Just Brave Enough

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...

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...

I have heard a lot of things similar to “Be grateful that he’s not mobile yet. You’re in for it then!” or “You think you’re tired now? Wait until he’s running around! You’ll want to turn back time!” You know what? After all this past (almost) year has held, I will chase him up mountains if I have to. I will figure out how to swim across across oceans so that he can investigate the fish closer. If he wants to fly across the sky, I will build him a plane.  Watching him learn and grow and start to explore, I see the look in his eyes. I watch his pupils grow and the glimmer that comes across them. I can see the wonder and the hope build, but then it turns to frustration. The glimmer fades and it turns to tears because his mind wants to goes, but he physically can’t. My heart shatters, but I don’t cry. I do what I can to reach to help him reach his goals and make a huge deal over what others would see as nothing at all. After all, I’m his mother and that’s my job. Mommy makes the h...

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...

My son is the light of my life. I love opening my eyes to his smile every morning and rocking him to sleep at night. He is so pure and innocent, yet so strong. As a new mom, he has taught me every single thing that I know. He reassures me and comforts me. He makes me feel each day that I have done something right, but I wish that I could shelter him from every bad thing that he will come to know. Over time, I have learned that even babies aren't safe from labels. Luckily, Flynn is too little to realize this right now and I can protect him in every way that I can. Being born prematurely is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, especially because these babies defy all odds to simply survive. I have been surprised, though, by how some people can be so insensitive and unaccommodating. Flynn and I love to go out and about. He gets excited to see new places and people and be with his friends, even if it means going to the doctor's office (again). On days where we are stuck inside,...

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...