It may seem a little bit crazy, but I have mom guilt over something that hasn't even happened yet. Fallon's birthday, a day that should have been one of the happiest of my life, was actually the most terrifying. There are unfortunately still a lot of negative emotions there and I don't get all the warm + fuzzy feelings when I think about it. I still remember how quickly the air shifted in the deliver room. The nurse calling for the team of people who would rush in and have to save my baby as soon as she came out. The alarmingly serious look on my doctor's face and her tone of voice when she told me to push with everything I had instead of waiting for contractions. There were no happy tears when she said said It's a girl. Time stood still as I waited to hear my daughter cry, squeak, make any noise at all. I got to hold her just long enough for Chris's shaking hands to snap a picture. No fresh newborn snuggles, first feedings, heart melting moments watching my husband become a father or elated announcement to our waiting family.
There is no way to express the gratitude I have that our story has a happy ending. We walked out of the NICU with a healthy baby just 2 days later. A little girl who miraculously suffered no complications from her birth, nursed for 14 months and continues to amaze us as a growing toddler. And while I certainly find my daughter's dramatic birth fitting of her personality, it is still something I struggle to fully come to terms with.
My guilt sets in as soon as I think about baby #2's birthday. It won't be anything like Fallon's. Most likely it will be wonderful, just the way every parent wants to imagine. My husband will be amusing us with his sarcasm, nervous as hell but quietly excited in his way. The nurses will be chatting me up about Fallon and asking if I have any final thought on the baby's sex. My doctor will be telling the latest my kids are driving me crazy story and then coaching me in her very simple, direct way. Chris and I will look at each other with sheer joy over learning we have another daughter or a son. He or she will cry in customary I've just been evicted from my safe place way and placed on my chest. The atmosphere in the room will be light and happy. No one will come to take my baby. I'll be basking in newborn glory with all the kisses and cuddles, right there to comfort him or her from all the scary new sounds and smells. I'll watch Chris hold his second born, right there in the room with me. There will be pictures capturing all these sweet birthday moments. Calls and texts to family and friends sharing our happy news. All the things that we never experienced the first time. Joy and contentment when we've only known fear.
And I cannot help that it pains me to think that my second child will have this happy story I remember every year on the day he or she arrives. I'm already guilty that such opposite emotions will be felt for each baby's birthday. It just doesn't seem right or fair that Fallon's story only has a happy ending. That her daddy and I can still barely look at the pictures of her in the hospital. That we were both nearly brought to tears thinking of what might have been on the morning we celebrated her first year of life.
I realize that this is way things go. Every birth story can't be full of rainbows and sunshine. And, contrary to the tone of this post, I'm actually not trying to go down a morbid rabbit hole and take you all with me. I'm putting this out there because it's been weighing so heavily on my heart for nearly this entire pregnancy. It's doesn't take over the feelings of excitement to welcome another child or the happiness of becoming a mother again. But I can't imagine I am the only one who has been here. And if you have or you are, I'm writing it all out for all of us. As for the rest of you, thank you for reading through the end. Thank you for being supportive even if you don't understand. Thank you for letting me continue to have this space to share the real stuff, the hard stuff, the stuff I need somewhere to get out of my head.
You are all the best!
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