One Year Later, Looking Back

People asked me all the time if I craved pickles. "My strongest craving is asphalt," I'd confess. Not for shock value, but because it was true: I was a pregnant stalker of freshly paved roads and driveways. I used to imagine the texture of a warm piece of pavement crackling in my hand like a black Rice Krispie Treat. I never found out whether it was a vitamin deficiency or hormones or what, but smells and textures of certain harsh chemicals were extremely pleasing during my third trimester. I had a weakness for cleaning supplies. I would call Abby for a reminder. "Tell me not to drink the bleach," I'd say. Unphased, she'd comply: "Don't drink the bleach, Bess."  And, of course, I wouldn't. I would just fantasize about it for a while. My favorite activity the week before giving birth was cleaning the kitchen sink. "What would happen if  I ate just a few bites of Comet?" I'd ask. I already knew the answer, so I just cleaned the sink and begged Lisa to go to Home Depot with me again and again, promising not to lick the floor.

This was me-exactly one year ago today. I was making a birthday cake for my upstairs neighbor wearing my Grandma's old apron.

A year later these memories strike me as very strange and foreign. I'm such a different person now. Sometimes I still think-- "Oh my God, I'm somebody's PARENT." For the most part, I've gotten used to it. I'm a very lucky parent of two hilarious, lovable little somebodies!

What a year it has been.

Being the mother of preemies, I was sure I would not miss the newborn days. We had two extra months of newborn-mode, after all. I thought they'd never grow into normal-looking babies. But now they're 17 pounds, wild and crazy and on their way to toddlerhood. 

Here are some never-before-seen photos. We were picky about which photos we put online at first because we didn't want people to freak out over how small they were.

Effram looks like a miniature old man. I called him Benjamin Button. 

Lucy fits inside Uncle Rod's hands.

People were kind and told us they were precious and sweet and adorable. They were precious--yes, but also frighteningly tiny. After a while, we were so used to their little bodies that people's reactions started to jar us a little.

One year later as I was packing up the breast pump and the baby swing and everything we could possibly get rid of, I found myself having this weird pang of nostalgia. All of these strange feelings came flooding back. I actually found myself missing the NICU.  MISSING THE NICU? Now, that felt really odd. Who misses the most traumatic experience of her life? It's psychology 101, I guess. The social worker and nurses said I might miss the NICU after leaving it late last September, but I thought they were crazy. 

Last August was a such a mixed bag of blessings. I had been worried about the hormonal changes that occur after birth and was terrified of ending up with postpartum depression. I was so relieved that I didn't experience this, but then again I think the Universe was kind, knowing that having postpartum depression AND babies in the NICU who were the size of squirrels might have sent me over the edge. Still, no one tells you that even vaginal births involve a strange recovery period. I went back to my hospital room feeling like I had been physically and emotionally gutted.  

There I was in the NICU every day that first week, wearing ice packs in my underwear and industrial sizedmaxi pads. I'd leave the hospital for a break and felt blinded by the brightness and noises of downtown Chicago. Every day I saw husbands pulling up their SUVs and helping their postpartum wives into the back seat with their healthy nine pound babies. Everyone else was just going about their days, rushing here or there. I felt so fragile and vulnerable to the outside world. Everything was too harsh.  The NICU was uncomfortable and awful in its own ways but it only felt right to be there, quietly acknowledging the other NICU moms. We were all in our own worlds of pain and healing and worrying. Most of us in some combination of hospital gown and jeans, carrying bags of pumping equipment. Experiencing such visceral feelings and wearing the same anxiety on our faces over the constant flip-flopping of our babies' conditions. We would ask each other how our little ones were doing, but were careful not to make too much conversation. I know I couldn't handle anyone else's situation. My own was hard enough.

Our primary nurse took the time to put Lucy in a swing. She loved it!

We had a total lack of control over what happened and so we just held our tiny creatures, or sat beside them, hoping our presence made a difference. But also because we didn't know what to do with ourselves. We couldn't be anywhere else. We got used to the report-card smell of the NICU mixed with the scent of antibiotic-infused baby pee and were accustomed to the lights and blips and beeps of the equipment. Our babies kicked and pulled off their leeds, sending the monitors into hysterics, and  every time we'd think they were dying. The nurses would then react with no emotion and go on debating whether Potbelly's new salads were as good as Panera's. "It's not picking up the signal, that's all," they'd say flatly, and go adjust the baby's sticker. I had to remind myself that those nurses see a lot of trauma every day at work and are not stonehearted bitches, they're just used to it.

It's really been a remarkable year. These kids have no idea how much love is out there for them. While we have had some hard times, I am ultimately humbled by the generosity and kindness we've experienced this year.  We have a lot of support for our family, and there is still so much love and energy pouring in for these babies all the time. That is a wonderful feeling for a couple of proud moms.   

So. Despite those unexpected feelings of nostalgia, we are SO grateful to have two healthy NICU "graduates." When I find myself taking their health for granted and worrying that they are almost a year old and can't manage finger foods, I quickly remind myself that they recovered from a scary intestinal disease and are doing wonderfully considering that. They have the rest of their lives to eat Cheerios.

Happy First Birthday Effram and Lucy! 

I'm proud to be your Mama and am so lucky to get to know your amazing personalities more and more every day.