Oh my, where do I begin with this one...
The thought of "becoming a Mommy" usually involves a typical pregnancy with a baby shower in there, a routine, full-term delivery, and holding your sweet little bundle as you rest in your hospital bed surrounded by balloons, flowers, family, and friends. It's a very soft and cuddly thought. In that moment, you are meeting and "being Mommy" to this little baby that you have only ever felt inside of you. This is who was doing all the kicking. It was this little boy/girl who wedged themselves under your rib cage. This is the peanut that used your bladder as their personal trampoline. This is them.
It's a very different story when things go very opposite of the above, I'll tell you that. But...something I have grown to appreciate is the growing together that I am doing with my girls.
Usually, mothers don't get to see the little fingernails and toenails of their babies forming. You read about it in "What to Expect when You're Expecting" so you assume it's happening inside of you, but you don't actually get to see it. I have gotten to see it. I have gotten to see little fingers and little hands with just small indents where a nail would be, actually grow into this teeniest tiniest little nail. I routinely will hold one of my daughters' fingers or feet and just marvel at the sight. How incredible!
Usually mothers don't get to see their child's overall body composition change. I have gotten to watch my children's skin go from red and tissue paper thin (that is not an exaggeration), to thicker and a beautiful peachy pink - just like my own. When babies are really tiny and don't have any body fat yet, they develop this coating of hair on their body called lanugo. I have watched the lanugo disappear (except for a few spots like on their shoulders where they are a little fuzzy - and I love it).
Is that heartburn? Rumor has it, your child has a head full of hair! Well, I have seen my girls' hair grow - eyebrows, eyelashes, hair on their head. I have seen it grow, I have seen it change, I have wondered where the hell blonde eyebrows came from multiple times.
And yes, I have seen the scariest of things too. I have seen kidneys fail, electrolytes rise, sodium get wonky. I have seen blood transfusions, a ton of machines, and have heard a lot of uncertainties.
I still would not wish this early of a delivery or the pain that I sometimes experience, on my worst enemy; however, I think it is important - and truly sometimes the only means of survival - to find the silver lining in what you are going through. To give it some sort of positive meaning.
I am watching God's miracle of life before my eyes. I have FELT God's presence in that room and by my side so many times. As someone who has always considered herself a Christian, but never been very "preachy" I now consider myself "all in". I know that I am on this journey with God by my side. I know our mountain is STEEP (whew! it's steep!) and I know this cross is HEAVY (whew! it's heavy!) but I continue to carry it up that mountain every day - while stopping to smell the roses along the way. Why not? God never said we couldn't enjoy portions of a tough journey. He never said that when the going gets tough, we must be depressed.
Sometimes, I think some of the staff at the hospital look at my husband and I and wonder if we take this seriously. We routinely go in with a positive attitude, we laugh with our nurses who have become family, we joke with our respiratory staff. But then - what else are you supposed to do? Am I supposed to look beat down and broken and just sit on the couch (been there! done that!). Am I supposed to walk around with fear in my eyes the entire time I am there, not speaking to everyone as if I am ashamed of my situation? I hope not, because if that's how I'm supposed to be acting then I am really breaking the rules.
In these situations, I think God wants us to create our joy as we rejoice in His ways. Our creation of our joy could be seen as the comfort of His peace and His assistance. I have personalized my girls NICU nursery - it helps us and visitors feel more at ease and welcome in the room. I don't want the NICU to be a scary medical place - I want it to be a temporary little cove full of love and caring. I love to laugh, so finding things to laugh at with my nurses really helps me in the situation. Last night Bria brought her knees into her chest, diaperless (I'm sure you see where this is going) and literally machine gunned poop out of her hind parts. Shocking? Yes. Laughable? After a minute or two, haha. Sometimes laughter is the best medicine. Additionally, I choose to demonstrate God's peace and His work in my life currently by getting to personally know others and forming connections. I love that we can sit down and talk to our one doctor about ROP and future surgery, and five minutes later be discussing cooking and wine and hearing about his children and grandchildren. It's an added layer of comfort. It makes me, as a NICU mom who can't do much, feel surrounded by "family".
That took me off track - let's reel it back in. I have become "Mommy" in a very unconventional way. I still have not held either of my girls. There has been no skin-to-skin/kangaroo care. The only time I touch them is through a porthole in their isolette, or when I lift them for their weights. That's it. There has been no rocking, no holding them swaddled, nothing. That's hard for a mother! Super hard, in fact, and if I'm being honest the pain with that one is getting worse the longer we go one BUT! I choose to focus on the witness of God's miracles that I have already listed above. I choose to say, "Yes" if a nurse asks me to do something. I choose to run toward the poopey diaper rather than shy away even though changing a diaper through a porthole on a preemie is one of the most difficult things I have had to figure out in my life. It's a lifeskill that deserves a medal if you can do it. I might not be washing my babies clothes (because they don't wear any), but I pick up after cares and put their soiled linens in the soiled linen bin....the trash in the trash bin, etc. The nurses always tell me I don't have to do it - but I like to do it. It makes me feel like I'm taking care of my girls and their space. I pick out their sheets from the closet and find them little blankies....and when those blankies get pulled out to be washed I will go through the cabinet day after day until I find that very same blankie for them again (there is one such dragon blanket that is "Bria's" that I am constantly on the hunt for).
One area that I am particularly proud of myself in, besides the diaper changing, is becoming an active part of their care team. Up until about a week ago, I didn't want to know. Seriously. The anxiety was so awful that I would make Ray call in for updates as I waited, insides all twisted ready to throw up, to hear about what the day had been bringing our girls. Now, I'm the one calling in. I call in when I wake up to see how their night went. I talk with my nurses about things I want brought up in rounds, care that I think may be needed, changes that I feel might need to be made. I call in again around lunch to see what the Drs. may be changing that day. At night, I record it all. Weights, meds, dosages, oxygen, vent settings, activity, behavior, O2 - that way, I can review it and get ready to be part of the care team again the following day.
I'm also proud of myself for learning my girls. Learning their quirks, their behaviors - what is normal, what is not, their coloring, etc. The other night Valerie seemed off. I told her nurse (this was the first time the nurse was having Valerie) and she didn't seem to think it was a big deal. Not that she didn't care! She was a fantastic nurse, I really loved her, but since it was her first time with Val she didn't know what was or was not normal. That's where being their advocate as a parent comes in. I kept saying, "Her color is off" "Her heart rate is off" "Her demeanor is off...something isn't right". On the way home, I was talking with my husband and I said, "I think she needs blood. I think she's Anemic but they said this morning's counts looked good.." Last night we came in to an elevated heart rate, the same pale Valerie, but her demeanor was good - she didn't looked stressed or anything. They said they were running a blood count and waiting for it to come back and I looked at my husband and said, "I knew it. I knew something wasn't right." Don't you know it came back as Anemia? I am definitely not saying I'm a know-it-all, but I know my girls. And they "twin" a lot, so this morning I let Bria's nurse know what Valerie was showing yesterday and what to look out for because most likely, Bria will do the same.
This is definitely not how I envisioned "becoming Mommy" to be. I pictured sleepless nights (which I still have), exhaustion (which I still have), crying babies at home, family over to help us with the babies so I could run to the grocery store - that sort of thing. I never imagined making close connections, witnessing miracles in front of my face, learning more about prenatal medical care than I ever cared to learn and actually UTILIZING that knowledge to assist in the decisions surrounding their care, or changing a diaper through a porthole. I wish I could say, "...but I wouldn't give it up for the world". Trust me, a full term pregnancy with zero complications and two healthy babes would have been ideal but this journey is a journey that my family is all taking together with the girls. It has brought all of us closer, it has strengthened/renewed our faith, and has allowed us to grow in our own way as our little girls grow in their's. It's a journey that while difficult, will forever change us and make us stronger.
You're Not Alone
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
Hello, friends. I know I haven't updated in a while. Honestly, I have typed up what has been going on and had to delete it, multiple times, because the weight of the events is too much. That's essentially why there hasn't been an update - I have been too depressed to post one. I want to be committed to looking forward, rather than focusing on what has already happened and reliving the fear and anxiety that was associated with it, so if you don't mind, I'm just going to skip over the last 19 days and pray that better days are ahead of us.
Have you ever been in a situation where you see someone else going through something and you get transformed back in time to when you went through that very situation? All of sudden, your emotions grab hold of you and you are no longer in the present, you're back in that moment - experiencing every sight, sound, sometimes even smell. It is amazing how our brain works in order to preserve memories on such detailed levels.
While leaving the NICU the other night, I experienced such phenomenon not once, but twice, and with two separate women. Both of these women just had their children that day, both of them were obviously new tenants of the NICU, but each of them made me experience very different emotions.
The first woman I came across while walking out of our room. She came around the corner, her husband pushing her in her wheelchair and she was already changed into her personal "comfy clothes". As they walked up towards the administration desk, the husband said to the attendant, "She just pumped some milk and we wanted to see if we could drop it off with our nurses?" The woman got a smile on her face, while her eyes remained exhausted, and held up a small plastic canister of milk. The milk was golden in color - it was the good stuff - the Colostrum. This milk carried amazing antibodies that could help her child with whatever ailment he/she had been facing.
I remembered that sense of exhaustion and pride. On one hand, you just delivered a child that did not go according to your plans. The baby was not by your bedside, you may have not gotten to see or hold the baby prior to them being brought down to the NICU and honestly - you are just exhausted. You wonder, "What can I do? How can I help my child?" and there isn't much you can do in that situation - except pump. I was never planning on breastfeeding my twins until I was told that my milk could help to save their life. At that point, I became pumping fool. Every three hours I would pump and pray something would come out. I remember those first couple of drops sliding down the side of the cylinder and me yelling for my nurse, "Dezeray! Look! Look! I'm doing it!!" You would have thought I was pumping ACTUAL gold with the excitement. There was a little party by my bedside in that moment. It was one of the few celebrations that took place during a time that should be full of celebration surrounding new life. I can remember being wheeled down to the NICU, unfamiliar with just how much freedom you had as parents to come and visit your child. I can remember every time Ray asked how we can give the milk to the nurses I would hold it up with pride and smile, my eyes telling a different story as they were so swollen from the non-stop tears. Every day of my stay in the hospital, I would pump. Every time I got something, I would get wheeled down and hold the milk up victoriously as I came into the room. This was it - this was the one thing that I could do, and it was actually working. That's pretty amazing at 23 weeks - usually mothers have some trouble with milk production when giving birth that prematurely.
I wanted to high five that mom and tell her that she was capable of amazing things. I wanted to tell her that I knew exactly how she was feeling. I wanted to tell her that even when the going gets tough with that damn pump, to keep going - give it a name, glue on some googley eyes, make pumping a time where you watched your favorite show...anything to make it less cumbersome. I wanted to tell her that even though she felt so helpless in that moment, that her efforts to pump and produce were beyond measure.
The second woman I saw while walking down the long NICU corridor back towards the elevators. She looked very different than the first woman. Her husband wheeled her slowly down the hall, still in her hospital gown and the ugly, oversized socks with the rubber grips on the sole. She rested her head in one hand as her elbow propped up on the arm of the wheelchair. Her gaze remained at the floor, never looking up towards the doors. Her husband remained stoic with the same expression.
I remembered that sense of let down, exhaustion, fear, agony, confusion, and self-loathing. I remember casting my eyes at the floor because I was so afraid that someone would see just how swollen my face had been from all of the crying (I don't cry pretty). I remember the feeling that you were worthless because your body gave up. The feeling of guilt because you couldn't protect your children from coming into the world too soon and the the fact that now they were not in your arms, but in a very medical environment full of machines to keep them alive. I knew how she felt. I knew the feeling of helplessness as you hand your baby over to a stranger to be cared for and kept alive -- a stranger you don't get to interview, get to know, or have any sort of history with. It's defeating beyond measure.
I re-lived EVERYTHING in that moment and I wanted to give that mom a hug - saying nothing other than, "I understand." There aren't words that you can really speak to a mother when she feels like that. Often times "I know this is really hard" is what people say - but if I could request one thing - please don't say that if you don't know. I will tell you, there is no pain like this pain and unless you do know what it's like, don't say "I know this is really hard". A better choice might be, "I can tell this is a very difficult time for you". Something else I can tell you: none of us want you to know these feelings, either. I have said that I wouldn't wish this on the worst person walking the earth. It is dark, scary, and very lonely to go through because you essentially lose who you were before. It's not just the event - it's how the event changes you, and for a while you don't know who the hell you are anymore. You are fighting to live "your life" while you are no longer "you"and it all can feel extremely foreign.
The one thing I have learned and will talk about all of my days it the fact that, regardless of where I have found myself in this journey - happy, sad, fearful, etc - God has been at my side and guiding my steps. Some days, He holds my hands as I make one tiptoe forward. Other days, He inspires me to take a leap and creates situations that make it easier for me to do that. Our God is a faithful God. Many times in the past couple of weeks I have been physically stopped in my tracks because of something that was happening and was out of my control. Literally, I don't move, I can't think, I feel like my soul has left my body and then there has been a soft whisper, "Be still and know that I am God". I'm not making this up. I have sent texts in the midst of chaos that have said, "I just got this wave of warm peace come over me." I know He is with us through this journey, and I know He is walking with those other women through their's. That's not to say that it solves all of the problems or washes away all of the tears, but knowing that you aren't alone and are accompanied by the mightiest of all, the maker of miracles, can be very comforting.
They say God lives in the NICU - I don't doubt it for a second.
Have you ever been in a situation where you see someone else going through something and you get transformed back in time to when you went through that very situation? All of sudden, your emotions grab hold of you and you are no longer in the present, you're back in that moment - experiencing every sight, sound, sometimes even smell. It is amazing how our brain works in order to preserve memories on such detailed levels.
While leaving the NICU the other night, I experienced such phenomenon not once, but twice, and with two separate women. Both of these women just had their children that day, both of them were obviously new tenants of the NICU, but each of them made me experience very different emotions.
The first woman I came across while walking out of our room. She came around the corner, her husband pushing her in her wheelchair and she was already changed into her personal "comfy clothes". As they walked up towards the administration desk, the husband said to the attendant, "She just pumped some milk and we wanted to see if we could drop it off with our nurses?" The woman got a smile on her face, while her eyes remained exhausted, and held up a small plastic canister of milk. The milk was golden in color - it was the good stuff - the Colostrum. This milk carried amazing antibodies that could help her child with whatever ailment he/she had been facing.
I remembered that sense of exhaustion and pride. On one hand, you just delivered a child that did not go according to your plans. The baby was not by your bedside, you may have not gotten to see or hold the baby prior to them being brought down to the NICU and honestly - you are just exhausted. You wonder, "What can I do? How can I help my child?" and there isn't much you can do in that situation - except pump. I was never planning on breastfeeding my twins until I was told that my milk could help to save their life. At that point, I became pumping fool. Every three hours I would pump and pray something would come out. I remember those first couple of drops sliding down the side of the cylinder and me yelling for my nurse, "Dezeray! Look! Look! I'm doing it!!" You would have thought I was pumping ACTUAL gold with the excitement. There was a little party by my bedside in that moment. It was one of the few celebrations that took place during a time that should be full of celebration surrounding new life. I can remember being wheeled down to the NICU, unfamiliar with just how much freedom you had as parents to come and visit your child. I can remember every time Ray asked how we can give the milk to the nurses I would hold it up with pride and smile, my eyes telling a different story as they were so swollen from the non-stop tears. Every day of my stay in the hospital, I would pump. Every time I got something, I would get wheeled down and hold the milk up victoriously as I came into the room. This was it - this was the one thing that I could do, and it was actually working. That's pretty amazing at 23 weeks - usually mothers have some trouble with milk production when giving birth that prematurely.
I wanted to high five that mom and tell her that she was capable of amazing things. I wanted to tell her that I knew exactly how she was feeling. I wanted to tell her that even when the going gets tough with that damn pump, to keep going - give it a name, glue on some googley eyes, make pumping a time where you watched your favorite show...anything to make it less cumbersome. I wanted to tell her that even though she felt so helpless in that moment, that her efforts to pump and produce were beyond measure.
The second woman I saw while walking down the long NICU corridor back towards the elevators. She looked very different than the first woman. Her husband wheeled her slowly down the hall, still in her hospital gown and the ugly, oversized socks with the rubber grips on the sole. She rested her head in one hand as her elbow propped up on the arm of the wheelchair. Her gaze remained at the floor, never looking up towards the doors. Her husband remained stoic with the same expression.
I remembered that sense of let down, exhaustion, fear, agony, confusion, and self-loathing. I remember casting my eyes at the floor because I was so afraid that someone would see just how swollen my face had been from all of the crying (I don't cry pretty). I remember the feeling that you were worthless because your body gave up. The feeling of guilt because you couldn't protect your children from coming into the world too soon and the the fact that now they were not in your arms, but in a very medical environment full of machines to keep them alive. I knew how she felt. I knew the feeling of helplessness as you hand your baby over to a stranger to be cared for and kept alive -- a stranger you don't get to interview, get to know, or have any sort of history with. It's defeating beyond measure.
I re-lived EVERYTHING in that moment and I wanted to give that mom a hug - saying nothing other than, "I understand." There aren't words that you can really speak to a mother when she feels like that. Often times "I know this is really hard" is what people say - but if I could request one thing - please don't say that if you don't know. I will tell you, there is no pain like this pain and unless you do know what it's like, don't say "I know this is really hard". A better choice might be, "I can tell this is a very difficult time for you". Something else I can tell you: none of us want you to know these feelings, either. I have said that I wouldn't wish this on the worst person walking the earth. It is dark, scary, and very lonely to go through because you essentially lose who you were before. It's not just the event - it's how the event changes you, and for a while you don't know who the hell you are anymore. You are fighting to live "your life" while you are no longer "you"and it all can feel extremely foreign.
The one thing I have learned and will talk about all of my days it the fact that, regardless of where I have found myself in this journey - happy, sad, fearful, etc - God has been at my side and guiding my steps. Some days, He holds my hands as I make one tiptoe forward. Other days, He inspires me to take a leap and creates situations that make it easier for me to do that. Our God is a faithful God. Many times in the past couple of weeks I have been physically stopped in my tracks because of something that was happening and was out of my control. Literally, I don't move, I can't think, I feel like my soul has left my body and then there has been a soft whisper, "Be still and know that I am God". I'm not making this up. I have sent texts in the midst of chaos that have said, "I just got this wave of warm peace come over me." I know He is with us through this journey, and I know He is walking with those other women through their's. That's not to say that it solves all of the problems or washes away all of the tears, but knowing that you aren't alone and are accompanied by the mightiest of all, the maker of miracles, can be very comforting.
They say God lives in the NICU - I don't doubt it for a second.
31 Days Later
Friday, January 31, 2020
The date is January 174th.
It is cold. It is grey. I just turned up the thermostat. I long for a nap.
One month ago today my life changed forever. Realistically speaking, your life routinely "changes forever" based on the choices you make and the paths you go down. Even seemingly meaningless things you do on a daily basis "change your life forever"; however, having twins at 23 weeks and 3 days come rip roaring into the world suddenly via emergency C-section....that's definitely a life changer. To have your pregnancy status go from "currently pregnant" to "no longer pregnant" in the span of..mmm...25 minutes, if you include operational prep...that's a life changer. To wake up from your surgery in recovery without the feeling of your two little sidekicks inside of you, rolling around and instead feeling an emptiness and your pregnant belly basically gone - well, damn. That's walking through the front door of a whole new world.
Thirty-one days ago I was lost, terrified, confused, in denial, angry, hating myself, did I say confused? Did I say in denial? It was a tough day emotionally. Thirty-one days ago, I saw my two girls for the first time - their skin bright red and so fragile. Their little bodies so tiny and looking almost deflated because they didn't have any body fat on them yet. I didn't know if that would be how I would remember my girls, in that state, or not.
The doctors essentially told me to prepare for the worst. Memory boxes. Funeral arrangements. Emergency baptisms. Thirty-one days ago, I was unsure how I would come out of this. Thirty-one days ago, it was the darkest place I have ever had to sit with in my heart and my mind. Thirty-one days ago, I understood the pain that could lead someone to suicide (though I swear to everyone, while I understood HOW, it was never a question of IF I would go that route. That was never a route I considered).
Thirty-one days later, the picture is very different (all thanks to God, no doubt).
Thirty-one days later I am hopeful, closer to God than I have ever been, filled with love and support, filled with a mother's love and tenacity to care for her children, more knowledgable about the NICU that seemed so foreign to me just a short time ago.
Thirty-one days later, I have a support system of many moms who have gone through he same thing, the support of my family, as well as the support of my friends who have no idea what it is like to be a parent of a NICU baby.
Thirty-one days later, I know I can make it through the tough days - even if they physically put me down while they are happening.
Thirty-one days later, I have confidence in myself and my abilities.
Thirty-one days later, "I can't" is a phrase I am working on completely removing from my vocabulary because my girls were told they couldn't do many things, and they instead said, "Yes we can".
Thirty-one days later, I have been taught some of the most valuable, life changing lessons I could have ever been taught.
Thirty-one days later, things are not easy. Thirty-one days does not signal being, "out of the woods". Thirty-one days will never take away the fear, the what if's, or the anxiety that surrounds each new day because you are not sure what that day is going to bring for your girls. Thirty-one days later, all of those things still very much exist. But I am grateful to be here, to be with them, 31 days later <3
It is cold. It is grey. I just turned up the thermostat. I long for a nap.
One month ago today my life changed forever. Realistically speaking, your life routinely "changes forever" based on the choices you make and the paths you go down. Even seemingly meaningless things you do on a daily basis "change your life forever"; however, having twins at 23 weeks and 3 days come rip roaring into the world suddenly via emergency C-section....that's definitely a life changer. To have your pregnancy status go from "currently pregnant" to "no longer pregnant" in the span of..mmm...25 minutes, if you include operational prep...that's a life changer. To wake up from your surgery in recovery without the feeling of your two little sidekicks inside of you, rolling around and instead feeling an emptiness and your pregnant belly basically gone - well, damn. That's walking through the front door of a whole new world.
Thirty-one days ago I was lost, terrified, confused, in denial, angry, hating myself, did I say confused? Did I say in denial? It was a tough day emotionally. Thirty-one days ago, I saw my two girls for the first time - their skin bright red and so fragile. Their little bodies so tiny and looking almost deflated because they didn't have any body fat on them yet. I didn't know if that would be how I would remember my girls, in that state, or not.
The doctors essentially told me to prepare for the worst. Memory boxes. Funeral arrangements. Emergency baptisms. Thirty-one days ago, I was unsure how I would come out of this. Thirty-one days ago, it was the darkest place I have ever had to sit with in my heart and my mind. Thirty-one days ago, I understood the pain that could lead someone to suicide (though I swear to everyone, while I understood HOW, it was never a question of IF I would go that route. That was never a route I considered).
Thirty-one days later, the picture is very different (all thanks to God, no doubt).
Thirty-one days later I am hopeful, closer to God than I have ever been, filled with love and support, filled with a mother's love and tenacity to care for her children, more knowledgable about the NICU that seemed so foreign to me just a short time ago.
Thirty-one days later, I have a support system of many moms who have gone through he same thing, the support of my family, as well as the support of my friends who have no idea what it is like to be a parent of a NICU baby.
Thirty-one days later, I know I can make it through the tough days - even if they physically put me down while they are happening.
Thirty-one days later, I have confidence in myself and my abilities.
Thirty-one days later, "I can't" is a phrase I am working on completely removing from my vocabulary because my girls were told they couldn't do many things, and they instead said, "Yes we can".
Thirty-one days later, I have been taught some of the most valuable, life changing lessons I could have ever been taught.
Thirty-one days later, things are not easy. Thirty-one days does not signal being, "out of the woods". Thirty-one days will never take away the fear, the what if's, or the anxiety that surrounds each new day because you are not sure what that day is going to bring for your girls. Thirty-one days later, all of those things still very much exist. But I am grateful to be here, to be with them, 31 days later <3
Overwhelmed by Love & Support
Wednesday, January 29, 2020
Who even knew this was a thing?
I have been overwhelmed by a lot in my life, but love and support is not one of them. That's not to say I haven't been loved or supported - but never at such a personally demanding level. What you need to understand is, I am a people pleaser. Additionally, I was raised to write out thank you cards, provide prompt gratitude, etc. and honestly - I feel like such a failure with that right now.
I wrote out thank you cards two weeks ago. I just haven't put on addresses and mailed them yet. So if you have dropped something off, or sent me something - I promise I am not ungrateful - I am just overwhelmed. The thank you card is coming - eventually. If you have mailed me cards, I have received them and read them. I appreciate them so much - I just haven't sent out messages yet. I am sorry.
Originally, it was just the chaos surrounding the girls that felt a little unraveling, but as time progresses, it seems like even more is unraveling and that is my own doing. I KNOW I need to stop. I KNOW I need to take care of myself and my babies first -- but how do you do that when the world is being so damn good to you? How do you not feel a sense of urgency to let others know that you love and appreciate their love and support? How do you just go on without thanking people for their prayers - the prayers that continue to save your daughters? I can't do it. I can't just put myself first when it comes to receiving so many blessings.
People want to come over, want to go to lunch, want to meet up, want to drop something off. "How are the babies?" "When are they coming home?" "What does that mean?" "How are you doing?" "How are you feeling?" "How are you handling everything?" "Let's get dinner!" "What about the weekend?" And as the person on the receiving end you appreciate every question, every text, every call and you don't want them to stop but you begin to feel weighed down by the pressure to answer it all. To be it all. To manage it all.
It's very hard.
And again, then there's the guilt. All these blessings and you're going to say you're overwhelmed? What kind of person are you? Do you want the blessings or do you not? We personally want them - how to manage them is where we are stuck.
Then I start to think about managing life in general with everything. I'm going back to work soon and just today I was trying to figure out how in the heck I am going to keep up with my pumping schedule and milk supply while in the office? Not being able to keep up is going to stress me out, which is going to diminish my supply. Not to mention, then it becomes - wake up, get to work, pump on the car ride there so you can get to work at a reasonable hour so you can leave at a reasonable hour to see your girls, pump again every 3 hours thereafter, don't forget to eat lunch!, make this meeting, make that meeting, drive home - pump on the way home, get in another car and head to the hospital. Be an awesome mom, maybe find time to eat something but maybe not because by the time you get home from the hospital at 10PM- you need to go to sleep in order to do it all again tomorrow (and pump again in 3 hours). Oh yeah - don't forget to shower somewhere in there.
Are you exhausted by all of that? Because this girl is. I literally do not know what to do with that but I know that is unsustainable. On top of everything else going on? There's no way. But what do I do? How do I manage all THAT...and everything else I've written about? Sometimes I just want to go to sleep - but I can't because the anxiety surrounding all of this (dramatically motions with her arms) just runs through my brain -- until I take my medicine at night that puts me to sleep...to be woken up...in 3 hours...to pump again, lol.
I am exhausted by my blessings. I don't know what to do! And that just exhausts me further!
In the NICU, when Valerie and Bria receive care, sometimes they get very upset. Their little faces get red, the silent cry, they splay their fingers and kick their legs. There is no denying that they are upset. They begin to de-sat as their O2 drops and then a nurse turns up their oxygen a smidge and they start to self soothe and recover. I wish I had an oxygen knob that could be turned up a little right now.
Sorry - just having a moment.
That said - I do appreciate each and every one of you. Every text, every call, every message, every like, every comment, every gift, every card, every everything. It is all appreciated. And the prayers - oh my goodness the prayers! I appreciate those the most :) Please keep it all coming, but please just know that it might take me a little while to respond the way I would like to. It's not personal - it's just part of the journey to find some balance <3
I have been overwhelmed by a lot in my life, but love and support is not one of them. That's not to say I haven't been loved or supported - but never at such a personally demanding level. What you need to understand is, I am a people pleaser. Additionally, I was raised to write out thank you cards, provide prompt gratitude, etc. and honestly - I feel like such a failure with that right now.
I wrote out thank you cards two weeks ago. I just haven't put on addresses and mailed them yet. So if you have dropped something off, or sent me something - I promise I am not ungrateful - I am just overwhelmed. The thank you card is coming - eventually. If you have mailed me cards, I have received them and read them. I appreciate them so much - I just haven't sent out messages yet. I am sorry.
Originally, it was just the chaos surrounding the girls that felt a little unraveling, but as time progresses, it seems like even more is unraveling and that is my own doing. I KNOW I need to stop. I KNOW I need to take care of myself and my babies first -- but how do you do that when the world is being so damn good to you? How do you not feel a sense of urgency to let others know that you love and appreciate their love and support? How do you just go on without thanking people for their prayers - the prayers that continue to save your daughters? I can't do it. I can't just put myself first when it comes to receiving so many blessings.
People want to come over, want to go to lunch, want to meet up, want to drop something off. "How are the babies?" "When are they coming home?" "What does that mean?" "How are you doing?" "How are you feeling?" "How are you handling everything?" "Let's get dinner!" "What about the weekend?" And as the person on the receiving end you appreciate every question, every text, every call and you don't want them to stop but you begin to feel weighed down by the pressure to answer it all. To be it all. To manage it all.
It's very hard.
And again, then there's the guilt. All these blessings and you're going to say you're overwhelmed? What kind of person are you? Do you want the blessings or do you not? We personally want them - how to manage them is where we are stuck.
Then I start to think about managing life in general with everything. I'm going back to work soon and just today I was trying to figure out how in the heck I am going to keep up with my pumping schedule and milk supply while in the office? Not being able to keep up is going to stress me out, which is going to diminish my supply. Not to mention, then it becomes - wake up, get to work, pump on the car ride there so you can get to work at a reasonable hour so you can leave at a reasonable hour to see your girls, pump again every 3 hours thereafter, don't forget to eat lunch!, make this meeting, make that meeting, drive home - pump on the way home, get in another car and head to the hospital. Be an awesome mom, maybe find time to eat something but maybe not because by the time you get home from the hospital at 10PM- you need to go to sleep in order to do it all again tomorrow (and pump again in 3 hours). Oh yeah - don't forget to shower somewhere in there.
Are you exhausted by all of that? Because this girl is. I literally do not know what to do with that but I know that is unsustainable. On top of everything else going on? There's no way. But what do I do? How do I manage all THAT...and everything else I've written about? Sometimes I just want to go to sleep - but I can't because the anxiety surrounding all of this (dramatically motions with her arms) just runs through my brain -- until I take my medicine at night that puts me to sleep...to be woken up...in 3 hours...to pump again, lol.
I am exhausted by my blessings. I don't know what to do! And that just exhausts me further!
In the NICU, when Valerie and Bria receive care, sometimes they get very upset. Their little faces get red, the silent cry, they splay their fingers and kick their legs. There is no denying that they are upset. They begin to de-sat as their O2 drops and then a nurse turns up their oxygen a smidge and they start to self soothe and recover. I wish I had an oxygen knob that could be turned up a little right now.
Sorry - just having a moment.
That said - I do appreciate each and every one of you. Every text, every call, every message, every like, every comment, every gift, every card, every everything. It is all appreciated. And the prayers - oh my goodness the prayers! I appreciate those the most :) Please keep it all coming, but please just know that it might take me a little while to respond the way I would like to. It's not personal - it's just part of the journey to find some balance <3
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