Blue

Sorry everyone. Today I was going to write about what makes me happy, as I was tagged by the lovely Tina at Living Without Sophia and Ellie.

But I just feel so sick of myself today. In a grump. Blue.

I feel I should warn anyone reading that this post is

(a) going to be a little bit of a whine and
(b) partly about Jessica.

If you feel that this is likely to upset you, look away now. Please come back another day when I am not quite so very full of self-pity.

Disclaimer over.

Except I've just read a comment on this post and I think I need more of a disclaimer.

Firstly I want to be clear on one point. Whatever happened to Jessica, whilst it was very traumatic for me and has changed me profoundly, did not scratch the surface of my pain and heartache over losing Georgina. I don't want anyone to come away from reading this post with any doubt in their mind about this.

Secondly, if you suspect that you may be going to have a preemie at some point, I'm not going to lie to you. It is one heck of an experience. Those four months were very stressful, dizzying highs and crushing lows. I have tried to write about it on more than one occasion but it just gives me nightmares.
Today I am feeling sad about what Jessica has been through but other days I feel nothing but triumph, elation and happiness. That by some strange twist of fate she survived. I'm still riding that NICU rollercoaster. I don't think I will ever step off it completely. But please don't let this post frighten you into thinking that it is all doom and gloom. I think that NICUs are places of hope, and crushed hope, and every possible shade in between.

Thirdly, I'm beginning to think that I shouldn't have posted this at all. So perhaps it really shouldn't be here.

Second disclaimer over. Phew.

Hopefully that has scared everyone away because I don't think anything from this point onwards is going to be especially edifying, helpful or interesting. But I need to vent a little.

I had to take Jessica back to the hospital on Friday for a check-up.
Whilst I know how lucky and privileged I am to have the chance to go there, part of me hates going back to the hospital.
It reminds of how very far from 'ordinary' her birth and the first few months of her life were. How different from what I would have wished, from what I desperately wanted.

For reasons that I don't really want to go into here, MY own birth was a bit of a disaster for MY mother. I so desperately wanted it to be different for my girls. Just undiluted happiness. No shadow crossing the sun on their birthday. But it wasn't to be.

That poor shiny little body in a plastic incubator. So stuck full of needles and lines that she looked like a sinister tiny voodoo doll at some points. That ventilator jammed into her tiny mouth. My poor darling Jessica. I wish I could have done it for you.

I know that she needed it all. I love all that machinery. Beyond measure. Yet I hate it too.
It was my body's failure made manifest in needles, wires, monitors and alarms.
That scary NICU noise of bleeps and whirs and whooshes, that noise that is still ringing in my ears if I just listen closely enough.

I hate that she is behind developmentally.
I hate that there is a good chance that she will always be behind developmentally.
I hate that her lungs are scarred and that they might always be a problem.

I just want my little girl to have a break.

Losing Georgina has put Jessica's problems into perspective for me.
Sometimes I think that is one of Georgina's gifts to me.
That Georgina puts her little hand on my shoulder and murmurs in my ear, 'Look silly mama, this doesn't matter. She's here with you. She's breathing. None of these little things matter.'

But, I just wish . . .

That her lungs were healthy and that every single cough or cold didn't send me into a downward spiral of worry.

That I didn't have to beat myself up over my failure to protect her from every single germ on the planet. Because I can't. I can't even see them. If I could, maybe I could squash them. Or fight them. Or scare them away. But I'm just so powerless.

That I didn't keep worrying about the fact that she is weaker on one side. That I can't stop my mind developing this into something worse than it is. Perhaps.

That she didn't still have problems co-ordinating her tongue and her jaw.
The doctor said that people might think that she was not too bright if she continues to stick her tongue out and dribble so much.
That made me terribly angry although I know it was meant kindly.
I wanted to say that . .
I really don't care how she looks.
I really don't care what other people might think.
I really don't care if she isn't 'bright'.
To me, she shines brighter than anyone else on this planet.

I wish that I could be a different mother. The mother that I wanted to be before.
The mother who was going to be so brave and bold.
She was going to breastfeed for at least six months.
She was going to carry her baby around everywhere in a sling.
She would want everyone to coo over her baby, she would want to share her daughter's dimples and smiles with the world

Would I have been that mother?
If Georgina hadn't died?
If I had only had one baby?
If the girls hadn't been born so prematurely?
I'll never know.

Instead, I hunch over Jessica like some sort of mad woman.
Brandishing a bottle of anti-bacterial hand gel. Watchful.
For the first sign of an attack, for that dark stranger that might come to take her.
Like he took her sister.
I don't really like anyone else touching her if I'm completely honest.

It isn't fair on her, that she has been lumbered with this neurotic, grieving mess of a mother.
I'm trying my best.
But it feels so very far from good enough.

I feel like I was so suddenly a mother. I wasn't ready.
I want to be better than this.
For Jessica.
For Georgina.
I love them both so very, very much.
Sigh.