Six years ago today my baby boys were born. Lately I’ve been thinking a great deal about that day. As their birthday has been approaching, and their excitement rising, the boys have peppered me with questions about the day they were born. They’ve wanted to see pictures too. They’ve wanted a visual. So I’ve answered their questions and shown them the snap shots and as a result, I’ve found myself getting lost in the memoires as well. Mostly because it was a time for me that was life changing beyond belief. So today, I feel like I want to write down that story, because I never have, I’ve never wanted to…. until now. So here it is, in a nut shell. (Long post my friends, but I want it for my journal, so consider yourself warned)….
Because Jonathan was breech and blocking the natural exit, and because I was toxemic at 35 weeks, I was scheduled for a C-section at 5:30 in the evening on April 9, 2004. Mike and I packed up our little hospital bag and drove together the three blocks to the hospital to bring our two long awaited for, and premature baby boys into the world. I remember being quite calm that evening considering that I was about to give birth to twins. If I had know what was about to happen to our relatively quite, peaceful life I might have felt differently.
When we arrived at the hospital I was quickly prepared for surgery. Mike was suited up as well. There were doctors scattered everywhere in the operating room. We had been told that there was a good chance that our babies wouldn’t be able to breathe when they were born. We were told they could have any number of serious complications due to their early arrival. Still, I was surprised by how calm I felt. I was just excited to see the faces of the two tiny creatures who had been causing such a ruckus in my belly for so many months.
We decided that whichever baby came out first would be Jonathan, and the second would be Jeffrey….
As each baby was born (that’s Jonathan above) I was allowed a brief glimpse, not a touch mind you, because my arms were strapped to the operating table, just a tiny glimpse, and then my boys were whisked away by the doctors to be thoroughly examined, poked, prodded, and hooked up to all sorts of life supporting machines and tubes…..
….I remember feeling amazement and deep gratitude for the team of skilled doctors and nurses who worked so quickly and thoroughly. I new that my tiny boys and I were in good hands. The one in yellow there is our neighbor Dr. Arnold. How nice it was to have a good friend as our babies’ pediatrician. And Dr. Parker, my incredible OB, I’ll love him forever, with his winking twitch and his colorful rainbow suspenders….
Now is where I’d like to tell the story like most mothers tell about the moment their babies are born. Now is where I’d like to tell about how I felt an instant and overwhelming bond with my little ones. I’d love to say that I held them and marveled at their smallness and the miracle of new life, that I shed tears of happiness and love, feeling so grateful to be a mother, but that unfortunately wasn’t my experience…. at least not then, not for awhile. My babies were quickly taken to the NICU for careful watching and I was wheeled to my recovery room.
And then….that night…….the postpartum came.
There are many theories flying around out there that attempt to explain why some mothers experience severe postpartum and others not. Maybe it’s extreme stress? Could be hormone fluctuations, or that giving birth is too much of a shock for the body? It could possibly be that the natural, motherly instincts shift into crazy overdrive for some people, or maybe that a person has a genetic predisposition towards postpartum? It’s probably a combination of all of these but, nobody seems to know for certain. All I know is that I had never (nor since) been so turned upside down and twisted inside out as I was the first several months of my babies lives. It was for me…a nightmare… a horrible, fuzzy blur. I remember visiting the babies in the NICU, praying desperately to feel all those feelings I was supposed to feel as a mother, praying to feel something besides overwhelming anxiety and dread. I could hardly even hold my new little ones without distress.
I was a total wreck of a human being, and poor Mike had to step up and take over. He was a total champ. He and my sweet mama took over my job beautifully. I still remember the dreadful day when Mike reluctantly had to return to work. As he went to the door to leave, Mary Kate, who was only 4 at the time, broke down into tears, crying, “If you go to work, who will take care of the babies?!” Even at that age she knew, had observed, that I was of no use.
The boys were only in the NICU 7 days until we got the green light to take them home. Even though I wasn’t anywhere near ready to take on the challenge of caring for premature twins, and completely scared out of my mind, I do remember being grateful that they were as healthy as they were. Aren’t they so tiny though? It’s hard to believe that they used to be so tiny.
I have to insert here that whenever I see someone, for instance and most recently, my sister-in-law Laura, snuggling, cuddling, and simply breathing in the sweetness and preciousness of their new born babies, I get so jealous. It’s something I’ve never experienced in that way and I hope new mothers who get to experience it right, don’t take it for granted…. but, I digress….
In looking back, I see so clearly just how incredibly blessed we were and just how much love was shown to our family during those months. Friends and family really stepped up, offering us incredible love and support. My heart is full to bursting when I think about all the people who were there to help us through that time. People brought meals, helped take care of our children, lent a listening ear, gave much needed sympathy and advice, kept our house clean, provided shoulders to cry on, and even stayed up late at night just playing cards with me as a distraction from the panic and depression. I’m also eternally grateful for the professionals who over saw my mental health and helped me find myself again. We were truly blessed and watched over by God. Our prayers were sincerely answered, mostly through the love and service of others. It was a difficult, but beautiful time. We made it through too, and stronger than when we began.
Something else I’ve been thinking about now that it’s been six years since all the craziness……A few nights ago I was clicking through pictures on my computer and I stumbled across these beautiful photos…..
They were taken by my dad on a day that he and my mom took the kids to the zoo, then to their house, in order to give me a much need break from the constant chaos. By that time I was thankfully free from the all the postpartum guck, but as I looked at these pictures the other night, I was filled with such a sense of….I don’t know…maybe longing…maybe regret….maybe sadness. My heart just twisted when I saw these photos.
My dad had captured something in those beautiful shots, something that made me realize that because I had dealt with that nasty postpartum for so long, and then struggled to figure out how to raise two baby boys at once, and do it in harmony with the powerful, type A personality that is mine, I went into…well, let’s call it… survival mode. I was in survival mode for so long. Too long. I think I missed so much because of this. I didn’t enjoy my babies like I should have. I didn’t savor. I just survived.
Of course I did have good times. It was when the boys were about six months old that I starting feeling all those feelings I had so longed to feel when they were born, when I truly felt ‘the bond’ that I had waited for, but I didn’t savor even that as much as I should have. I so wish I would have.
I know there is many a mother out there that can relate to these feelings. Wishing they had savored their children’s smallness, their baby-ness more. I know it’s a common feeling. Also, I’m not one to waste inordinate amounts of energy on regret, so I’m not going to let it bring me down to the depths of despair or anything, but I’m vowing now to do better. In fact I think I have been doing better.
I love the age my boys are now. I love almost everything they say and do. Five is such a fun age, and six, it seems is just as good, maybe better. My boys are growing up fast….too fast. They need their mama less and less all the time. They won’t be little for much longer and so I will savor.
I feel so blessed to have my two crazy boys. It’s been an incredible six years with lots of ups and downs. Heaven knows we’ve been challenged, and stretched, but, like I said before, it’s been nothing short of life changing. In a good way.
And today we celebrate.
