PART 2: Coming Home, Without You
Updated: Jun 25
Trigger Warning, NICU: Written 15/04/2021
We came home, without you. I was eager to return, I thought I’d be okay, better in my own home, comfortable in my own bed, excited to see our first born and snuggle with all my furbabies.
I entered your room, remembering the time we returned home with your big brother, so excited to show and share how much we loved you. But you weren’t there. You weren’t with me. You aren’t in my arms, but you aren’t in my belly. You were still in NICU.
I don’t feel like I’ve had a baby. I don’t feel like I’ve given birth. My body tells me I have, my colostrum is turning to milk. And my lady bits, oh good Lordy, I am sore! But I wait for you to move inside me.
And while I try to hold my shit together, I can feel every fibre of my being torn to pieces. Unravelling, thread by thread. I’m looking for my pump, I want to get those good golden juices flowing. Preserving any chance we have at breastfeeding is at the forefront of my mind. Yet, I’ve found myself crumbled in a heap on your nursery floor. Wailing and sobbing like some over dramatic actress on a film set.
I’m not okay. I'm really not okay.
I’m a spectator in a horror movie, over something and a situation where I have no control. And I’m not the only one living this. My husband finds me, wraps his arms around me, I know how much pain he is in. He is hurting as much as I am. But I can’t stop to console him, I can’t even breathe. I try to hold onto the positives,