That's right, today marks the 1 year mark. One year ago, we brought a living child into our home for the first time. He was almost 3 months old and had been through more than any baby I'd ever known. And there we were, left alone with this child of ours, no beeping, no flashing monitor, no security of a nursing/physician team available within seconds. I remember vividly sitting with him in the rocking chair of the nursery, tears running down my face. I felt so many different things. Pure joy at finally experiencing that moment, grief at realizing what I had missed with Reagan, a little like I was betraying her by spending time with Dean in HER room. I felt lost and confused, an overwhelming sense of responsibility for this tiny human that I never truly felt while in the NICU.
And now, a year later, I have this rowdy, energetic toddler. Walking the hallway, running behind his train, climbing the stairs, opening cabinet doors, and trying to get into everything he possibly can. I love his deep laugh, a laugh with such innocence and joy. I love how he will bring me books and more books and sit still (gasp!) as I read them, patiently turning each page. I still feel a mix of emotions, from joy to grief, from contentment to frustration. And I am still completely lost and unsure of what I am doing. I fear my poor parenting will ruin him, that he won't learn what he's supposed to, that I'm setting him up for failure. I think that probably every mom has had these thoughts at some point. But we are all learning together, one step at a time. Here's a then/now for comparison:
First time in the swing, Sept 2013
I still fit! Sept 2014