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After twelve hours of long labor, out came our little boy. The hospital discharged us a day later, terming my post-partum period uneventful. I went to my parents home and was extremely relieved to be back in the safety of our home.
The relief was short- lived. Our baby boy who was fine till the night of his second night since birth started wailing. He was calm only while I kept feeding him. I kept feeding him for one hours, two hours, three hours, four hours, but the moment, I unlatched him, he would start wailing at the top of his tiny voice.
His plight was pathetic and me and my husband were bewildered. We were at a total loss on what to do. We felt like five year old, trembling at the plight of our two day old son. My mother and my sister kept assuring me to keep feeding him and everything would be alright.
But everything was not alright even after five hours of feeding him continuously. Slowly my stitches started to show effect. I was unable to maintain my position. I wanted to run away, I wanted to calm that little boy, I wanted to sleep and I wanted to yell. I was close to tears when like angels, my husband and sister took turns in calming me and the baby down. For a few hours, they held him close to them, rocking him and he seemed like he was calming down. But, again after a few hours he was inconsolable again.
I sat holding him for a long time, but even that stopped working. He looked very tired from all the crying and his volume of cry decreased, too. That got us even more scared. His eyes were growing yellow and while crying there were no tears in his eyes. I was getting scared that he was slipping slowly into dehydration. All I could think of was go to the hospital and get him checked.
While I was getting ready, behind closed doors, I started weeping. I did not understand how in the name of god, had I given birth to a baby without even knowing how to calm him down. I felt like a failure and kept apologizing to my son. While I was weeping, there was a knock on the door and my husband came in. His eyes were regretful, tired and bewildered. For a second we stared into each others' eyes and then we slumped down, caught each other and wept harder than our little baby.
Finally, we wiped off each others' tears and took him to the hospital. They advised for a few tests. They kept pricking my baby and I could not stop crying. Thank god, that his memory of pain was not well developed, he stopped crying even before the tears in his eyes dried out. The test results came and they told us that he was indeed dehydrated. The doctor asked me to express my milk to see if he was getting enough milk. Shockingly, I was not producing more than a few drops and I felt guilty and ashamed.
The kindly doctor, stroked my head and told me to feed the baby with formula. He told me that I was stressed and maybe that's why the milk wasn't being produced.
Twenty minutes later, we were in a hospital room. I was sitting with my husband, weeping silently into his shoulder, while my mother was with my baby, feeding him with formula milk. He was gulping the milk like some tiny monster. He was so hungry. He gave a big burp and instantly fell asleep on my mother's shoulder.