On Becoming a Mom, again.

I wrote about how I felt during my last few days of maternity leave with Wolfie, and so I only thought it fair to write something similar for Poppy. 

What a strange, beautiful first few months with my daughter. My daughter!

It was a pregnancy and maternity leave like no other, smack in the center of global pandemic, horrible wildfires and brutal heat waves, all of which persist to this day. The morning sickness was relentless,

the sleepless nights steady. The only similarity between the two postpartum time periods is that both involved a supreme court justice confirmation hearing (weird) and the fact that I have not made a baby book for either child, never scheduled a newborn or family photoshoot, and you guessed it, I still have not made a wedding album. Oh well. 

Early on during the pregnancy, I confessed to Dean that I didn't feel like I was bonding as much with the baby as I did when I was pregnant with my son. I admitted feeling guilty - already the second child was

drawing the short straw.

How wrong I was.

Poppy. My bond with you is unworldly. Two star souls gently bobbing around the cosmos. You are so snuggly; always want to be held. Never fussy and rarely do you have trouble settling yourself to sleep. 

It's impossible, but...sometimes I think, on some other level, you are aware of your demeanor. And it's as if you are making up for the stressful and scary pregnancy. 

It was around week 29, when  I finally stopped throwing up everyday, that we had a big scare that sent us to the ER. I was loaded up with steroids to help you grow, but never really had a definitive answer as to what sent me there. Shortly after that first trip to the hospital, I returned for an extended stay. Because of the pandemic and the restrictions enforced to minimize risk exposure, it was just me. No visitors but lots of doctors and specialists coming and going, explaining scenarios to me without enough context.

Lots of information and worries pinging around in my brain without my husband there to navigate the conversations and discuss follow up questions with me. 

I wasn't lonely. 

I met so many nice nurses who spent time talking with me and reassuring me. 

But I was sad. 

I missed Wolfie. I couldn't walk the halls because of the pandemic, and I had

to be connected to a heart monitor 24 hrs a day. Confined to my bed. It was boring and tedious, but I did what I had to do. 

You arrived five and a half weeks early, but for me, you were right on time. 

The doctor on call wanted to administer medication to stop the contractions all together. "It's too early. We need to keep that baby in.  I'll be back in a bit to check in," she said. When she closed the door I told

the nurse I didn't want to do it. I politely, but sternly refused. I knew it was time for you. I felt so sure of it. I empathized with the doctor, and I told her so. I remember saying, "You seem conflicted about this. And I need you tell me why?" She couldn't decide what the next course of action should be. Finally, as if conceding, she dropped her hands to her lap and said, "Have you ever been in the NICU? It's so sad. You don't want to be there. It's too early." 

But still, even then, even after that conversation, I knew. 

And I wasn't scared. 

Finally the doctor said, "Let's just see if these slow down. Don't you want to go home? You don't want to be here another week like before." 

But you persisted. And I listened. I told the nurse I wanted to see how this played out. 

Afterwards Dean turned to me - his face in disbelief. 'You did it Em. You stood your ground.' What happened next was rapid, organized, chaos. I was carted into the OR for surgery

within 30 minutes of the discussion with the doctor.

You spent 5 or 6 days in the NICU, and when the time came, sooner than initially anticipated, the nurses didn't want you to leave. They had all fallen so in love with you, sweet Poppy. Dean and I had to take

turns visiting you every day; we weren't allowed into the NICU at the same time with Covid-19. Before I was discharged from the hospital and you were in the NICU, I felt so grateful. You were safe and cared for, and I was able to have a few precious nights of rest and recovery.

Wolfie was my first pregnancy. But you, Poppy, are my last. 

I am grateful beyond words to have been able to get pregnant and deliver two beautiful children. But pregnancy was hard on me. Hard on my mind and my body. I figured out the mental health piece about a year postpartum with Wolfie. And now I am getting consulted on how to repair my core - which has all but been replaced with scar tissue. Another surgery down the road awaits. Sigh. 

But I'd roll the dice and sacrifice it all again. I really would. 

Thank you for being the sweetest baby in the whole wide wild world. Thank you for gifting me a son and a daughter. And please know Poppy, that even though our extended days spent together are over for now, it's okay. Because you are my daughter. Forever!