Memories.

The night you were born, I will never forget....and not for the reasons I should.

I don't get to remember holding my baby right after birth. I don't get to remember the doctors declaring a healthy baby boy. I don't get to remember the look of love on your Daddy's face when he first laid eyes on you.


I remember a cry and a gurgle. I remember seeing a small blue little boy rushed passed my head. I cannot, CANNOT, get out of my head the voice of Dr. P saying "first APGAR....3". I remember the silence, the overwhelming silence as they stitched me up. I remember glimpses of your Daddy, when he would run quickly into the room to say hi and quickly back out to you. I remember the tears in Dr. D's eyes when he asked how you was doing and I told him you were being airlifted away.

I hate that I don't remember seeing you. I know I was there, but the memory is fogged by the overwhelming pain I felt trying to sit up in a wheelchair an hour after being cut open. I don't remember your face, I remember stroking your tiny blue foot. I think I cried, I'm not sure. I know I was screaming on the inside. I remember the chopper team walking you past my room, stopping and turning around so I could say goodbye. They tried adjusting the blankets so I could see your face....I couldn't. I remember looking at Stef and Mike while I could hear the helicopter taking off, taking you away from me. I felt comfort that I could literally visualize where you were and what you could see outside of the helicopter, it wasn't that long ago that I took the same ride. How could it be, that you were seeing the world before even looking into your Momma's eyes?

Your Daddy was with you the whole time. He was so strong, like always. He had to watch your helicopter fly away, while I just had to hear it. Which is worse? I'm not sure.

The next days, they are a blur. I will never, ever forget the love I felt for the nurse, Lois, who literally TOLD Dr. D that I was leaving the next morning, that I was going to my baby. I'm not sure why they let me go, less than 24 hours after a c-section. I honestly think guilt played a large factor. I remember driving to Rockford with my mom and letting out tiny yelps every time we hit a bump.

And oh, I remember the NICU. The sounds and the smells and the weight in that room. I remember the rage I felt when I saw your tiny body....wires and tubes and so much shit. I try so hard to focus on the positive things that happened while you were there, while we were there. The first time I held you, almost exactly 24 hours after you were born. The first time I got to see your face without a CPAP. Your first bath. We stayed with you damn near every moment we could. We literally lived there, while other parents had to go home or to work. We celebrated your triumphs and cried when bad news came. Thankfully, we are the lucky ones who got to go home. We are one of the lucky ones who got to celebrate the triumphs, to be ushered through the halls to the waiting ambulance to whispers of congratulations. We got to turn in our NICU badges (except we didn't, ha!) and return to our "normal" hospital where we felt like pros on a college team. The celebration of your first full feed from a bottle, the nerves of your carseat test, it all happened there. The moment your brother finally got to hold you, and the smile on his face and how his love for you was bigger and brighter than I'd ever expected. My favorite memory.


August 11th, you came home. 8 long, long days later. It could have been worse, I know. We got to take you home, which is more than some can say. So we will celebrate tomorrow, even though I hate some of what that day stands for. But what I will celebrate more? The day I took you home, because that's when you were truly mine.