between the babies being born and their homecoming some 100 days later, i didn’t really feel like a mother.
one of my good friends was expecting her baby two months before our triplets were born. charlie was born early on march 6, the triplets were born even earlier 23 february. i would see her carrying her sweet contented baby, and i felt inferior.
i was laying in my hospital bed just after receiving my final steriod injection to help strengthen the babies lungs when i received a text message that my friends andrew and jin were headed to the hospital: their baby was on the way.
aww, how nice i thought. they are a SUPER couple that we like and respect very much.
six hours later as i lay on my side, willing the contractions away, i received another message from them, their baby had been born.
13 days later i saw them at church. their arms were full with typical newborn baby gear, blankets, baby capsule, bibs, nappies, wipes, change mats, the huge baby stroller. her breasts, swollen as she discreetly brought him to her for a feed.
my breasts, barely producing 100 mls per day. that the babies werent drinking. the only indication i had that i had that the babies had been born, was the numbness at my incision and eight extra pounds. i did not feel like a mother.
jin came over to hug me that day, and didn’t bring her baby with her. i loved her for being so thoughtful, but i wanted to see her baby. i cried when holding the nine pound wonder, the baby was that sweet.
had i had a baby? babies, even?
a lot of time it certainly didn’t feel like it. certainly my meagre milk supply didn’t indicate any recent maternal activities. and these silent, flaky skinned creatures whose eyes had only opened just a few days earlier that i couldn’t touch, they were my children? i didn’t remember them coming from my body, the first time i saw them was in a photo charles took….were they my babies?
it seemed like it had all been a dream. the IVF, the OHSS hospitalisation, the spotting throughout the pregnancy, the hospitalisation, the emergency caesarean. or was that a nightmare?
and afterwards, was a deep fugue. i kept wishing that i could snap out of it, so i could be inspirational to other mums going through the same thing, but i couldn’t. i could only be grateful, and weary. i was upbeat, but i wasn’t breathing fresh air. i was enduring the stale stuff.
only now am i talking, writing, feeling it.
if this is difficult, i cannot begin to fathom all that others have endured.
but i can’t own their experiences, or feel guilty that their grief has been worse than mine. (i haven’t accepted this yet, i am still learning it. it is a tough concept to accept, and live! especially when going easy on yourself has never been a gift i’ve come by naturally.)
one thing i did learn from my children is that life is a gift worth fighting for. and worth living well. so, rather than bury all this stuff deep, i am walking through it. not alone. magnificent charles is here. and i feel peace. God is here too.
