Tiny no more

Recently I have been trying to do some sorting out. As happens when you have a small child, odd tiny socks and vests you never bought breed and end up EVERYWHERE. Today I found a wee bootie wedged behind the clothes horse and was momentarily caught stock still at it's size. It was so small. Yet it was easily that for a 3 month old child; needless to say it fitted mine up until around her first birthday. When I find these small items of clothing aimed at the first few months of life, I then have to further pinch myself to remember my baby was even smaller. Seriously small. At 1090g (just under 2lb 6oz), little bigger than my hands. Her eyes barely open, unable to breathe for herself and so frail. Her first picture a few hours after birth is a little shocking. I treasure it, but it is not a cute baby picture by any means. I love it because she is my baby but I can't quite imagine it on a board with other baby pictures of squashy newborns or even pictures later down the line of NICU.

When I find tiny things, I always have a pull to go back to our NICU memory box and find her first nappy, first dummy....so small, even for doll's clothing. I find it staggering to look at them and think that baby, my baby survived and thrived. That babies, some half her weight can too. I can't explain the pull to keep looking at these things, keep reminding myself. In many ways it is like poking at an open wound. God, it hurts when I think of the pain and suffering she has been through. The mental pain and suffering I and my family have been through. The scars we are left with.

I find myself afraid of forgetting, alongside paradoxically being desperate to move on. It has defined things for so long and is really my only experience of motherhood. For so long I wished we could have been one of the average statistics, the "normal", the tears-free, the one where you knew your baby would be there the next morning. Now two years down the line, we are in a little limbo. In part, it is oceans away. In part it is still with us every day in form of some problems or delays or memories. In a strange and not-entirely welcome way it has become my normal, which is what I think I am afraid of letting go of. Instead of doing all the things I expected to do as a mother, I did lots of hospital based things and seeked out people in similar situations for vital support. Now we are in a position to mix and match effectively, I find I often flounder. It feels disloyal, like we are turning our back on all we went through that made sure I had the daughter I have here today. Which is so silly; we all know children grow up, lives move on and people grow with change. Being able to do some "normal" things is homage to the doctors and nurses who fought alongside my special girl.

Sometimes prematurity, illness or additonal needs feels like a secret world, one you can only imagine until you suddenly have the key and being in that walled place is a thousand times more overwhelming and vivid. In some ways, life will never be the same again. "Prematurity is an experience no one really thinks about when they embark upon the adventure of parenthood. And it’s not one anyone wants. But once fate flings such a twist our way, we find ourselves part of the secret society we never asked to pledge." Finding tiny keepsakes feels like a mascot of this new club, a lifelong allegiance with a terrifying induction. It is less about clothes, or first dummies, just that these firsts are so different to the firsts we might have anticipated. But they are still firsts, to be cherished alongside the grievances. But it isn't easy. For the first year, I so wanted to forget. Now I can't bear the thought of forgetting.

Home Sweet Home

Oh little home am I glad to be back!

After writing my last post, we ended up back in hospital within hours. Wriggles was refusing all hydration and vomiting medication and syringes of water back up. After a breakthrough with a spoon of runny ice cream, I was convinced we had crack it, but soon this came up with copious amounts of dried blood. As the afternoon wore she grew floppier and more lethargic and I began to panic. Luckily we still had open access after being discharged just hours earlier, and a phone call to a nurse confirmed they were keen to see her. Being a pessimistic sort, I decided to take along some jimjams and spare clothes as well as a washbag. Just In Case.

How daunting, this feels like introducing yourself to a new friend or partner! It seemed such a good idea jovially setting this blog idea up...

I was inspired to start blogging after a hazy year following the surprise premature birth of my daughter and a rather up and down year that followed it. Having read some uplifting blogs from other parents it struck me how isolated it can feel until you access information and have the eureka moment that you are not alone. Unless you are lucky to be blessed with a group of friends who all uniquely understand each problem you face, it can sometimes feel quite lonely even amongst stellar company. Even if not one sausage reads a word I write, recording things down is excellent for sorting out my muddled head. I sometimes have the sensation when meeting new people of listing nearly everything but the kitchen sink equivalent of potential trashy novel plotlines!
Not only was the birth very premature it was utterly unexpected. It resulted in a several month stint in NICU/SCBU and weeks dealing with shock for myself. We came home on oxygen and a hermit order slapped on us until she was six months old at which point she promptly came down with pneumonia and ended up in a critical state in PICU. Since then we have become regulars at the paediatric wing of the Royal Victoria Infirmary, not yet managing over six weeks without an emergency admission. Added to this I am a single parent with my nearest close relative 200 miles away; good map reading skills there, me! Baby has no serious problems but does have some developemental delay and quirks which take some explaining to parents who have wonderfully Pampers advert-esque children. I am so aware things could have been a thousand times more complicated; so apologies if anything comes out terribly "woe is me".

On the flipside to this, amongst the truly terrifying moments and breath holding, I did not know the intensity of love until I had my little girl. She has transformed my life and that of family and friends. She really is the happiest, chirpiest little soul and perfection itself (along with every other child in their parents eyes!) and brings unimaginable delight to me. Our journey has made me actuely grateful for what I have and the miracle of life.