As I've travelled this journey as mum to premature baby, I've found it hard, at times to fit in, with baby groups, with parenting websites, just doing normal every day things, sometimes I find its hard to explain myself, and my point of view. To the outsider I'm just another mummy, with my son in a pushchair, doing mum things, but often life is different for the mum of a premature baby. Here are some of my thoughts.
1. We've seen and heard things other mums haven't. We have seen our babies go through horrible procedures, even simple things such as having a naso gastric tube, whilst a routine procedure from a neonatologist point of view, is a big thing for a mum to see and deal with. Having lines fitted, having numerous blood tests, each procedure tugs at our heart strings.
2. Often, we have been given news, bad news. And that bad news leaves an imprint on our hearts, even once our child is no longer at risk. As I've blogged about before, the words "we are not sure that your son is going to live" left me broken, and I've never quite recovered, and in fact, I feel a catch in my throat, and the tears sting when I see him standing up playing with his cars on the sofa. The little person who is such an enormous part of my life, with such a huge personality, nearly wasn't here, and I'm not sure how you recover from that.
3. We have instructions. On discharge we are told to be careful about mixing, not to allow our children to be passed around, to be very careful about colds and flu. We wash and sanitise our hands, and we require others to do the same. Are we paranoid? No, we are careful, and we require the same care in others. If we pull the raincover over the pram in glaring sunlight, or wear our babies in a sling close to us, it may be because that is the only way we can stop people touching our babies without following the rules. If your told by a parent to stop and wash your hands, don't take it personally, just do it.
4. We have our own sort of humour. Survivors of any sort of trauma or difficult situation sometimes have "trench humour", we're not trying to minimise what happened, its our way of coping, of trying to lighten what we have been through. Just because I joke about being able to eat brie in at 29 weeks pregnant does not mean I wanted a pregnancy in two trimesters, and I am not being frivolous. Sometimes, it helps to laugh.
5. We missed physical contact with our babies for weeks and months. We had to ask permission to touch and hold our babies. Yes we may hug a little tighter, we may be reluctant to give our babies to others, but be gentle with us, we have been through a lot. Unless you have ever had to ask permission to hold your baby, don't judge us.
6. We know a language that we share with doctors and nurses, and perhaps writers of medical programs. We pop words into sentences you may not understand. We're not doing it to be clever, or to alienate you, that is the language we know.
7. Every little achievement is a massive deal. Today I took pictures on the webcam of Joseph using a beaker. When he was 2 weeks old I was told he would never eat or drink, and would be tube fed for life. He used a beaker, no lid, no teat, just a normal beaker! And he can dip his turkey sandwich into his milk if he wants (I don't recommend it). To me, this is incredible.
Sometimes the world of term babies seems so alien to me, that it's easier just to associate with people who have walked in my shoes, and are now walking in my shoes. How I long to know what its like to have a baby that comes home with you, that doesn't have lines going in and wires coming out. I wouldn't change what I've been through, and the mummy I am now, and I sure as hell would not change my baby, but sometimes, I just wish I could have stepped in someone else's shoes.
1. We've seen and heard things other mums haven't. We have seen our babies go through horrible procedures, even simple things such as having a naso gastric tube, whilst a routine procedure from a neonatologist point of view, is a big thing for a mum to see and deal with. Having lines fitted, having numerous blood tests, each procedure tugs at our heart strings.
2. Often, we have been given news, bad news. And that bad news leaves an imprint on our hearts, even once our child is no longer at risk. As I've blogged about before, the words "we are not sure that your son is going to live" left me broken, and I've never quite recovered, and in fact, I feel a catch in my throat, and the tears sting when I see him standing up playing with his cars on the sofa. The little person who is such an enormous part of my life, with such a huge personality, nearly wasn't here, and I'm not sure how you recover from that.
3. We have instructions. On discharge we are told to be careful about mixing, not to allow our children to be passed around, to be very careful about colds and flu. We wash and sanitise our hands, and we require others to do the same. Are we paranoid? No, we are careful, and we require the same care in others. If we pull the raincover over the pram in glaring sunlight, or wear our babies in a sling close to us, it may be because that is the only way we can stop people touching our babies without following the rules. If your told by a parent to stop and wash your hands, don't take it personally, just do it.
4. We have our own sort of humour. Survivors of any sort of trauma or difficult situation sometimes have "trench humour", we're not trying to minimise what happened, its our way of coping, of trying to lighten what we have been through. Just because I joke about being able to eat brie in at 29 weeks pregnant does not mean I wanted a pregnancy in two trimesters, and I am not being frivolous. Sometimes, it helps to laugh.
5. We missed physical contact with our babies for weeks and months. We had to ask permission to touch and hold our babies. Yes we may hug a little tighter, we may be reluctant to give our babies to others, but be gentle with us, we have been through a lot. Unless you have ever had to ask permission to hold your baby, don't judge us.
6. We know a language that we share with doctors and nurses, and perhaps writers of medical programs. We pop words into sentences you may not understand. We're not doing it to be clever, or to alienate you, that is the language we know.
7. Every little achievement is a massive deal. Today I took pictures on the webcam of Joseph using a beaker. When he was 2 weeks old I was told he would never eat or drink, and would be tube fed for life. He used a beaker, no lid, no teat, just a normal beaker! And he can dip his turkey sandwich into his milk if he wants (I don't recommend it). To me, this is incredible.
Sometimes the world of term babies seems so alien to me, that it's easier just to associate with people who have walked in my shoes, and are now walking in my shoes. How I long to know what its like to have a baby that comes home with you, that doesn't have lines going in and wires coming out. I wouldn't change what I've been through, and the mummy I am now, and I sure as hell would not change my baby, but sometimes, I just wish I could have stepped in someone else's shoes.
