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...

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...