Since we got to the NICU, all anyone has told me is that I have to remember to take time for myself. To leave. That I have to leave the NICU sometimes to "decompress", to "relax", to "be myself again".
I've gotta say, that's some shitty advice to give a first time mom, especially one in the NICU. And let me explain why.
When you get pregnant for the first time, it's all joy and happy anxiety. It's all tears while thinking about names and worrying about a miscarriage and excitedly finding a cute way to announce to the world that you're bringing a new life into existence. Once you're last the first trimester, the anxiety dips away and it's a daily happiness. Seeing your body change, feeling the first flutters of movement, getting the gender and finally calling your baby by his name when you think about him.
You can see everything that comes with pregnancy lined up ahead of you, all of the beautiful moments you're going to have with your partner and child, shining like happy memories already, but in the future to look forward to.
So when you give birth violently and suddenly at less than 25 weeks, and all of those shining images fade to black, there must be a grieving process. Because the experience has been snatched from you.
Now that's not to say that I won't have good memories with my son. In fact, I imagine these memories will be incredibly special to me and unique. The NICU badge is one that nobody wants, but one we wear with pride. I simply mean that there is a sort of loss when a baby comes early. Especially when it's your first.
I was robbed of the pregnancy experience.
I was robbed of watching my belly grow bigger than "just fat" looking.
I was robbed of the dark line down my belly.
I was robbed of the belly button poking out.
I was robbed of my partner seeing my child kick and move.
I was robbed of being able to talk to and sing to my baby.
I was robbed of the stupid 4D ultrasounds.
I was robbed of the connection I was supposed to get with my son BEFORE he was born.
I was robbed of the labor experience.
I was robbed of my water breaking at home.
I was robbed of timing contractions and keeping track of the t ok me between them.
I was robbed of my birth plan.
I was robbed of the excited drive to the hospital.
I was robbed of the birth experience.
I was robbed of the choice to get up and move around.
I was robbed of the choice of medicine.
I was robbed of having my midwife there.
I was robbed of having my mom in the room with me.
I was robbed of the encouragement from doctors to push.
I was robbed of being able to see what happened or have it on video.
I was robbed of the post partum experience.
I was robbed of my child crying for the first time.
I was robbed of holding him against my skin.
I was robbed of watching him be swaddled and cleaned and brought back to me.
I was robbed of spending his first few hours together.
Instead I spent his first hours downstairs, away from him, waiting for news from his father via text.
Everything I was looking forward to was snatched out from underneath me, and all I have left is a frail, doll sized being that barely looks like a baby and looks nothing like me, locked in a glass case and heated and hooked to a hundred wires and tubes.
He is all I have. All the hundreds of moments I should have had with him are gone, and now, he is what I have left.
And how can you possibly leave that?