I cried tonight. For the first time since your birth, I cried about that first day. A stupid movie, that had nothing to do with birth or anything similar triggered it. I don’t know why. But I cried.
I cried because your birth was so stressful. Because I was so scared. Because the unknown was so fierce. I cried, because I missed that magical first hour with you. That hour where I counted your fingers and toes, memorized your ears, marveled at how perfect those little breaths felt on my neck. Where I nursed you for the first time.
I cried, because the first time I touched you was tainted. I cried because I can’t remember that night without remembering that awful nurse screeching at me that I was only allowed to touch you during certain times. I cried because of how hurt, and how incompetent she made me feel. In a night filled with every fear emotion, she should have comforted me. I cried because she made me feel worse.
I cried because I’m still broken. You are 5 1/2 months old. You are almost 4 months adjusted age. But I still wake up in a panic at night, terrified that I’m bleeding. I still lay awake at night, even with you sleeping beside me, because the terror is still there. I am still scared of a pregnancy that is long done. I am broken.
You are a high needs child. My sweet baby B. My darling mommy’s girl. I don’t worry about our connection. Even with 12 days of hell, you’re here. You’re nursing as I type, another milestone I worried we wouldn’t achieve. I cried in the NICU, terrified we wouldn’t get to nurse. I thank God every day that you are thriving.
I’m not healed from your birth. I’m not healed from the pregnancy. I’m not even remotely close. I feel like a shell some days, and like a ticking time bomb on others. I need to get my life together. I need to give my girls stability. Order. Cut down on the chaos. But I don’t know how yet. I’m not there, yet.