Late

We brought our daughter home 1 month later than we thought we would. Or rather, when I thought I would. My husband put no timeline on when she'd make an appearance. I was the impatient one.

I delivered our daughter 11 days after her estimated delivery date - a somewhat arbitrary date based on the first date of a woman's last period before pregnancy. Approximately 4% of births actually happen on that exact date.

After a long, complicated labor that ended in an emergency c-section, my little girl was admitted to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (a scary place that no one warns you that a full-term baby may end up) due to a bacterial infection. She needed antibiotics and had to be monitored for two weeks. The doctor miscalculated her doses and we had to wait 1 extra day for her to come home. During our daughter's time in NICU, I couldn't wait to go to sleep every night because I knew I'd wake up being one day closer to bringing my baby home. This extra day seemed like an eternity.

"What's one more day?" was something we heard continuously.

Perspective.

Some people wait months before they can bring their child home. Some babies die in NICU. We were lucky.

Doctors don't apologize. A nurse sort of apologized. You can't go around expecting apologizes in life. If you do, you'll be really disappointed.

I'm glad I realize this now. Better to realize this late than never.

Something bigger

I'm a mom now. What does this mean? Does my baby know who I am? Is it just purely biological? I love her, but does she love me? Is she capable of that at 10 days old? Right now I provide nourishment and comfort to her, but is that it?

I'm alone. No, not really alone, but alone. Isolated, but not alone. She's being taken care of in NICU due to a bacterial infection that she probably contracted from me. I just want her to come home.

I seek something bigger. We are all so alone. I am so alone. I've never had this urge before. Religion? A connection to something more. I yearn for the yoga mat. Meditation. A connection . . .

A simple analysis would be that of course I'm feeling this way. Hormones, yeah? And my childbirth experience didn't go as planned. And I don't have my baby home with me. My own mother passed away three and a half years ago. Of course I am feeling this way.

I owe it to my daughter to look her in the eyes and tell her she isn't alone. She isn't. My mother told me the same thing, but here I am. Feeling alone.

Search for something bigger because you can't really rely on anyone completely in life. Not even your own mother and father. Not even your devoted husband. Not even your dearest friend.

We're all just getting through life the best we can.

The waiting game

Okay, I'm a big mess of emotions right now due to the impending delivery of my first child. The baby is now only one day late, but it is torturous for me. I have such anxiety about so many things - some understandable and some insane. From taking leave from work to fretting over my daughter's astrological sign (the sensitive Pisces) to wondering if my body even KNOWS how to go into labor. 

It occurred to me last night during a breakdown that this is the time when I need my mother. I need to ask her questions and have her encouragement. She knew me better than most. I don't have that and there's a big void. I ask women I know about the birth stories of their children, but the one woman whose experience is the most relevant to me (because of, you know, genetics) is my mother's. Her experience is the one I must piece together with fuzzy conversations I had with her. I wish I paid more attention.

I also really wish I had at least one attentive parent. My father has not been incredibly supportive during my life changes as an adult. I definitely know that I am a 30 year old woman capable of living my life without proper parenting at this point, but damn it, I still wish I had my mom around for having my first kid. There's no shame in that. She was the one who was always there emotionally and unselfishly for me and my brothers. She was a great mom.

I dreamed a dream

Last night I had a dream where Mom came back and was with me during childbirth. I held her hand and told her how happy l was to have her with me. I was elated. I thought to myself, in my dream, "Yes, I have my mom here. See, I am not alone. She is with me." My mother smiled. I remember touching her arm. For some reason it seemed swollen, like it was when she was towards the end. I woke up in my dream and thought about writing about my dream. I was still dreaming. A dream within a dream.

And then I really woke up and here I am. 

Making room

I sit in my daughter's future room and the amount of happiness that I have at the possibilities of our future fills my heart. 

Right now, however, the baby's “room” is a mess. There's a transition happening. The room has been my home office/craft/gift-wrapping/creative space for the past 2 years. It is underused and, honestly, the room's primary purpose has been to conceal my clutter – random craft materials, electronics, mail, documents, records and old bills. When I'm in this room, I look past my belongings and imagine the little girl who will spend her nights dreaming in this space. 

I so treasured the mother/daughter time I spent with my mom while she was alive. I honestly never thought I'd experience it again. That's not to say I didn't think it was possible, I just didn't think about the possibility of being in a mother/daughter relationship again in a tangible sense. Motherhood, not to mention having a daughter, was not something I dared to daydream about so freely. In no way do I want to put any expectations on an innocent little girl who is now only a pound and a half inside my belly - the weight would be unfair - but the thought of her and I just spending time together mends my heart in a way that is inexplicable. It touches my core and makes my heart full.

Presently our daughter's room is in my womb. It's safe in there and she's protected. Two hearts inside my body right now - a miracle that I don't dare take for granted. 

This little girl has got a few more months to grow inside of her room. I've got a few more months to organize her room on the outside.  We both have some more time to prepare for this whole new world. The room will be ready.  

Laughter in my dreams

Rough time lately
June is tough
Me & mom's birthday in same week
Milestone birthday
I'm 30 (hooray)
I need to lighten up
Everything is so heavy
Laughter in my dreams
Wake husband & puppy
Laugh, laugh, laugh
Uncontrollably laughing with my mom
In my dreams
Simple
Light
Free

Lonely

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day again. The third one without my mother here with me. It still stings when I listen to advertisements reminding me of Mother’s Day and it’s tough to be around friends and family talking about what they're doing for or with their mom on Mother’s Day.

I’m not a mom yet, so it’s a very bizarre, in-between type of day. I know lots of moms and honor their motherhood - so, yes, there’s meaning in that. It’s not as though I’m totally exempt from the holiday just because my mom isn't alive.

A few days ago I met a new colleague while at a work conference. The air around this woman was not jovial in the least - she seemed sad and reserved. She didn’t smile. I didn’t know if it was her personality or if she just didn't like me, but I noticed it immediately. There was something categorically sad about her.

One morning I made an off-hand comment about my stomach feeling bad or feeling slightly out of it due to the absurdly high pollen count that day. (If you know me, my favorite thing is to complain about "not feeling well." I'm usually tired, allergy-laden, or something else. This is something I get from my mother. I am completely self-aware.)

Later that day, I ran into my sad colleague again and she offered me some of her ginger ale. I thanked her and told her that I was okay. She asked how I was feeling. I told her I was feeling so-so. Maybe the ice around her was melting a little bit towards me.

After that last conference program, I ran into my sad colleague as walked to our cars in the parking lot. She asked how long I'd been working with the library system and we talked about the future of librarianship. She told me about her experiences in libraries (she’d started working in public libraries in 1999). She told me that as public librarians, we are very much like therapists. I agreed with her. She told me that her therapist told her that during a session and I was shocked at her openness. Therapy, unfortunately, isn’t something people are completely open about, especially in the black community that we share. 

“I see a therapist because I lost my daughter last year,” she adds.

And I stop. I mumble my condolences and suddenly see her in a different light. I feel her pain. I see her pain. I think about how hard it must be for her. My heart breaks because I know her pain - albeit I have no idea how it feels to lose a child, but I do understand gut-wrenching lost. I know how it feels after one minute, one year, two years and soon I'll know how it feels after three years before many, many more years - many more milestones, many more Mother's Days, birthdays, Christmases, etc. 

I think of my grandmother. I think of my mother. I think of the daughter that I don’t have yet. I think of this woman with the seemingly inexplicable sadness all around her that can be explained very simply: she was grieving and she missed her daughter.

We talk some more after this revelation and then go grocery shopping together. We don’t feel like going to dinner with our other colleagues. We decide to use our per diems to buy food and eat it alone in our hotel rooms, respectively. 

Mother’s Day must be so hard for her, too.