It should have been a moment for my husband and I to celebrate, to hug and kiss over. Unfortunately, it wasn't. Immediately after delivering, I cried out to the nurses about the pain in my stomach. It had gotten much worse. It had become unbearable. That's when I started to fall into a deep, confusing haze.
"How's the baby?" you're asked constantly. "How's she eating/sleeping?" It doesn't take long for you to notice the monumental shift in focus, from you -- the glowing, pregnant woman -- to the baby. That seat that people jumped to offer you on the bus? Taken. It's touching to feel such warmth and interest towards your newborn, don't get me wrong. But how about we save some of that for mom?
Just in case you missed the first trillion times I mentioned it: giving birth was really hard. Now I am about to give birth again. This time, to a book. In some ways, giving birth to a book is harder than giving birth to a baby. Everyone loves your human baby because it's an innocent party in all of this. But many will hate your paper baby, because you made it, and you suck.