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...

The other day, I lost my patience. I shouldn't have and I'm not proud of it. There really is no excuse for it, but I reached my breaking point and it all came pouring out in the form of a scream, throwing a plate full of food in the sink and a puddle of tears. I've been beating myself up about it ever since it happened. As a mom, there is a lot of pressure to do everything and to do it well without losing the smile on your face. As the mother of a little one who has even greater needs, that pressure intensifies because the more that a child requires, the bigger the smile must be, the bar for perfection raises, and the patience that goes along with it increases. We are constantly walking on a very thin tightrope. At the end of the day, our babies are doing their very best (even on bad days) and they need our love and support always, but getting to the end of the day as happy beings can sometimes take more work. My son is a happy, energetic, spunky, funny, playful, and am...

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...

Today, I went to the doctor, which is unfortunately not an uncommon occurrence for me (or my son, for that matter). I had yet another follow-up with my neurosurgeon, who had always managed to crush all of my hopes and dreams with more bad news, more prescriptions, and more appointments. Today, I walked in the office, sat in the lobby, and patiently waited for my name to be called. This week, it’s been a year since my ICU stay. I’ve “successfully” reached 365 self-injected blood thinners to the stomach, consecutive countless pills taken morning and before bed, and days full of headaches with no end in sight. I’m officially one year post-stroke and I’ve carried a hematoma and several blood clots with me every step of the way. Today, my name was called and I walked back into the same room that I’ve entered what feels like a million times before. The same exam room where I’ve viewed hopeless brain scans showing worse results or no improvement from the one before. Even with memory loss,...

I see and hear all too often parents publicly complaining about their children. I’m not referring to the mother who voices to her friends that she is exhausted because she didn’t sleep last night or the father who admits that he feels tired after working an extra long shift. This type of venting is necessary and required to make things work. What I am specifically talking about is the parent who seeks attention because “parenting is hard” and “all the baby does is cry” or how all their child “never leaves them alone.” I find that I don’t handle that very well. I see it on social media, I hear it in the grocery store and it hurts. This has nothing to do with the fact that I think that I am a perfect mother because I’m not, nor do I think that I am. I struggle and am tired and get frustrated, of course. Why? Because being a parent is the hardest job in the world. It’s 24/7 and stops for nothing or no one. I voice it to someone close to me, mostly my husband, and I move on because my c...