When being a Mom hurts

I remember it still so painfully 6 years later.  I had given birth to possibly the most gorgeous baby girl and was entirely enamored with her. The haze and quiet that comes shortly after child birth and the initial hustle of family introductions was over and we settled in for our hospital stay. She was nearly 24 hours old and had her first bath, she hated it and cried and I was quick to sooth her with a warm swaddling blanket, murmuring and stroking her beautifully clear pink cheeks, knowing in those first few hours together no one loved her more than me and this is what made me qualify for Motherhood, this is why I'd been chosen for her. 

I'd had a second c-section and knew the pain of those first few steps very well and was not about to have the nurse make it happen for me again so I was more quick to my feet than the first time.  

It was time for my first shower, the dreaded long walk down the hallway post op. As I prepared my things Chad assured me he would be with our sleeping baby for the short time I was away and not to worry. Of course those are absolutely impossible assurances to a new Mom who has grown and protected this little person inside of herself for 9 months (or was it 10) and now is separating herself from this little one for the first time. But I knew he was so capable and I knew I so needed a shower and waddled down the hallway for a good clean.

I returned to a somewhat frazzled husband and no baby. He explained that something wasn't right and they had taken the baby to the NICU for furthering testing.  That I shouldn't worry and could go see her as soon as I was ready. I tried not to think of the possibilities as I made my way painfully back down the hall but this time to the NICU.  I found them hooking my sweet screaming, blue baby up to so many tubes and wires and putting her into one of those little boxes of isolation. I stood outside the isolate tears rolling down my cheeks and I tried to hold back deep groaning cries. I was trying to find some sense of control, struggling not to blame myself for leaving her. If only I'd not let her out of my sight. I was so vulnerable. so desperate. so unsure. so dependent. 

I was allowed to hold her just 1 hour to nurse every few hours, I clung to every second of that hour, stretching it out, assuring myself she still needed to feed. A nurse a curtain away sang hymns to the sick baby beside us and I drew such amazing comfort from her. Now no one came to visit, no one came to celebrate, there was no baby to visit and coo and hold, just a distraught mother, longing to be given back what was hers  in the first place.

Mothers Day dawned with aching arms. I struggled to come to terms with the fact that it was in her best interest not to be in my care. I waited for the Drs to come tell me she was fine and I could have her with me again. How quiet that Mothers Day morning was, and I knew the ache of separation and the unknown. Chad arrived later with Zoë and we snuggled and cuddled before he took her back home and I waited. Waited to be reuinted. Waited to find out what was wrong.

It was 5 days. Only 5 days of testing and waiting and aching but it was a lifetime. I was so distraught for her it didn't even occur to me to take one picture during her stay in the NICU. Now looking back we have pictures the first 24 hours of introductions and then nothing for 5 days.  When they finally told us we could take her home I remember looking at Chad as if to bolt before they changed their minds.

For many women, their aching arms, separation, their waiting is so much longer and so much more painful than mine, be it in the womb, childbirth, or while raising their children. This small time, at the heart of Hallmark celebration,  in my own life as a Mom was a window into the heartache that motherhood can afford. Sometimes being a Mom hurts, really hurts. So tomorrow, (or I guess now it is today) let's be kind to each other, hug each other, encourage each other and remember that Mom's hearts are so full that they bleed love.

When you're not here

Another birthday has passed without you here and the loudness of your absence hurts my ears.  As we laugh, eat cake and take pictures, I wish you were here holding my baby, making conversation in the kitchen, drinking coffee, reminiscing over our childhood, laughing until we cried.

And I know I'm not alone.  I see it in her eyes as she watches the candles blow out, the strained smile on his face as he hears us sing Happy Birthday, my daughters' hot tears at bedtime, the confusion as my son looks for you to pull in the yard and in the moments when the conversation starts to trail toward you.

You are missed. You are loved. And we are waiting.

Oh we laugh, and how we treasure these precious moments we are gifted but as we celebrate another year with this one we ache for this year with you. I watch the baby toddle across the floor- oh if you could see how she's grown so fast, she's so fun, the oldest crosses her legs and takes command of the living room- she's is growing into such a lady, my son is such a lover and such a clown- will he remember you, the birthday girl has such passion for life if you could feel it- see it on her and our grandparents are sitting on the other side of the room on such borrowed time- can you hear the clock ticking beside them?

But then there is me. Did you know about me?  How I'm changing too. Maybe I've not shared enough, not shown I cared enough, maybe you didn't know how loud your presence was in the room. Tomorrow is Mothers Day but you know in many ways its siblings day, sisters day too. Our hearts think of our Mom, celebrate our Mom, celebrate our childhood- we are linked together. We are Mom's ourselves and our hearts beat, painfully for our children, for our families for our relationships And I hurt like I've lost you and I long for relationship restored. It need not be what it was, it can be different, it can be more. As your heart wanders tomorrow as I know that it will please know...

You are missed. You are loved. And we are waiting.