Bulletproof

by Maci Bookout

  I had never planned to get an epidural. But I had been in labor for so long at that point, I was completely exhausted and over it. So I said, “Give me that.”

  The catch, of course, is that the epidural slowed things down. It was another four or five hours before the nurses came back in to find I was at ten centimeters. That was when the doctor said, “Okay, it’s time to get everyone out. It’s time to start pushing.”

  Whoosh. It was like all the air went out of the room for a second. My head started swimming. I looked at her like she had five heads and then just went blank, internally freaking out.

  At that point I’d been in labor for over thirty hours, but it wasn’t until she said it was time to push that I had a moment of flat out panic. It was almost like every scrap of uncertainty and fear I’d been holding back for the last seven months exploded like fireworks in my mind. “Hold on,” I thought. “I need two more weeks. I’m not prepared for this. I don’t know what I was thinking. This is not okay!” I don’t think anyone knew, but inside I was freaking out.

  It didn’t matter, though. Things were happening fast, and it was time for me to push whether I was in a full-blown panic or not. I was so young and unprepared! When they said push, I went, “What do you mean, push? I don’t know how to push!” That was when I just prayed my body would take over. I’d gone with the flow trusting my body to know what to do when the time came. And now I thought, “Okay, body, take over. Do it. I’m totally lost here.” For a few moments I felt absolutely clueless, overwhelmed, and terrified. And then, thank God, it started to make sense. I started pushing.

  When you’ve had an epidural you’re still having contractions, but you can’t feel them anymore. A machine beside you tracks when they’re happening, and that’s when everyone tells you to push. My contractions were just thirty or forty-five seconds apart. I had Ryan on one side and my mom on the other, and I started giving it my all. I pushed and pushed, every time another contraction took over, every half a minute. Contraction after contraction, minute after minute, until a half hour had gone by without any sense of progress whatsoever. At that point I felt like I had no idea what was going on. I didn’t know how it was going anymore, and in a mix of exhaustion and my usual stubbornness, I wasn’t about to ask.

  But at the thirty-five minute mark, I was losing steam. I was so tired and drained that I started to drift off in the thirty seconds between contractions. Each time it was time to push, they had to wake me up. And I was so exhausted. Dead exhausted. It got to a point where I thought, “I can’t do this anymore.” I didn’t feel it was physically possible for me to have this baby. There just wouldn’t be enough left in me to pull it off. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, but it just wasn’t working.

  And then something weird happened. One of the monitors started beeping in an urgent way, and I heard a nurse say something about our temperatures rising. Bentley and I were getting a fever very suddenly, apparently. It wasn’t clear, but the mood in the room shifted so plainly I could feel it even in my half-dead, delirious, exhausted state.

  The doctor looked at me and said, “Okay. You get one more shot. One more chance to get him out, and that’s it.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, but I didn’t even bother panicking. I saw her seriousness and told myself, “Okay. You can do it this time.” And I just pushed. I poured everything into that last effort. I remember it took every ounce of will and strength I could find in me.

  And then we had Bentley.

  I never asked what happened or why things got tense, and no one ever brought it up with me. I knew they were worried, because as soon as Bentley came out, they took him over to the table to check him without even letting Ryan cut the cord. They were very impatient to make sure he was okay. But it all turned out fine. Bentley was healthy and crying, and everything was normal. They cleaned him off and measured him, and then, finally, they brought him over and put him in my arms.

  “Oh my God,” I said. “I actually had a really cute newborn.”

  It was the most teenager thing I could have possibly said at that moment, but at least it came from the heart. And he wasn’t just cute. He was absolutely perfect.

  ***

  The best word to describe my first days of motherhood is “surreal.” The hospital experience became a blur in my memory. It was a hectic event. There were sixty people in the waiting room, plus camera crews from MTV. I’d been in labor for thirty-seven hours. I’d barely slept. Plus, I was still completely clueless as to how to care for a child. And yet somehow in the midst of all that chaos, I felt completely at peace. I’m talking Zen-like bliss. Maybe it was just my psychological reaction to the chaos, my way of not succumbing to how overwhelmed I really felt, but I felt like I just had a little oasis of calm in the middle of everything. Like I said, it was surreal. Nothing in the world could ever compare to the way it felt. There’s no experience that will ever measure up to that.

  The euphoria caught me completely off guard. When people talk about being new parents, they always seem to jump right to the difficult parts. It’s always jokes about forgetting what sleep is, or what free time is, or what peace and quiet is. I was braced for all of that. And when I was pregnant, I wasn’t really the type to sing lullabies to my belly. Some women seem to have a kind of mystical experience during pregnancy where they feel intensely bonded with the child growing inside of them. I was more perplexed by the experience. In the later months when I could lie in bed and watch my belly move, I’d just laugh. I always joked, “Until it comes out and it’s a human baby, it’s just a cute little alien.” I didn’t have a special, glowing feeling about pregnancy. More like my back hurt.

  So with that attitude going in, I was totally unprepared for the sudden, enormous, completely pure love that consumed me when I held Bentley in my arms for the first time. It was just instant, automatic, life-changing love. And it was a mind-blowing feeling, especially considering that all newborns really do is cry, poop, spill things, and take all of your energy. But I felt that bond strongly and immediately. It made the entire experience so enjoyable.

  Everyone warned me that parenting was exhausting and hard, and it’s true that all babies really do is cry, poop, spill things, and take all of your energy. Everyone told me that it’s exhausting and draining and very difficult and a lot of work. But no one told me that I would want to do it. I didn’t know it would give me so much pleasure to get up out of bed when he was crying and pick him up and make him feel better.

  Those first weeks played like one happy scene in my head. Waking up in the middle of the night I would hear him fussing in his bassinet and even though I could hardly hold my eyes open, I would get up and go straight to him. It was so rewarding to be the person who could make him feel better, or fix what he wanted. I would lie in bed with him, dozing off but resisting at the same time, just appreciating the moments, even when I was absolutely exhausted. Times during the day when my mom would be doing chores and my dad would be around doing something, and I’d lie on the couch feeding Bentley, feeling like it was just me and him and feeling very complete.

  Ryan was really proud and overwhelmed at the birth. At the same time, I could tell he was shocked by the reality of the responsibility that came with it. When that excitement and shock wore off, he just looked completely lost.

  I was lost, too, but I was too happy to mind. The haze of contentment and love I was drifting in for the weeks after Bentley’s birth seemed to prove I had managed to adapt, after all. It’s so interesting how smart our bodies are, and their ability to do what they need to do when they need to do it. That became clear to me during labor, delivery, and the first weeks of Bentley being home. I hadn’t prepared. I didn’t know what I was doing. My only points of reference were movies and TV. But even though my mind had no idea, my body and instincts took over without me having to reason anything out. That was amazing to me, and I loved it because it gave my mind a level of freedom I hadn’t expected. By letting my maternal instincts take o
ver, I could let my mind soak up the amazing experience I was having.

  The first night in the hospital, when he would cry, I didn’t know what to do or what he was crying for. At first I was freaking out. But I learned quickly that I could understand what he was crying for. It was as if, because I was his mom, I could communicate with him almost intuitively. When others were in the room and he started to cry, I watched them go through the checklist: “He just ate, so he can’t be hungry. He just had his diaper changed, so that’s not why.” But for me, his cry told me exactly what he needed. I would know immediately.

  In some ways, the experience of motherhood left me in awe. In a weird way, it helped me to understand the basic nature of human beings, how strong our instincts are, and the fact that we’re animals. Intellectually I would expect to struggle with things, but when my baby needed me to do something, my body and instincts just obeyed. It amazed me to witness that within myself.

  I don’t know if fathers have the same innate tendencies that moms do when babies are born. My only experience was as half of a very young couple. I don’t know if it’s different for fathers who are older and more grown up inside and out. They say women mature younger than men. Maybe men develop nurturing instincts later in life. But I don’t think it’s common for young fathers to feel the same automatic, intense attachment to a newborn child as it is for young mothers.

  The first flicker of warning was in the hospital that first night. I didn’t let the nurses take Bentley to the nursery. That was stubborn of me! I went on to share that lesson with future parents: Let them take the baby! Get as much sleep as you can! But at the time, I didn’t want to let him out of my sight. And that night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I realized I’d made a terrible mistake. Bentley was crying, and I didn’t know what to do.

  I’d been in labor for thirty-seven hours. Thirty-seven hours of pain and fatigue with no break, no sleep. I’d been talking to all of these people at the hospital. I was exhausted beyond anything I’d ever imagined.

  Ryan was sleeping across the room. And as I lay there kind of freaking out, I expected, or hoped, he’d get up to do something to help. But he was just sleeping through it and not at all worried about anything but continuing to sleep. And there was a moment when I thought, “What in the world? I need you to get up and help me, what are you doing?”

  But being me, I said nothing. God forbid anyone should know I was struggling a bit. My mind and body were so wiped out I couldn’t even imagine feeling rested again, but the baby was crying and his father, somehow, was going to sleep right through it. I didn’t know if it was that motherhood instinct that kept me from passing out cold or if it was just sheer force of will, but either way, I handled it.

  CHAPTER 9:

  CHANGE OF HEART

  For the first few weeks, there was no clear picture of how our family life would be. For one thing, it was all incredibly new and exciting. For another, we had our moms there helping us. My mom stayed with us for a week, and then his mom stayed with us for a week. They were an enormous help. Without them I would have had a much harder transition into the difficulties you have to get used to as a mom. And I was as in the dark as Ryan when Bentley was born. I had never changed a diaper or fed a child. I wasn’t even a big fan of kids, to be honest. But I managed to adapt to my role and rejoice in it. It wasn’t like everything was perfect and fun all the time. Changing diapers isn’t a hobby. But as a mom, I found there was intense satisfaction in knowing that I was the one who calmed down my baby and made him feel better. There was a deep feeling of reassurance in that. It steadied me to know that I was providing someone with that feeling of peace.

  Young dads may not have the same instinct. I couldn’t guess either way. There’s a commonplace attitude that they just aren’t as driven to nurture as women are. And maybe science can back up that theory someday. But in the meantime, in the real context of parenting, those low expectations can sometimes seem like a convenient cop-out. There are plenty of men with children who are good fathers and don’t seem so agonized by a lack of parental instinct. It doesn’t matter, anyway, whether they feel the same internal drive that mothers do. They can still invest in the family, and keep investing in their relationship. If a father doesn’t have the same automatic natural feelings about parenthood, he can still be willing to help. Because even if the mother might be more instinctively compelled to jump out of bed automatically when the baby cries, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t get just as tired as anyone else. Nothing stops any father from taking on his fair share of the responsibilities, and even learning how to find satisfaction in it.

  After our moms left and things slowed down, it was just me, Ryan, and Bentley at the apartment. Almost right away, I knew that I was going to be kind of on my own in the whole parenting thing. Ryan was a provider in the sense that he went to work every day and paid the bills. But I was getting up with Bentley every single time in the middle of the night and every single morning. Meanwhile, it seemed like Ryan always had some sort of reason not to be in the house. If he wasn’t at work, he was at the gym or at dinner with friends, and by the time he made it home, he would just go right back to sleep without even spending time with Bentley.

  I didn’t know if he was overwhelmed by the thought of figuring out what to do, or if he just wasn’t interested. Maybe he was afraid of messing up, so he decided not to try. Or maybe it was because I wasn’t asking for help, so he thought I didn’t need it. And it was true that I didn’t express my frustration to him when I could have. But I didn’t want to be that person. It was just a bad mixture brewing between young parents.

  Once the hustle and bustle following the birth had faded, Bentley was my only company. My friends were making their ways through senior year. My parents had stepped back to let me settle into motherhood. And Ryan was always working or doing his thing. Slowly but surely, unhappy feelings began to creep in. For one thing, I was no longer quite as okay with that whole concept of being on my own. It was great when I was just a typical teenage girl with a healthy sense of independence. But now I was a teen mom in an adult life with a fiancé and a baby, and I couldn’t make it all work by myself. I needed support, communication, and company. I believed that Bentley needed a good relationship with his father. And when the reality of what was really happening snapped into place, it felt like my wheels spun out.

  From that first moment in the shower when I knew I was pregnant to the moment Bentley was born, a million fears and doubts circled the edges of my mind. But I never thought I’d be raising Bentley without a father. We were engaged. We lived together. We had our families supporting us, our moms helping us, our friends excited for us. And we had this amazing child who needed us both to be there with him. It wasn’t just that our circumstances could have been worse. We didn’t even have it that bad. We actually had it pretty good. There was no reason for me to think we wouldn’t be able to make it work and be happy as a family.

  ***

  While things between Ryan and me looked worse by the week, things between Bentley and me were great. I got lucky. Bentley was really chill. Apart from when he was being a normal newborn, needing a bottle every three hours and crying when he didn’t get what he wanted, he was never a big whiner. In fact, he showed no interest in any of the usual baby quirks that drive new parents crazy. He never had tummy aches. He liked the first formula I gave him. No allergic reactions to soaps or laundry detergents. Even his teething phase barely made an impression on my memory, because somehow it never drove him to the kind of meltdowns you’re taught to expect.

  People make a big deal out of a baby’s first words. For me the big moment was when he started cooing. For a month or so, babies don’t really make any noise except for crying. So when you catch them making their first attempts at the kinds of sounds that will someday turn into words, it’s almost mind-blowing. There was something so amazing to me about watching him go through those first increments of growing and developing. I could look into his eyes and see his l
ittle brain starting to work things out. I’d talk to him, and he’d reply to me with his little sounds. It was so incredible and sweet. I could actually see him transforming from a crazy baby to a real person. That had more of an impact on me than his first words did. There was a lot of wonder involved in parenting. It was fascinating in all of these ways I hadn’t expected. I loved watching him pick up on things. It’s so interesting to watch them learn the most basic things from scratch, just through instinct and adaptation.

  And yet for all the wonder and whimsy in the house, the tension between Ryan and me was still just creeping deeper and deeper. To my complete shock and confusion, I just couldn’t figure out how to share that joy and excitement with him. Bentley was like this amazing, special energy in the house that was so easy to tap into. But I just couldn’t seem to get his father to see the appeal. And each day he found a reason he couldn’t spend time at home, I started grappling with the ugly possibility that he just didn’t want to be there.

  If I was honest with myself, the doubts had started to creep in during the pregnancy. I wasn’t blind. I’d seen the hints of disinterest and the gap between our attitudes toward the baby and about what would happen next. But at the time, I had no idea what to do other than to wait for the craziness to die down and then get to working on it. I didn’t know what to do when it got worse. And it really did.

  We started arguing all the time. If we weren’t arguing, we weren’t around each other. And I know my personality was part of the problem in that I didn’t want to ask him for help. I still didn’t consider myself that type of person. I wanted to be strong and composed and calm. Even though I needed him, I didn’t know how to let him know without sounding needy or weak. And frankly, I never thought I would have to spell it out. Forget about whether or not I could expect him to love parenthood as much as I did. There was a baby in the house. It was our baby. We were his parents. There were obvious things that needed to be done, and it was way too much to expect one person to handle.