Crying Out

Wriggles used to be an excellent sleeper.

I mean that in toddler terms. She used to want to go down far later and get up far earlier than I intended, and is a keen cot-bar rattler and has discovered that scraping nails down a wall is an excellent way of kickstarting sluggish mummies. 

Also, she snores and fidgets. If you didn't look, you may well believe I am keeping a drunkard chap with nasal issues in my cupboard. But no, on inspection, it is one peacefully restless toddler with the blanket over her head. I have shared a bed with her and it is not as relaxing or reassuring as I had hoped. She took up the vast majority of it and I was in danger of being under attack all night.

Still, for a person of her age, she has been a pretty standard sleeper. I would give her at least 8/10 and a silver star with room for improvement especially on weekend mornings and naptime. 

Frankly, I am blaming hospital for an abrupt change. Now, bedtime appears to have moved back to nearly quarter to nine in line with the nurses changeover of staff and any last ward rounds and obs. Fine, I can handle changes in bedtime. Something moved once can be moved twice. Naptime appears to be negotiable (it is not negotiable, Wriggles. Not yet) which is less than pleasing. But what rankles most is the crying out. The sudden cries of distress that pierce the night, a sobbing inconsolable Wriggles screaming in her cot. Most nights and nap times, my fiercely independent cheeky chops will only let go and nod off if I rock her to sleep like tiny little baby. Sometimes, it does seem like pain (gastronomy, I'm looking at you) but mostly like pure fear. And that tears at my heart. Is she crying because she is scared she is alone? Is she crying because she thinks someone is going to hurt her-again? How can you placate a small child who doesn't understand some pain, like necessary procedures, are for good even though they hurt? Does she remember and fear? Does she wake up, find no immediate mummy and think she has been left? Does she remember being put to sleep with the anaesthetic gas; she was clearly scared rigid, thrashing and screaming as she was lulled under? Or is it standard child nightmares of monsters and witches? 

Give me the monsters any day. I have both a broom, mop and whole pair of slippers to chase monsters away and coax them from under the beds, but doctors? Sorry Wriggles, I can't get rid of them.

The Best Worst Place

Recently, I met a fellow neonatal mum face to face. We were introduced by a good mutual friend of ours and had both had daughters on the Tiny Lives unit at the RVI. Our daughters had missed each other by a couple of weeks. Her gorgeous 30-weeker, now 16 months old, was born due to placental abruption. Immediately, it was like we were part of a secret club with a code language. In minutes we swapped procedures, compared stories, established mutual acquaintances on the ward and compared favourite doctors and nurses. 

"It was such a wonderful place."

"So lovely; just incredible."

Our friend, with her term baby, looked at us as if we were mad.

We paused and looked at each other as if we were mad. And quickly looked away, a slight welling of the eye and a lump in the throat.

"A horrible place."

"The worst place to be."

The thing is, both things are true. A good NICU is the best worst place to be. If you're going to be separated from your newborn, you damn well want them to be in the best equipped place with the most high-tech machines and knowledgeable staff yet also with compassion. But of course, even the best NICU, the one with the friendliest nurses and the most intelligent doctors and the newest and sparkliest and beepiest machine is never going to be enough. 

Because it's not with you. 

You can visit, yes. But that is the hitch: you have to leave. Night after night, you have to walk away. Bye bye, baby. Does your child, wired up, know you are leaving? Know the difference between night or day? Know inherently that you should be there, forever and always? That is all debatable. But to you it goes against the very grain of parenthood. It is the strangest thing: you know it is the best place for them. But you also know, that it will always fall short and cheat you both of the most loving and most caring place: being there with you.