Nearly one year ago our rainbow baby came into this world on the eve of St. Patrick’s Day.
I often wondered during my pregnancy if the longing for a rainbow baby would make parenthood seem much more glamorous than its raw reality. Would I have days that left me regretting my choice to become a parent? Would those days leave me feeling like I wanted my old life back? Would I have quality time for conversations and nights out with my husband, or would I be consumed in rainbow baby land, unable to pull myself out of the feeling that my baby needed me at all times? Would the NICU nurse in me make me too controlling when it came to caring for her, or would I let my husband and friends help me when I needed it?
Those early weeks were difficult, and looking back at it now the first six months were REALLY hard.
We were in survival mode. We didn’t have any family in town, so it was just the two of us adults on a day to day basis. Tony was blessed to be able to take two weeks of paternity leave when Fiona was first born and those first two weeks were absolutely wonderful. We ordered take out, binged watched all seven seasons of Game of Thrones and all snuggled on the couch as the spring weather turned back into winter (it snowed on Fiona’s first Easter) and changed again back into a brief spring. The only reason that I ate or drank ANYTHING in those first two weeks was because of Tony. He prepped all of the meals, did all of the dishes, changed most of the diapers, refilled my water jug and seemed to know what I needed before I even asked. And once each evening, I would feed her and immediately go to bed to attempt to get one “long” stretch of sleep. Tony stayed up and would give her a bottle for her next feeding. It was supposed to be a good bonding experience for them, but little chugger Fiona finished the bottle in less than 5 minutes and then was irate that her feeding experience was over. She screamed in Tony’s arms sometimes for the better part of an hour before falling asleep, resting her exhausted head on his shoulder. Still, I got to sleep for a stretch of 4 or 5 hours which was life changing. I remember waking after those stretches of sleep to Fiona’s perplexed stare, looking down at me from the height of Tony’s arms, almost as if to say “wait, YOU’RE here? and you’ve been hiding this whole time?”
I wondered if I was allowed to complain about the hard days. Past me would have slapped future me in the face if I heard her complaining back during those two years of waiting and TTC. I would have told her to suck it up and be grateful for the non-sleeping, spitting up baby in her arms whose witching hour turned into the whole evening and then some. I was semi-prepared for the not sleeping, and I knew spitting up was (hopefully) just a phase and Fiona and I were making do with an overactive milk ejection reflex (yeah, that’s something I only came to know about after a visit to an LC around 6 weeks,) but what I WASN’T prepared for was the 24/7 decision making that would plague my anxious mommy brain constantly. As a NICU nurse dealing with babies for nearly 8 years, I did not call the shots. And I wasn’t taking them out of the hospital and packing a bag for our outing etc. THE 24/7 DECISIONS were and still are, exhausting and extremely overwhelming to the new mom.
Trying to leave the house was straight up daunting at first. Tony and I packed the diaper bag for that first pediatrician’s appointment which was a feat in and of itself. The amount of STUFF we thought that we needed to take with us to keep her alive for an HOUR was insane. We must have had half of her nursery stuffed into a bag. But yes- those decision making moments exhausted me. To pump or not to pump after a feeding that wasn’t stellar? Should I bring a bottle with me in case she doesn’t latch? Should I bottle her incase I am not producing enough? Should I wear a nursing bra with a button down shirt or a nursing tank or both? Would I need a nursing cover in case I had to feed in public? Did I remember to put in breast pads for leaking? Do we have enough pacifiers? Burp cloths? Diapers? Did I dress her warmly enough? Just thinking of being out by myself with her was even scarier! What if she had a complete meltdown in public? I would find that absolutely mortifying. I remember calling my mom on that first time I took Fiona out alone to say “We are OUT. We are out at Target and I haven’t messed anything up so far.”
Once we got past the first month or two, the decisions just got more intense. If she rolls to her tummy, should we leave her there to sleep? The NICU nurse knew that “back was best,” and all aspects of safe sleep were clearly defined, but DANG did she prefer her belly at night. I could write an entire blog on our struggles with Fiona’s sleep. (and maybe I will do a post later on about her sleep specifically since it’s a hot topic of conversation in our household, but I’ll skip it for now.) With my suspicion of having a low supply for breast milk, should I start supplementing? Is my body doing enough to nourish my child? Are my workouts too rigorous to sustain my supply? The list goes on and on. And here at 11 months old, I’m not sure that that the decision making is necessarily easier, so much as it has become ingrained in our daily routine. I’ve accepted that there is no escaping this decision making responsibility, but I’ve realized that it can be shared. I will often ask Tony- should I do this or this? And sometimes he offers his two sense and I do my best to just go with that answer. As Fiona gets older, she’s helping with the decisions too as she attempts to communicate specific things to us.
Most days I truly feel a sense of peace in my newer role as Fiona’s mom. There’s an unspoken bond between us, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before and an indescribable joy that I feel when she smiles at me. Sometimes my heart literally feels like it could burst when she does something adorable. And other days? Parenthood feels like a rollercoaster that is going just a little bit too fast for my liking. This little girl will look to me for the rest of her life as a role model, confidant, and a “meeter of needs.” While this can be overwhelming at times, it truly IS a gift.
If I’ve learned anything in the last 11 months, it’s that every phase ends faster than it feels at the time. The phase of her napping on her Boppy lounger pillow in between feedings during those early weeks quickly turned into the phase where she couldn’t be set down, then turned into the phase where she started rolling slowly across the room back to belly, then crawling with her little peg leg out, then speed crawling (still with the peg leg) and now trying to walk while holding onto anything within her reach. The phase where I felt like I simply couldn’t deal anymore with breastfeeding, turned into the phase where breastfeeding was blissfully easy, turned into the phase of trying to keep my supply up and supplementing with formula, and now the phase where she has nearly lost all interest in it. The phase of sleeping in the bassinet, then sleeping only in bed with us, then not sleeping while in bed with us, then transitioning to her own room, then sleep training has now turned into the phase where our little girl sleeps 12 hours straight at night.
The phase of trying to get pregnant, then worrying about being pregnant, then surviving those challenging newborn months- and now the realization that my little rainbow baby is almost ONE. While the days felt brutally long at times, I can’t truly can’t believe this first year is almost gone. As the saying goes, “The days- seem long, but the years fly by.” It’s truer than true.
