Tag Archives: preemies

Should’ve … could’ve

Dear Boo

Two years ago today, we should have been in hospital, you and I. You should have been in a plastic cot, swaddled up in holey NHS blankets. I should’ve been lying next to you, exhausted but relieved you were here. Happy that the c-section had gone well. I would have been tired, I’m sure. The start of months of sleep deprivation. And my stomach would have tingled with pins and needles, but the codeine and ibuprofen should have numbed the pain. It wouldn’t have been easy, but it would’ve been fine.

Of course, it wasn’t the birth I wanted, really. Another c-section… But I knew it was the only safe thing. Your sister had almost died at birth, you see.

It would’ve been terribly inconvenient, having to go into hospital for a few days. We would’ve needed extra help for Sissyboo to get her to and from nursery. I would have missed her hugely. And then there might have been complications from the procedure, like there were last time with your sister, and which I still live with. But it would’ve been worth it. To get rid of the stress. To remove some of the chance of threat to you. It would’ve been more than fine knowing we had potentially prevented something awful from happening.

Instead, you couldn’t wait long enough. You arrived 10 weeks before the procedure I had had to battle the hospital to agree to and 11 weeks before your due date. Irony of ironies, I gave birth to you naturally.

Natural? There was nothing natural about it. Nothing natural about your spindly legs and transparent skin. Nothing natural about them having to take you away from me, and put a tube down your throat to help you breathe.

Instead of a plastic cot, they put you in a box. When I was eventually allowed to see you, I had to put my hand through holes to touch you. As if I was trying to dispose of a bomb.

And now, two years on I am still sleep deprived. And I am still taking codeine (down to one dose a day) for chronic back pain from lifting you and doing daily therapies with you.

I never thought this would happen to us.

Days like today, anniversary days (there must be a better name for them than this) make me feel very strange. The world seems dull and foggy just like the view out of my window as I type this. I feel temporarily as if I am not quite living in this world.

I feel unsettled. Not sad exactly, or mournful. But shaken by the reminder of how our lives changed course one day.

Please don’t think, Boo, that I want to change things now, though. And know that I wouldn’t change you. Not a thing about you. I can’t imagine you any other way than the way you are. But I wish things weren’t so hard for you. I wish I could take the struggles away. Things could’ve been so different for you, for us. They should’ve been.

But they weren’t. They aren’t.

And all I can do is try with every fibre of my being to make things as fun and as good as they can be for you. I have to turn the should’ves and could’ves into will bes and for sures. On days like today, I find that hard. But I won’t tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be different.

All my love,

Mum xxx

2 Years Ago


Two years ago, I woke up with the by now all too familiar feeling of excitement mixed with dread. I felt queasy.

Two years ago we got ready to go to the hospital. Again.

Two years ago I longed for the days I wouldn’t have to hit a buzzer to be permitted through a door to see my little boy.

Two years ago I walked the usual walk from the car park to the hospital entrance.

Two years ago I looked up from the ground floor to the first and gazed at the window where the blue lights were on.

I hoped you were OK. I hoped nothing unexpected had happened overnight.

Two years ago Sissyboo held my hand just a little bit tighter.

My other hand was weighed down with things I hadn’t had to carry for a long time: a change bag and a car seat.

Two years ago we hit that bloody buzzer again. For the last time.

Two years ago you looked so big, though still so small.

Two years ago I crossed my fingers for the three hours it took for us to get the word.

That felt like ages, but we had waited so long already. Six whole weeks that felt like six long years. Because two years ago we learned that time can slow down to the point you feel it will never get moving again.

And then, two years ago and three hours later we finally got the nod.

As we walked to the door I kept waiting for someone to tell us it was a mistake. That they had changed their mind.

But they didn’t.

Two years ago you weighed the magic five pounds and had reached the equally magic 35 weeks gestation.

So two years ago our life was rebooted.

Two years ago we became the family of four we had longed to be.

Two years ago, Boo, you came home. Happy homecoming, gorgeous boy. We are so pleased you made it back to us. We will never be separated again.