Unsolicited Existence by Alejandra Smits

Unsolicited Existence by Alejandra Smits

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Unsolicited Existence by Alejandra Smits
Unsolicited Existence by Alejandra Smits
720 days of this
Field Notes

720 days of this

Alejandra Smits's avatar
Alejandra Smits
Nov 24, 2024
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Day 1: I took you out of my body with my hands. I put you on my chest. I cried. Then you cried. We cried together for the first time. Oh, and I didn’t tear, not even a little bit!

Day 2: Yesterday, an hour after birth, two nurses took you to a different room. They’re concerned about your breathing. You had to spend the night there, away from us. I barely slept.

Day 6: I had no idea this would be so painful, to go back home without you. I can’t sleep. I worry a nurse is going to kill you by mistake. I dream of staying in the NICU with you until the doctors say everything is fine. Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, I’m praying for a miracle.

Day 7: The pediatrician thinks he’s funny, but he isn’t. “Why do all parents want to know if death is a possibility?” is what he asked me. He has three children. I know because during my sleepless nights back home I google him. I found out he likes skiing in the Alps.

Day 10: It’s your second day at home. I still can’t sleep. But you are healthy, and that’s all that matters.

Day 11: There’s something no one tells you about vaginal births: peeing = death. I avoid liquids just so I don’t have to pee as much. It’s worse than contractions.

Day 15: Apparently, your health wasn’t all that mattered. Sleep deprivation is making me spiral into very dark scenarios. I worry someone’s coming to kidnap you at night. Your dad sleeps wonderfully.

Day 22: Your dad and I had a horrible fight yesterday. I don’t want anyone holding you but me. Yeah, not even your dad. I don’t trust any other arms. I only trust mine.

Day 29: Another disgusting fight with your dad. This time, I started it: he wouldn’t promise me we would for sure have another baby.

Day 40: It’s been more than a month with you. We drive to Miami Beach to see your pediatrician. A funny woman who thinks your dad and I are related (as in direct family). Is that racist? I can’t tell.

Day 44: The obgyn, a wonderful guy, who helped bring you into this world saw me this morning for a routine checkup. When he asked if I had any signs of p.d, I thought he was asking if I had any signs of pedo (as in pedophile). But he was just referring to postpartum depression.

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