November is always a whirlwind in our household, sandwiched between Halloween festivities and Thanksgiving celebrations. It’s an exciting time, but it also carries a weight of mixed emotions. You see, my oldest son’s birthday is right in the middle of all this chaos, and it serves as a constant reminder of a journey that began far from joyful.
His birthday was supposed to be a quiet celebration, a month after the holiday rush. Instead, it marks a time when I spent the first couple of weeks in and out of the hospital, battling to keep him safe as labor threatened to begin far too soon. The next 69 days in the NICU were not part of the plan, either. It felt like we were thrust into the holiday season while navigating countless “firsts” that no parent anticipates: the first time he breathed on his own, the first successful brain scan, and the first moment I held him, wires and tubes everywhere, with nurses hovering anxiously nearby.
Born at just 29 weeks and weighing a mere 2 pounds 9 ounces, those initial days were a blur of confusion and fear. I couldn’t even hold him, and I mistakenly thought he was over 3 pounds—a comforting lie I told myself until the truth hit me like a ton of bricks, sending me into yet another round of tears. It’s a wonder I was able to produce milk at all; I was probably dehydrated from all the sobbing.
Throughout that first year, I was plagued by guilt. I constantly questioned what I might have done wrong and worried about how my actions would affect him. Watching him undergo two surgeries and fight off RSV broke my heart. I remember the moment he didn’t smile at me exactly six weeks after his due date, and I panicked, convinced it was a sign of autism. Thankfully, he smiled just days later, but my worries didn’t dissipate; I was hyper-aware for every sign of trouble throughout that first year.
When his first birthday finally arrived, I was a bundle of emotions. I had envisioned this day as a celebration of overcoming the struggles of having a preemie. Instead, I awoke with tears streaming down my face, unable to shake the memories of that harrowing day a year prior. My husband had taken our son for the morning, and I lay there alone, feeling far from the joyous occasion I had imagined.
As I finally gathered the courage to join the family gathering, I hugged my son, a puffy mess of tears, struggling to get the words “happy birthday” out. But as the years passed, things gradually became easier. He transformed from a fragile infant into a spirited toddler, and I started to feel a sense of relief. I thought to myself, “We made it! He’s thriving!” However, the guilt crept back in, making me question whether I had done enough to protect him.
I often reflect on my previous miscarriages, which serve as a reminder of how little control we have over these things. The language surrounding pregnancy loss often places blame on mothers, and I felt that weight heavily. I not only feel guilty for his premature birth but also for feeling guilty when he’s clearly doing well. My son is turning 6 this month, strong and healthy, thriving in kindergarten, and right at the 50th percentile for height. I rarely mention his preemie status anymore; when I do, people are often shocked to learn just how early he arrived.
There are countless preemies who face far worse challenges, and many full-term babies who deal with serious health issues. So, I keep my feelings mostly to myself. But as November rolls around, I can feel those emotions bubbling to the surface again. This year will be no different; I’ll likely shed a few tears on his birthday while also celebrating the incredible person he has become.
If you’re on a similar journey, you might find useful information on pregnancy and home insemination at NHS. For those looking to enhance their fertility, check out these supplements that may help. And if you’re considering home insemination, this kit is an excellent resource.
In summary, the journey of motherhood is filled with ups and downs, and navigating the emotions surrounding a child’s premature birth can be challenging. As time passes, we learn to celebrate our children’s growth while also grappling with the guilt that can linger beneath the surface.
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