On January 3rd, I went to a blood drive and donated. It was the first time I’ve donated since the embargo on my blood (I could not donate for 12 months after receiving platelets during my c-section) it was far from the first timeI’d ever donated blood. It’s something I do, something I believe in. On that day my daughter was 17 months old, and it had been more than a year since she’s had a blood transfusion.
I didn’t keep a pregnancy journal. Mostly because if I had kept track of how crummy I was feeling, I’d never be willing to do it again. As it stands, I’m not sure I’d be willing to do it again anyway, but for other reasons.
I didn’t keep a baby book. A regular one just doesn’t have the milestones that meant the most her first few months. While they do have baby books for preemies, it doesn’t seem like the stuff you really want to commit to memory.
“Today Bella graduated from the ventilator to the C-PAP.”
“Today Bella got her first eye exam.”
I can still put myself right back there, feel the awe and fear and hope and dread all at once. And putting a date on it, doesn’t begin to cover the experience.
So, as Bella’s first birthday rolled around, I thought I’d write her a letter. A letter to tell her how prescious a gift she is. A letter to cover her first year. I can’t say for sure why I haven’t managed to write that letter. Part of me wants to shield her from the experience, and part of me wants to keep her from ever using that as an excuse.
I never want to hear, “Mom, I can’t learn long division, I had a brain bleed.” “Mom, I can’t join soccer, I had chronic lung disease.” “Mom, I can’t keep my room clean, I was alone in an isolette for too long.”
Yet, somehow, I want to give her the feeling of, “If I could make it through that, when I was so little and so fragile, I can do anything!” And you can’t do that by not talking about it.
Although I’d like to think that it’s just that the first year is hard to sum up, I’ve realized that I gain new perspective on it almost every day. And before I start to really revise the details to suit my own feelings, I will commit to being brave enough to write it down.