little patch of life

i just wasn't ready

And I'm still not. How could I ever be?

Having spent a month and a half leaving him with other people, letting nurses hold him, watching different people care for him and seeing nursery nurses pick him up and carry him just because he's cute. Feeling secondary and not good enough for him.

So when the family arrived to see Skittle for the first time at home, I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready for them to cuddle him, I didn't like them holding him and passing him around. I was just about ok with my Mum and sisters visit, I knew my Mum understood and they each had one cuddle, no playing pass-the-baby. But I found it really hard when he cried and at one point just took him off my sister-in-law because he was upset and I needed to comfort him. Not her. Not anyone else. It's my turn. Me and hubby have spent long enough watching other people do it and now I can't bring myself to allow others to join in.  I'm aware it sounds selfish and it's not attractive, but right now Skittle is more important.



And I'm sure it sounds extreme too. Over protective. Unnecessary. Mean. Unfair even, to deprive other lovely people of a little baby cuddle. But I'm just not ready to hand him over. And I don't know when I'm going to be. That first month and half was so horrendous I'm not sure when this feeling will fade.

The strange thing is, having other people here holding him evoked two polar opposite reactions. Firstly deprivation, thinking others are keeping me from holding my baby close. I don't think its jealousy. I'm not jealous of others cuddling him, I just literally can't stand the separation, no matter how minor a relative holding him in our own home may seem. But the other reaction is fear and shut down.

When my family members were cuddling Skittle I just felt terrible, like I should just go and hide in the other room because clearly whoever was holding him would do a better job of looking after him anyway. I fought this withdrawal hard. I know it's just the effects of him needing hospital care. I know its a result of feeling helpless for so long. I know it's not the case now. I know they've let him home because they think we're capable of looking after him ourselves now. I know the family just think it's nice to cuddle their new nephew/grandson/great-grandson. But it fills me with fear. Probably irrational, but so much fear. This is one of the reasons why I'm reluctant to go out anywhere or see people, what if they take him off me. I can't cope yet.

I'm not ready.

useless

I feel so useless. I am useless. I didn't give birth to my son. You couldn't even say that I had him. He was just taken out of me one day because I was so useless at being pregnant. So useless in fact that they had to put me to sleep in order to have him for me.

No incredible birth story. No beautiful experience. No indescribable moment shared between hubby and I. No hearing his first cry. No cutting the cord. No kissing his head as he entered the world. No chance to feel his slimy newborn skin. No tearful moment of wonder at what we'd accomplished.

I won't be watching 'One Born Every Minute' again that's for sure. I used to like trawling through baby websites reading birth stories before Skittle was born. It's not like I had great expectations ready to be destroyed. No wonderful birth plan to be cancelled. Didn't imagine it would necessarily be a natural birth, with my history they'd be keeping a close eye. I wasn't being unrealistic, I had thought a c-section might be in order. But I'd always said "a c-section under general anaesthetic, that would just be my worst nightmare".

My worst nightmare came true.

My gorgeous boy didn't hear our voices, he wasn't hugged and kissed, he didn't feel warm skin. I couldn't feel more guilty even if I tried. Nothing could be worse. Oh have I tried to make up for it. In NICU I stroked him, held him, kissed him, sang to him, talked to him. Had as much skin-to-skin as the nurses would allow and only ceased my entourage of contact when his temperature wasn't regulating and I was told to shut the incubator doors. Now he's home I talk and talk every time he's awake and the little love has barely been put down, I'm desperate for him to feel secure. For those early experiences not to have hurt him.

Look at that little eye open a crack, wondering what on earth is going on. Where has that warm, watery place gone that I was comfortably sat in earlier? The amazing thing is that Skittle really was fine, the whole time. No blips in heartrate, no distress on the monitor, he was ok. And much as that is fantastically brilliant, it really does mean it was my fault he came out too soon. If I could have been stronger he could still be in me now. For another 2 whole weeks.  

worry

I'm sure he's fine. I've just given him half a dose of gripe mixture. It says it's ok from 1 month, but then he technically isn't term, but then I only gave half a dose, and they were going to give him gaviscon in hospital for reflux and surely boots gripe water is weaker than that. Surely?

I just wanted to take the pain away and make him more comfortable. And give him some sleep and rest. To help his little body. I just wanted to help. So why do I feel like I've done something terrible. I bet I'll have a nightmare tonight about giving him a lethal injection. What is wrong with me? Why can't I chill out? Its gripe water for goodness sake.

We've been worried about him all day. He had a mammoth feed at 5.30am and then didn't wake up for 4 and a half hours. But technically that's ok too.

I wasn't going to do this. My Mum has slight over-protective tendencies(!) and much as we've all turned out fine I was keen to be a little more chilled in my own parenting. Safe to say everything I'd thought about, which wasn't much seeing as we though there were 10 weeks to go, has gone out the window now.

Other Mum's are so lucky. They don't know how good they've got it. I wonder what it's like not to worry. Or at least to worry a normal amount, about rational things. I don't know how I'll ever have a normal conversation with a normal Mum. I feel so different.

my mothers day

I really wanted Skittle home for Mother's Day. For some reason the thought of being home without my baby for my 1st Mother's Day just seemed like more than I could take. I was pretty sure God had told me he'd be home in time for 18th March but I couldn't be certain and I didn't want to get my hopes up. But he did get home in time! And it felt good. Not over the top just quietly wonderful. I was excited during the 3am feed and seeing as it was technically Mother's Day hubby let me have my presents there and then.

I got 2 lovely cards, one from my boys and one from my mum. Some gorgeous flowers and a personalised phone case with a photo of Mummy's boy.

And most excitingly, we went out. For the first time, we left the flat! We went to Trent Country Park and walked all of about 200m. But hey we can say we went for our first walk on our first Mother's Day and that's pretty special. That's a memory that'll last forever. Always to be cherished.

It was a bonus day seeing as Skittle wasn't even supposed to be around this year. And what an incredibly precious bonus it was.

little patch of life.

flashback

I'm scared to go to sleep tonight.

Silly really now baby is home and lying right next to me in his crib, touching the bed. I can slip my arm through the little wooden bars and stroke his head any hour of the night.

Hubby is here too. Snoring like a trooper but managing to wake up when baby cries loud enough and springing into action like a nappy changing machine.

So really I should be sleeping soundly at every opportunity. In fact, as I type, my boys are in the nursery having a cuddle and I've come to bed a little early so as to get as much shut eye as possible. But now that I'm here, its not going to happen. I just know it.

I'm not settled.

It's a lot better than it was actually. When I first got discharged night time was like some kind of horror movie. At least an 18. And I don't even watch 15s. My mind is easily troubled by the things my eyes see and those early nights were some kind of hideous torment.

It sounds dramatic I know. But I'm not kidding, it was horrendous. It's not so bad now 2 months on but it's still awful.

I say flashback. They're not all flashbacks. I mean, I can't remember when I was under general anaesthetic, can I? And I was out of it for almost 48 hours. So they can't all be flashbacks. My mind's been playing tricks on me. I've always liked my imagination. Not at the moment, it's imagining things I could do without. And dreaming is so the wrong word, dreams are supposed to be nice, when I think of dreaming I think of pondering the good things, elaborating on the future, making happy plans. No I've not been dreaming. I've been concocting. I'm pretty sure I didn't give myself permission to do so.

I wish I could tell me to stop.

I concoct images of the moment baby was taken out of me, I subconsciously visualise his resuscitation and ventilation. He dies over and over again, I die over and over again in all sorts of terrible, freak scenarios and then I wake up. Paralysed for a few moments and dripping with sweat. I thought I was going completely mad, but apparently it's a really normal response to trauma.

The worst night was when hubby had gone back to work. He was working 3 night shifts. Thankfully my precious muma came to stay for the weekend and she rescued me. The night was going badly, it had taken hours to get to sleep and then the alarm had gone off shortly after for the dreaded expressing.

I'd experienced harrowing things in my sleep that night and just couldn't stop crying. Couldn't bring myself to close my eyes again or put my head on the pillow. I rang hubby but he was with a patient, he did eventually call me back and spoke comforting, re-assuring things. But I just needed a hug, I needed someone to tell me it would all be ok. So I text my Mum. She was sleeping on the sofa bed with my littlest sister. She came through to the bedroom and got under the covers in hubby's place and hugged my sweaty, sobbing body. I felt like I was 5 again. She listened to my fears about going crazy and thinking I was mad. She stroked my moist, furrowed brow and wiped away my tears.

It was as if I was her little girl again, not her grown up friend. She told me it would all be ok and it would end and that it was normal and that it was just my body's response to trauma and that I wasn't going mad. She held my hand and stroked my skin and whispered gentle prayers in my ear until I fell asleep again.

Flashbacks are dire. This whole prem baby season of life has been bitter. But I'm so thankful to a God who promises to work for good. I'm so blessed to have a precious family, inspiring mother, and a whole host of moments to cherish from a dark time in life.