It was strange. They’d wheel him to me, when I was woken up, and prop him in my arms. Then they’d all stare and I felt like I was a performing seal.
Health wise he was healthy, just very little. A lot of premature babies have underlying conditions but the general consensus is that my body decided he needed to come out. He was born at 29 weeks and was 3lbs.
Growing up he had gross developmental delay, sensory processing disorder and is now being assessed for autism, but who could say if there’s a link. He’s happy and that’s all that matters.
It sounds terrible but at the beginning, whilst I loved him so much, I didn’t “care” about him. I knew he was being well looked after and loved (he always had a family member with him). I was desperately missing my two older boys who knew who I was. I’d just disappeared one day, and they weren’t allowed in the ICU as they were too young (and it have been far too scary).
When I came home I was upset that I had absolutely no ability to be “mum”. The whole family had banded together and my husband, kids and sister were staying at my dad and step-mums. The older two either wanted my step-mum (who had taken over my role) or overwhelmed me by wanting me. Everyone knew how to look after baby, and I couldn’t even lift him up. It was frustrating.
We bonded quickly, as I gained my strength, and I was back home with them all in the September, so he was 6/7 months old.
I (rightly or wrongly) grieved the newborn stage for years, but it got less painful every year as he grew. He’s about to turn 9 and I can genuinely say there’s barely a niggle.