Content note: parenting after infertility
June 9-10, 2015
We’re rocking in the chair, room darkened except for the moonlight, E heavy on my chest, listening to the clock tick over into the first moments of a new day.
E is a night-owl, as it turns out. I should have known. When I was pregnant with her, she was always most active during the late night monitoring session. This trait has continued, hence the rocking sessions into the wee hours of the morning. E seems to finally start to doze, her eyes occasionally opening drowsily and closing longer and longer. I rock slowly back and forth, back and forth, knowing if I try to put her in the crib too quickly, she’ll wake up.
It’s discovering these little details that has become precious and surprising in the last couple of weeks. Although E’s been on the outside for nearly three months, it’s hard to truly get to know a baby who isn’t home and incorporated into the rhythms and routines of family. We were finally able to bring her home – we hope for good – on Memorial Day Monday. We are down to one monitor and no oxygen. Having her home is slowly going from a big change to our normal.
We are so grateful.
At the same time, we are just beginning processing everything that happened surrounding infertility, my pregnancy and E’s early birth in the last several months. I know I’m going to have to deal with the memories that present in persistent nightmares and the triggers that bring flashbacks. I’m going to have to figure out a way to reconcile the day I considered how to plan my daughter’s funeral with allowing her the space to grow. Arthur has his own moments, and it has occurred to me how important it will be that we grieve and grow together instead of letting the enormity of the stress we’ve been under for months send us spinning into our separate spheres.
It will take time. Probably a lot of time and therapy.
Tonight, however, I just rock E, who has finally fallen asleep.
Tonight, that’s enough.