Storm before the calm
Storm before the calm
Was I sleeping? Did I really fall asleep, or was I still half awake in some sort of a trance? For a brief moment I don't remember what day it is. As I looked over at the little fragile baby lying on the couch adjacent from me I froze. Thoughts come in waves that crash loudly against my ears. Did she make a noise, is she breathing, should I check her? I was so afraid to make a move, it had been a full 48-hours since we had made the drive home from the hospital with our brand new baby girl and I swear this was the first time she had fallen asleep. A tear rolled down my face when I realized that I was in way over my head.
The next few days followed all the same, time does not wait for you to try and take a breath. I feel the panic wash over me when I heard her tiny cry coming from downstairs over the monitor. I threw on my robe and crept out of the room trying not to disturb my husband who looked so cute and peaceful wrapped up in our blankets. I make my way to my daughter's room and see this half asleep, half alarmed creature that looks lost inside of her giant crib. Her arms flail about as if she has just fallen off a 40-foot cliff. I scooped her up and made our way to the oversized rocking chair; she hunted for my nipple like a little piglet that hasn't eaten in days, still whimpering because she just can't get her food fast enough.
Soon enough she will give me the peace that is still new to the both of us. As we rocked my thoughts fade back to just a few days ago when everything seemed like a struggle of power between the two of us, nothing really going the way I thought it would.
As she closed her eyes and drifted off to dream, whatever it is infants dream about, I held her close and rock her for awhile. I told myself that she was our little miracle baby, and after losing our first child we are blessed to have her here. I realized that when I was pregnant all I could think about was having her make it to birth, just be born and this feeling of loosing her will subside and things will get easier. I have read the quotes about how having children is like walking around with your heart outside of yourself, but I never understood the gravity of those words until I watched her sleep the first night in the hospital. The fear that I had every time I thought about having to bring her home, I had no idea what I was going to do without the safety net of the gracious nurses around me. Here we were a little over two weeks in and I was getting braver and stronger by the day.
I don't know how much time had past, Lorelai was fast asleep so I got up as quietly as I could and gently put her back in her crib, covered her up and tip-toed out of her room. As I head up the stairs I assure myself that it's only an hour or two more until I hear her on the monitor again and this dance of feeding-sleep, feeding-sleep will start all over.
Time has past faster than I was ready for and no longer an infant my little Lorelai is almost three years old. We have come along way since those trying times of early parenthood, but I must admit whenever I hear her in the middle of the night on her monitor I still feel that instant of panic. The only difference now is that we have come so far together that I now know what cries mean what, when to walk and when to run. Motherhood is no simple task, and I would be foolish to think that overtime it gets easier I guess it just means that we grow stronger and wiser.
