Just Brave Enough

It is often asked "How many weeks was he?" or "How much did he weigh?" when the topic of my son being premature arises. These answers have become routine, the words flow out of my mouth before my brain can even formulate a sentence; it's almost a reflex. The truth is, however, having a preemie and enduring a NICU stay is anything but routine. That is why we need NICU Awareness Month. I've seen what a two-pound baby looks like. I've seen translucent skin, tinted blue, peering out beneath tangled wires and tubes. I've seen a life stop breathing and a chest rise and fall with the help of a machine. I've seen eyes fused shut. I've seen hands the size of my fingertips, a head that fits in my palm, and a bottom that sits on three of my fingers. I've seen countless needles and heel pricks. I've seen an unbelievably small body under bright lights. I've seen an incubator shrouded with medical professionals day after day, planning the bes...

There’s something that I want to talk about. It’s something that is constantly on my mind, but has been affecting me more recently than in the past few months. Some days, it’s crippling but I carry on because, well, what else is there to do besides live the day to day? I’m a parent who is depended on. I know that I am trying my absolute best, but I don’t feel like I’m a good mother.  This has nothing to do with a lack of love in my heart. I love my son more than words can describe. I would do anything for him, regardless of my own well-being. I cherish every snuggle, sloppy kiss, and sweet giggle and I breathe through the tantrums and tough moments knowing that they’ll pass. I understand him, even though he can’t speak, and I think he knows that mama is his home. While I know all of these things to be true, my doubts of my capabilities as a mom don’t falter. For the past six months, Flynn has been receiving early intervention services. We started him out with just physical th...

We are coming up on Flynn's first birthday. Unlike some parents, I am not sad that he's getting older. I'm actually excited for him to be growing and learning and turning one, even though time has flown by. What I am  anxious about is recalling the events of one year ago. I am afraid to relive the day my baby was born. I’m sure I’m not alone in saying this. I’m positive that there are other mothers out there that experience this feeling, namely parents of babies that were born prematurely or under traumatic circumstances. I see the dates pass by and, in my head, I’m recreating what exactly went wrong and how. It’s like watching a horrific accident unfold, but I can’t stop it. I know that I can’t be the only one, yet I feel so isolated. Who wishes that they could just forget something that should have been so magical? The day that my child was born was not the happiest day of my life, it was the scariest and most traumatizing. It’s a day that I try not to think about and...

No one gets to tell you that you’re fine. You’ve fought hard. You’ve overcome a lot. No one gets to dismiss that for you. You’re not fine. You're not fine because you're struggling and that's okay. Every day is hard and there is some kind of battle to face. It's okay to not be okay. If you want to not be a fighter today, that's your choice. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Cry, scream, vent, carry on. Do what you have to do to get through the day. Find someone that allows you to do that. You need it. You can always try again tomorrow. You do not have to put on a fake smile and pretend everything is perfect. You know why? Because it's not. It's not perfect because life isn't fair. Are there ways that you am more fortunate than others? Of course, that's the case with anyone. There are also some things that just aren't right. You will have to fight harder or never get them at all and that  is what you get to be angry about. Am I lucky to...

The NICU and the ICU may have been the most painful points of our lives, but once you leave, that doesn't mean it's over. Even still, we are going through the most difficult time we've ever had. Don't get me wrong, we are so incredibly thankful to have our son. I am so grateful to be able to hold him in my arms every single day and get those sloppy baby kisses. Given our journey, we are fortunate to have him here at all. Some days, though, that joy doesn't totally numb the pain. Is it selfish? Probably. But it's only human to hurt. Before I was able to get pregnant, seeing a woman with a baby bump would make me sad. It would remind me of what I was incapable of, but wanted so badly. Now, it conjures memories of what I once had and loved, but I failed at. It's a reminder of what I will never have again. I'm not sure which has been more painful. Is it worse to have something and have it taken away, or to have never experienced something at all? Obviously...

*The following may be sensitive material to anyone who has had their own NICU experience. Read at your own discretion.* While it's an amazing feeling to have a NICU graduate, the experience is not over once those glass doors close behind you for the last time. I honestly thought that I would feel total relief and comfort when I scooped up my son, buckled him in his car seat, and headed home, but that wasn't the case. Aside from what I would describe as "new parent anxiety" after bringing an infant home for the first time, I felt something more. I was panicked and scared to live a life where my baby wasn't hooked up to machines and monitors and without nurses on call, but when it was quiet, I suffered. I still struggle every single day. It started the day we had brought Flynn home from the hospital. Shortly after we arrived home, it was time for him to eat. I prepped the bottle, but he wouldn't take it no matter how warm it was or how we held him. I called t...

In the days that followed Flynn's birthday, I was overjoyed that I finally had the family I'd always wanted. The baby that I hoped and wished I would be blessed with was here and though he was early and we were unsure of what the future would bring, he was ours and we were so lucky to have him. Though I was once again home without my baby after my second hospital stay, I was extremely lucky to be alive and well enough to hold him again even though that meant traveling back and forth to see him. The time spent apart from my baby were the longest hours of my life. I was constantly calling and thinking about him. I sat there for as long as I physically could and whenever I could get a ride back and forth. In spite of the separation and exhaustion, I was happy. I thought it would be that simple: we had our son and I was happy. I was wrong. I wasn't prepared for the never-ending guilt that I would experience. It started in the days before Flynn was born and I still have i...

As a the mom of a preemie, there are a lot of things that you "lose." The first of which is getting to tell your birth story because not only do you most likely not want to relive it over and over, people generally don't ask either. I'm not sure what is worse, the feeling of guilt because you don't want to talk about your own baby's birth or the fact that no one wants to hear it. Well, I'm ready to tell mine: For some reason, the second I found out that I was pregnant, I feared that I was going to have to take the twenty-eight week glucose test and that I was going to develop gestational diabetes. Why? I honestly don't know. In my head, however, this was the worst thing that could happen and it was going to happen to me. For about twenty-two weeks, I lived with this fear and expressed it to many people who probably  thought that I was insane. My glucose test was scheduled months in advance for the day after Valentine's Day. Yes, the girl whose ...