The Foreshadowing of Our Secret Life

The further we walk with Ivey through this life, the more vital I find segments of our journey. Most of which are not important to the general consensus, but primarily to parents similar to us, especially new parents, or parents wondering if some of their feelings are normal. This may appear to be focusing more on my own personal agenda or my husbands personal agenda being that this is Ivey's blog, but let's get real here, we are Her agenda. We go hand in hand. Even though our family and friends share and witness many of our moments, it is like we have a secret life that they never witness. -And we DO- Every so often someone gets a momentary glimpse or introduction into it, but that is all. There are areas that no one friend at this point can truly relate to. I have needed to hear testimony first hand that all would be okay - from someone I knew and trusted. Managing the responsibilities or knowing where to shelve the emotional realm of certain days has been part of our journey along side the obvious medical, personal and family responsibilities. So I am writing this upon random chance a mom finds this and says, 'So it is okay'.

To talk about this we must step back and look at it full circle, not just from the adjustments we have made to our present. When Ivey was born there were many emotions running amok, most women who have given birth can relate to them from a 'normal' birth story. Add in extreme special circumstances, and you have a great roller coaster at a theme park. The moment a baby is born the mother is the primary caregiver. I nursed both boys for six months. I was their source of nourishment. In the middle of the night, I was the one out of bed for this task. There were nights I would have happily passed the torch to my hubby; however, scientific engineering has not reached those depths - YET. In a nutshell, it isn't called Mother's Instinct for nothin.'

At Ivey's birth the laws of nature shifted (it takes a mighty strong storm to shift those laws or a very powerful baby) and became off balance, unnatural. Ivey was taken to a separate place (NICU) away from me. She was literally taken from my body, and then taken from me. My body was left to heal. Healing it would do in ways that I could have never imagined. Only months later can I see it. Instead of them wheeling her back to my room for the bonding process to begin, I had to wobble down a hallway a midst confusion to a bassinet surrounded by equipment beeping. There was no comfort of my heart beating and snuggling. She was lying among the wires in an unfamiliar bed in a dark cold new world. There she would remain. After only a brief few moments, I had to leave her. If I left anything for her to hold onto that first meeting-it was only fear.

Leaving her was the hardest thing I have ever done. I am certain that God pushed me from the room that day. I do not remember moving. But this is where a very important segment of my journey plays out. I had to trust that someone else could take care of my daughter better than I could. I had to believe that this time, momma did not know best. I had to trust. I had to let go of my mother's instinct, if that is entirely possible, and allow someone else to comfort my baby, feed my baby, care for MY baby, to save my baby. The child who needed her momma the most also needed her the least.

For over a month, Ivey's first month, I left her day after day. There were two primary fears I could never let go of that first month. Would she ever know that I was her mom and how will I ever take care of this baby? Only God was controlling the days. Today, without a doubt she knows that I am her momma and I take care of her like no one else can. Hands down. Back then it was much different.

Back then she was surrounded by nurses who loved her and who could do it better. She had a doctor calling all of the shots. I was only a spectator in the nurturing of my daughter except for a few brief hours during the day. I wondered if that would ever change. It did. She would not be here today without them. They saved her. They loved her. I could not see this then, too much was going on in our lives, but I see it today. It was not a mother’s love but it was definitely love. Now I see that Ivey requires both. Hence the saying, love has no end.

Along side those moments watching someone else care for Ivey, a sea of guilt, fear, and protectiveness swelled. I wanted to steal her away - take her with me. I was guilty for leaving. I was afraid of the unknown. I wanted to suppress my fear. I wanted to rip Ivey from their arms. I wanted to run.

It was difficult to understand the range of emotions that were swelling. I still do not understand them. I do not think that I am meant to - they are part of the journey and Her story, my story. With Easter coming up, I have thought a lot about a mother's love for her child. All of this in black and white is impassive -bland -compared to any of our days. I wish you could have been in the delivery room. I wish that you could fill the sting of shutting a car door to go to a home with your baby remaining behind. I wish that for one day I could take you back and have you leave the hospital with me day after day - not knowing if there would be tomorrow. I wish you could wake up on those nights with me, with the need to go to Her room knowing that she was not there. Along with all of our celebrated days with Ivey, these are also days that I have seared in my heart. They are the days that make Her story so bitter sweet. They are the days that say I was selected to be Ivey's mom. I wish that you could experience those days not for the pain, the suffering, but for the means of knowing what great things we have sitting before us. I have not walked alone on this journey. When I look back at the sand covering the path during those days, there was only one set of footprints. God has a plan for Ivey. He even has a plan for me.