Birth Trauma Reflections… Two Years Later
It was Christmas time in 2022, and our daughter had spent the first month of her two-month-to-early life in an Isolette…
To the untrained eye, she was unimaginably tiny, but to us, she was already on her way to becoming a big girl.
She had come so far in such a short amount of time…From 1 lb 14 oz to 2 lbs 15oz.
There’s an experience I can only assume is universal for all preemie parents…
I don’t have the statistics to back this up, and quite honestly, I haven’t even thought to ask around to see if this is even true, but I just know in my bones that it is. I would wager that every single parent who has had a premature baby has either said this out loud or in their head at one point in time…
“I never thought she was going to fit into this”
That thought seems so silly now… of course, she would eventually be able to fit into that preemie-sized Christmas onesie her Great-Grandparents had gotten her!
But at the time, all I could see was a giant piece of adorable fabric that she wasn’t able to wear because of her pic line, the wires, the cords, and the tubes…
But thankfully, our amazing nurse found a way, and our tiny baby did get to wear that adorable Christmas onesie…
and it. was. HUGE.
It’s hard to believe that was almost two years ago now…
I got emotional this year as I was cleaning out her closet to make room for new sizes…
I held up that Christmas Preemie onesie and said to my husband with tears in my eyes,
“I can’t believe she was ever this small.”
That article of clothing that had once seemed impossibly large was now a relic from tiny days and NICU stays.
Things are different now…
That 1 lb 14 oz baby turns two this week.
Preemie onesies now look tiny, and while 2T clothes are still a little big, I can imagine her filling them out.
Birthdays compel us to think about the future.
They also implore that we reflect on the past.
And just like with that little preemie onesie, I’ve been looking back on who I was about a year ago.
This time last year, I never could have imagined being excited about her birthday.
A day that was supposed to be filled with joy and celebration had been shrouded in a cloak of grief that was just too heavy for me to take off.
I so desperately wanted to be happy.
I wanted to celebrate my baby girl and how far she had come…
But I was trapped in the past, and I couldn’t get past the trauma of that day.
Birth trauma had stolen my joy.
For NICU parents, Birthdays can be really really hard.
Because even though you leave the NICU, it never really goes away.
You find it in the photos of your baby’s earliest days.
It’s in the therapies and doctor’s appointments.
In the unbearable anxiety that comes when “sick season” hits.
The panic that strikes around anniversaries.
The fear of another pregnancy.
Sometimes it finds you in your dreams.
For some, it’s still wreaking havoc on your central nervous system.*
I wrote this poem last year (July 2022) in the lead-up to her first Birthday…
I wanted to be excited, but I just couldn’t get there, no matter how hard I tried.
I felt selfish.
I felt like a terrible mother.
I felt like the love I had for my baby should have been able to overpower my grief…
I questioned if I was even loving her correctly.
I questioned why my faith wasn’t “fixing” my brokenness.
I questioned if I even deserved to be her mother…
When I read this poem back now, I see a woman who was hurting…
I see unimaginable pain.
I read these words and I hear a desperate attempt to understand what the heck just happened…
I hear confusion. Fear. Guilt. Shame. Regret. Longing….
I see Grief.
I really didn’t celebrate my daughter’s first Birthday… I couldn’t.
I was doing my best to just survive it.
I was told by our NICU Psychologist that it would get easier with time, and I went searching on Instagram for other NICU Mom’s that I had connected with to see if they were struggling too.
And guess what? They were.
I found solidarity.
And then I went searching for NICU moms who were a few steps ahead of me…
Women who could pour life into me and hold space for belief when I wasn’t able to believe.
Their stories helped me find hope.
Because they all said the same thing:
Birthdays are hard…
but they do get easier.
She’s turning two this week, and I’m happy to report that they were right…
it did get easier.
This time of year is still hard for me, but the grief cloak feels just a little bit lighter this year.
That first birthday, I could only see my baby through the cracked window of birth trauma.
This year, I’m celebrating with a toddler, and that birth trauma fog isn’t nearly as dense.
Sure, it’s still there… but it’s manageable.
I couldn’t imagine her ever fitting into that preemie Christmas onesie…
Now I can’t imagine how she was ever that small.
The little onesie is proof to me that things can change.
Friend, it really does get easier… but it will take some time.
I know that’s not what you want to hear (at least it’s not what I wanted to hear this time last year), but part of the healing process is simply allowing time to run its course.
Now, there are obviously things you can do during that time that will certainly help, but that’s a different post for a different day… because the almost two-year-old just woke up, and she’s demanding Cheerios.
So for now, allow me to leave you with this…
another poem after another year.
Something to look forward to.
Something to hold you over.
Something to hold on to.
Something to hope for.
“2lbs to 2 years
November 2nd, 2024
You’re turning two next week
And there’s so much I want to say
Birth trauma wants to steal the joy
But I push that all away
It’s really not too often
That I smile as I write
But when I think about how far you’ve come
The peace I feel feels right
Odds never in your favor
And yet you’ve overcome them all
Your little voice is getting stronger
Though I love that it’s still small
Your careful steps are precious
And you’re filled with so much pride
Stepping over every obstacle
Hand in hand and side by side
A personality is blooming
You’re showing who you’re going to be
Your goofiness you get from dad
That sass you get from me
You love to have your shoes put on
And you love to take them off
You’re friendly and you’re curious
Play dates and smiles and coughs
You love to help us garden
Though your tomatoes picked are green
Quiet play means sneaky messes
Messes you try to help me clean
You’ve been cast and you’ve had therapies
In your own time, you will thrive
You’ve surpassed all I had hoped for you
I just hoped you would survive
My Marine Corps Birthday miracle
My wrapped-in-plastic baby bird
You are my celebration
And trauma won’t have the last word
If this year brings up new challenges
And new things to diagnose
We’ll make it through like we always do
Even if the call is close
Because you’re more than your statistics
You’ve been a fighter from the start
And I can’t wait to see how far you’ll grow
From that 2-pound work of art
”
Journal Prompt:
What are some great things you never imagined would happen for you or your child, but did?
Take some time to reflect on that in gratitude.
What are some things you had hoped would happen for you or your child but unfortunately haven’t happened?
Allow yourself the space to lament and grieve.
Gratitude and Grief…
Both are important. Both are valid.
Both are just another part of your story.
* “Approximately 35% of mothers and 24% of fathers experience Acute Stress Disorder days after infant hospitalization, with 15% of these mothers and 8% of these fathers having ongoing PTSD symptoms.” [Click here for Source]
Help is available, and the internet is full of great free resources like this one.