I really thought I was doing well. I assumed I was much further along with my healing than I am. It’s been a rough morning. I have been under the weather for a while now (you may have noticed the lack of posts). I suppose I’m weary from trying to keep up when feeling less than optimal. Whatever it is, this morning was an emotional minefield.
The bumpy morning started at one of my moms’ groups. As moms often do, they were discussing birth weights, birth stories, and all things newborn. I could relate to none of it. I was a stranger in a strange land. I hate that feeling.
Many of the babies accompanied their mothers while the older kids were gathered in groups elsewhere. I know better than to compare. However, I couldn’t help but notice how big the babies were, how easily they could move, how they held up their heads, and held on to toys. Every one of those things Charlie had to fight for.
My thoughts then trailed to Charlie. Recently, I have started leaving her in the toddler group. This is as poor of a fit as leaving her in the infant group. However, she is more engaged with the toddlers than the infants. I feel bad she is carried while the others walk. I wish she could sit in a chair rather than the floor. She is in that odd spot of no longer being a baby but her physical skill set is not equitable to a toddler.
Afterwards, Charlie and I went Christmas shopping for our dog and cat. While at the store some lady came up to Charlie and said, “Oh! Is it your first Christmas?” Exhausted, I cut to the point and said, “No, she is eighteen months.” I think the woman thought I was being sarcastic. She gave me a stern look and walked off.
Finally, with it being the Christmas season, people throw the word miracle around more than usual. It bothers me when Charlie is referred to as a “miracle baby”. Yes, it is amazing she is alive. But please, don’t call her a miracle. Mostly, because it makes me feel guilty. Where was the miracle the less fortunate (and more devout) families prayed for when they lost their babies? Why were we chosen to receive a miracle when we are certainly less than pious?
I refuse to believe god has anything to do with it. I feel better calling it luck. With the helping hand of medical science, we got lucky. In much of the same way that we were unlucky to have found ourselves in that position to begin with. To call it luck, does not entirely rid me of the guilt. But, it does ease it a little.
So yes, it was a rough morning. It was another reality check that I am a bit away from leaving this whole preemie thing behind me. Or maybe, I just need a nap.