Just Brave Enough

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...

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...

I am not going to sit here and pretend that I am in a position to give anyone advice on how to be a mother because, let's be real, I've been a mom for about five minutes. Even a rookie, however, is aware that having a child is no walk in the park. Of course, raising a tiny human in this cruel world is difficult, but I am specifically referring to being a mom among other mothers. There is a lot of judgement and, you guessed it, competition. As a new mom, these waters have been tough to navigate. As the mom of a preemie, they've been impossible. All children reach milestones at their own pace, whether it be finally reaching a specific weight, growing out of newborn clothes, sitting up on their own, holding his or her own bottle, or walking. It's stressful enough to make sure that your child progresses accordingly, but it adds to the anxiety when there's a constant comparison. "Oh, you're still holding his bottle for him?" "Shouldn't he be ...

*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...