This isn't the kind of mom I thought I would be. I expected lots of sleepless nights, breastfeeding, bathing, spit-up and mounds of poopy cloth diapers. I expected to forego the stroller in favor of wearing my baby for as long as I had strength. I wanted Bekah, really wanted her. I planned this baby very carefully. I was elated to learn I was having a daughter. She was exactly what I wanted. I researched recipes for home-made diaper rash cream and made almost 200 cloth wipes in preparation.
Last night, I slept through the night, like I did the night before and the one before that. I'm not awakened by a hungry baby or a wet diaper. If I'm awakened it's by a knock at the bedroom door. The nurse needs help and something is wrong. That doesn't happen very often, so most nights I sleep through the night often with vivid, horrific nightmares. These dreams are always about the trach.
Most often, I am awakened by my alarm clock at 6:45am. The night nurse leaves at 7 am. I peek at my still sleeping baby and sign paperwork for the nurses chart. Sometimes I doze off on the sofa and wait for the feeding pump to tell me it's done feeding my baby. I refill the pump at 9am with formula I made the night before. Bekah usually sleeps through this.
She wakes up when the dog barks at the door. It's 11am and the day nurse is here or the physical therapist is here. Sometimes it's the occupational therapist. Her day begins with a cheery nurse chatting with her as she takes her temperature and changes her diaper. I sit on the couch and answer questions as therapy gets underway.
Today the physical therapist came at the same time the nurse did. I watched and took notes as Bekah was guided through a series of exercises.
After that. I went to the bank to set up an account for Bekah. Her disability qualifies her for SSI. That took forever. Then I went to pick up a few things she needs for her therapy. I was in a hurry this time because I needed to be home before the occupational therapist arrived.
When I got home, the therapist was just getting started. I watched as she tried to teach Bekah to take a bottle, introduced the sippy cup I had just purchased, and finally fed her some pureed peas I made the day before.
When that was over, it was time to take Bekah outside with her stroller and all her equipment. We were doing a dry run. She sees an orthopedic specialist on Monday. We will be taking a cab and I don't want any surprises. After we are sure we have things situated and are confident that Monday should be an easy time, we head back up stairs.
Lugging the heavy equipment did a number on my back, so I sat down to let my muscles unfurl. I could hear my baby fussing, the way she does when she's trying to go to sleep. The nurse is sitting down with a blanket, ready to hold her. I pick up Bekah for the first time today and place her in the nurses arms.
It is now 5:26pm and I haven't cuddled with my baby once today. This isn't the kind of mother I hoped to be. I'm the kind of mom who can do CPR at the drop of a hat, can navigate bureaucracy, advocate for services, speak "medicaleese," and do everything a critical care nurse can do in the home setting. But sometimes, I just want to hold my baby
