like forever. My nipples were screaming. My arms were tired. But she kept eating like she hadn't eaten in months.
"She's hungry," the lactation specialist said. "That's good. Means she's healthy."
"Does healthy have to hurt this much?" I asked.
"Unfortunately yes," she said. "For now."
By 7 AM, my mom arrived.
She took one look at me and immediately started crying.
"Oh, baby," she said, coming over to hug me very carefully.
"I look that bad?" I asked.
"You look like you just had a baby," she said. "You look beautiful."
I definitely didn't look beautiful. I looked like I'd been through a war. My hair was a disaster. I had dark circles under my eyes. I was wearing a hospital gown that barely covered anything.
But my mom didn't seem to care. She went straight to the bassinet where Grace was sleeping and just stared at her.
"She's perfect," my mom whispered.
"She's angry," I said. "And she eats constantly. And she cries a lot."
"That's what babies do," my mom said.
Ryan's mom showed up about an hour later with coffee and food.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, hugging me gently.
"Like I've been hit by a truck," I said. "But also like I have a daughter. So it's a mixed bag."
She laughed and went to look at Grace.
Both moms were cooing over Grace while I sat in bed trying not to bleed through my absurd pad.
This was my life now. This was actually happening.