Feeling Broken

-Precious Milk-

The first week home was tough. Incredibly tough. I’d had the cradle ready and waiting in our bedroom since I was five month’s along and we hadn’t moved it, so it stared at me every day, empty, as a reminder of what was missing. I was ready for my daughter to be in that cradle crying, sleeping and cooing. Instead I sat in bed surrounded by pillows with my top pulled up to my collar bone pumping. It is 3am and I’m crying. The only light in the room comes from my iPhone that I’m trying to read to take my mind off the fact that once again I’m pumping instead of breastfeeding Lydia. The cradle is there to my left mocking me and Jordan is to my right sleeping. 

My back aches from the epidurals and spinal block, the ibuprofen doesn’t touch that at all. I’m also experiencing back pain from some nerve damage which must have been caused by the awkward position I was in after the c-section. My tail bone is killing me from all the pressure Lydia put on it during labor. My ibuprofen must be wearing off. Did I mention I was allergic to narcotics, so the only thing I’d been taking was over the counter ibuprofen. 

So I’m sore. I’m pumping. And I’m crying. I’m heartbroken. The idea that I should have my daughter here with me is overwhelming, crippling even at this point. I have yet to cry throughout this entire week. Tonight, is the night that I finally cry. 

I finish pumping and wake Jordan so he can package up the milk and clean my flanges. He comes back upstairs where I resume crying while snuggled into him. I’m miserable, I just want her home. He comforts me and reassures me that everything will be okay and that she will be home soon. It just isn’t enough for me. I need her home, now. When trying to explain this feeling it can best be described as feeling broken. I’m a swollen breasted, sniffling, unfinished puzzle. 

-Lydia after being taken off the Ventilator- 

I’d love to tell you that it got easier, because in general things get easier with time, but this did not become more manageable as the days went by. Each day was met with a new tearful moment, being seen in public by people who are surprised to see I’m no longer pregnant and then immediately want to see the baby; explaining to the checkout lady that you are not pregnant and that your baby is in the NICU; going to your OB office for check up’s. Leaving the hospital at night is agonizing. I cry the entire walk back to the car and home most nights. Christmas music plays in the car as we make our trek home. Now eight month’s later I still tear up if I hear certain songs. 

I don't know it yet, but it will be another two weeks before we bring her home.