Avoiding the Obvious

I started this post with every intention of telling my birth story and talking about my August 2011, the month I fell down the rabbit hole into the dark wonderland of being a Mum to a premature baby.  There's no logical reason for my current reticence to write it down, there's no sad ending, we're so blessed with Sprocket. He's doing well and is hitting all the milestones we could have hoped for in a 7 month old (and some we didn't, like cutting 4 teeth at once). 

I think about it all the time, I look down at the face of my son and feel the now familiar pain of love. The sharp tug of fear and wonder in the centre of my body, bouyant joy weighted by the shadowy clouds of yesterdays storm.  A heavy love, with cement boots of guilt and failure that plagues so many parents, not just to those with babies born early. 

It was an ivy-love that grew up quietly until it had a strangle hold. Not the tidal wave I was expecting, there was already a tsunami of fear and uncertainty, my body shaking like a leaf even as I fought to smile and show the world I was fine. His face only glimpsed over an drape for a blinking second, smeared with my blood and undecipherable. 

I didn't see him again for almost 24 hours, save for the four pictures I was given by the unit. In those pictures I recognised him for my own. Now I want to be able to move forward, to let go of the anchor that keeps part of me stuck vulnerable and exposed on an operating table, to unhook myself from the drip-fed routine of the NICU, the sense of alienation. I'm still stuck in limbo. 

I don't want to live in my past, to always relive the dread alongside every milestone, that's why I know I need to force my face into the mirror that this blog is supposed to be. I want to exorcise the thoughts and experiences and hold them up to the light of scrutiny so I can try to discard the unhealthy ones and hold on to all the positives, and there are so many positives.

I'll get there.