Monthly Archives: April 2015

Baby Clothes

Out of everything, baby clothes have held a special place in my parenting world. Not only did Charlie’s birth entail numerous losses, but there were very few parenting choices that I got to make. What Charlie wore was the only thing that could still go the way I had imagined it when I first got pregnant. I clung to my idea for her wardrobe fiercely.

Anytime Charlie out grows a size, I pick out the clothing pieces that mean something and place them in a drawer. The pieces in the drawer will be incorporated into a quilt one day. The rest of the clothes get dumped into a trunk in the basement and forgotten. Each time I add to the trunk, I tell myself that I will deal with it at a later date.

You may wonder how clothes can mean something. Also, you may find yourself asking why I needlessly store (OK, hoard) baby clothes in the basement.

I will begin with the easy question. Many of Charlie’s old clothes are significant to me because they have important memories attached.

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The last day she wore her “Sweet On Mommy” onesie.

For example, there is the preemie sized onesie she wore in the NICU that said, “Sweet On Mommy”. Each time she donned it, I marveled at the fact that I was the “mommy” it was referring to.

Also in the drawer, there is a size zero to three month sleeper with pink cats. One of my husband’s coworkers gave it to us the week Charlie was born. I remember when I first saw it. I held it up and couldn’t imagine my baby ever being big enough to fit in it. The day came during the week of the presidential election. I tried it on her after a bath and sobbed because it finally fit.

In fact, I was still crying when I investigated a knock at the door. I opened it to find Obama supporters who were canvassing the neighborhood in an effort to encourage votes. I am sure they wondered what the blubbering lady carrying a baby was about.

These are the kinds of clothes that occupy the quilt drawer. In the not too distant future, I will make a quilt using these clothes. Additionally, I plan on sewing the patches I’ve collected at each state park on to the quilt.

I don’t think I ever had a plan for the clothes in the basement. I wanted to donate them. But, I needed the donation to mean something to me. I knew it was not simply a matter of dumping giant garbage bags at the local Goodwill. Those weren’t just any baby clothes. They were Charlie’s clothes. They were my solace. They deserved better. But what?

This week, Preemies Today put out a request for gently used preemie and newborn sized clothes for a NICU baby shower this Sunday. I decided this was it. I was ready. It was time to deal with the clothes.

Tonight, I sorted through the clothes and selected my donations. (Basically, anything in the requested sizes that didn’t carry a significant memory and wasn’t stained.) It felt like an archaeological excavation. Each piece of preemie and newborn clothing was like an artifact from a lifetime ago. I shuffled around my selections for the quilt drawer and washed what was to be donated.

These clothes have served us well. It’s time for them to comfort another NICU family. And, perhaps, become a memory worth saving.

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Almost Three Years In

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Charlie, ten days old

My husband and I are almost three years into our journey of parenting a preemie. A short amount of time that feels like forever.

In anticipation of the upcoming Parents of Preemies Day, I’ve been asked to write about what prematurity means to us today. The abridged answer? It’s complicated.

You see, currently, I’m angry at prematurity. My anger flows in waves.

At first, I was angry that prematurity nearly stole my first and only child’s life. Then, I was furious because of the long term repercussions it has on her life (CP along with speech and feeding delays). That fury was followed by outrage due to the complexities and strain placed on my family life by having a preemie. Now, I’m irate because it extinguished my hope for having another baby.

But, I’m not only angry.

Despite the anger, I feel incredibly lucky. I am fortunate my baby survived her early arrival. I’m thankful that she exceeded doctors’ initial expectations. I’m grateful for the imperfect and unconventional life we have as a family.

However, I’m saddened.

I mourn the pregnancy I didn’t have (mine ended at twenty six weeks). I lament the typical newborn and toddler experience that was taken from me (we spent over 100 days of her first year in the hospital). I grieve the second baby who will never be.

On the other hand, I’m hopeful.

I’m optimistic that one day we will finally leave all the therapy, specialists, and orthotics behind. I believe that she will one day “catch up” to her peers. I look forward to possibly adopting in the future.

The preemie parent club is a club I wish I didn’t belong too. Even though there are other members, it is a lonely journey. I find it difficult to relate to other non preemie parents because in my world five pound newborns are huge and intake is measured in mL. I feel disconnected from the moms I see in my everyday life. A trip to Target usually involves picking up a prescription rather than coffee or shopping. Most parents claim that time flies. However, I’ve found it creeps by slowly while waiting for another appointment to begin or striving for that next elusive milestone.

IMG_2011As it turns out, I’ve found no meaning in prematurity. To me, it is a collection of emotions such as sadness, anger, grief, rage, loneliness, gratitude, hope, and, most importantly, love. Love is what keeps us from falling apart and helps us find joy in our everyday.

Being a parent of a preemie is not the life I’ve planned for or chosen but, I love it nonetheless. Though the journey is tough, I’m so grateful that she’s here. I can’t imagine our lives without her.


Spoiled Brat

Wow, did I get hit by a nasty stomach bug. Charlie got it too. But luckily, she was only sick for about a day. We did have to cancel weekend plans I had been looking forward to. But, such is life.

This recent stomach bug required several trips to my doctor for things like anti nausea medicine, IV fluids, a different anti nausea medicine, and so forth. After I had beaten the bug and was at my follow up visit, I asked my doctor a bunch of questions about preeclampsia.

My 36 birthday is this week. In my husband and my storybook version of life, we are supposed to have two kids by now. I know I decided a while ago that we were stopping at one. But, in the back of my mind, I’ve kind of clung to a little hope that there would be some way that I could safely have a full term pregnancy. I hadn’t fully let the hope go.

My doctor was kind of my last hope. He’s knowledgeable and I trust his judgement fully. He’s also a little more open to my unconventional ideas than most. He helps me problem solve. If anyone was going to give a thumbs up to pregnancy, it would be him.

I asked him for his thoughts on the matter. He told me what I already knew: Another pregnancy is not a good idea for me.

He continued on to say something like “Adoption is a beautiful option…” My response was to check out. I started babbling incessantly and nonsensically just to cover up the heart break that had just happened. I was barely able to concentrate to discuss the refills I needed. After the appointment, I headed straight to my car still reeling from the blow.

Now, I know absolutely, for sure… that’s it for me. We are done having kids. End of story. Hope extinguished.

I’m not dealing with it well.

I want to cry. I want to scream that it’s not fair. I’m angry at the world for drawing the short straw.

Then, there is the guilt. I know how fortunate I am. I know how much I have. So, I feel guilty for feeling sad, angry, and pretty much anything other than joy.

Plus, I find myself bitter with envy and jealousy of the strangest things. A KeepEmCookin tweet popped up in my feed and my thought was “At least, they made it to bed rest!” How terrible is that? I am ashamed of myself.

Finally, there is the confusion. Why does it hurt so much? Honestly, having my own biological child is not that important to me. I could adopt and be as equally fulfilled. But, being done stings to the core for some reason.

Emotionally, I’m very much like a spoiled brat right now.

Life is not fair and we don’t always get what we want. By now, I’m well aware of that. Currently, I’m trying to figure out what’s next for my family. How do I make this OK for me?


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