My Dream Come True Turns Two
Dear ES,
When I was deep into the hellish world that is having unexplained infertility, unsure if I’d ever get to be a mom, occasionally I would dream I was holding my baby. I recall how I’d wake feeling comfortable and content, but only for a moment. Then I’d remember that I had no child, I was barren, and almost involuntarily I would begin my daily stream of consciousness of wishing and hoping and wishing and hoping that one day my dream would come true.
My dream finally did come true after more than five years, when I birthed you two years ago today.
Three hours later, a nurse changed your diaper and discovered something no one else had noticed — you had no anal opening. This is a rare disease called Imperforate Anus. It was alarming news, and we didn’t even know yet about all your additional complications or life-long disabilities.
What your dad and I knew was that soon, you would be taken from us by ambulance in a pod in the middle of the night to another hospital with a NICU, while we tried to sleep a few more hours before joining you. Saying goodbye to you, my baby, just hours after you were born was extremely traumatic. But I knew it was best for you, and so I let you go, with tears streaming down my face.
In the hour before the ambulance arrived, I lay on my bed in a recovery room, sandwiched between the clean white sheets, with your slight five-pound swaddled body nestled in between my right side and arm. It felt so natural, like you’d always belonged there. Silently, I vowed to take care of you, whatever that meant. Then I told you I loved you.
For the past two years, I have fulfilled my vow, staying with you in hospital rooms, lying next to you nearly every night of your life, usually caring for you across at least 18 hours a day/night, learning to change ostomy bags and use catheters and administer various medicines, nursing you, traveling to various doctors and hospitals, seeking out the right care.
It’s also been my honor to be there as you’ve learned to crawl and walk and talk. It’s been a joy to see you discover and learn and laugh. I’ve hugged you and told you every single day how much I love you. Now you hug me back and tell me you love me too — and those are the best moments of my day. They are better than any dream I had before you were born.
Thankfully, you are relatively healthy now, and with all the stay-at-home orders for COVID-19, the silver lining for us is that it’s given us more time together that is not in a hospital or doctor’s office. Instead of bonding in medical rooms, now we are bonding outside, in the woods.
Lately, we go on a long walk each morning (when few people are out) through the nearby woods which encompass creeks and borders lakes . We both delight in looking for deer prints in the mud, something which you can now identify too. We spot yellow and purple budding flowers and watch fast-flying birds. Two weeks ago, we came across a few toads before they hopped away.
Usually our walks include a pause at a creek bed or pond so you can collect and throw rocks and puddles, echoing me when I say, “plop plop” or “splash” as each one hits the water.
Lots of wildlife is out now that it’s spring, and we’ve recently seen bald eagles, a fox, herons, wood ducks, baby geese and deer. Your vocabulary is expanding daily, and it thrills me that you can name a dozen birds and all the animals we’ve seen. I also love that you now imagine what animals live in the holes of tree stumps. This week, you told me a fox named Cookie lived in one of them.
Just this week you began to suggest to me which path we can walk down by pointing and saying, “path.” When I carry you over uneven patches, you gently tell me, “Careful Momma.” Often, as we walk side by side, you will call out, “Hand please,” and reach up to hold my hand so we can walk along the path together. My heart swells each time.
In the moments, I wish I could tell my prior self that you will be worth the five year wait.
I love you, baby. Thank you for the joy you bring me. Happy Birthday.
Love,
Momma
