On joy & grief -- Spencer's First Birthday

 While the days of infertility have luckily slid into the rearview, I am sitting with some thoughts on the eve of my daughter's 1st birthday. 

Her birth did not go as planned - as most births don't. I felt steadfast in my answer to the question, what's your birth plan? 'Arrive alive: Healthy mom and healthy baby." And in the end, that is what I got. But I also got a whole lot of trauma and grief alongside it. 

It's tough because the day I should've been my happiest, if not most fulfilled, was possibly the worst day of my life. I don't want to tell her that. I don't want her to know how broken I was - physically, emotionally. I don't want her to carry any fault for what happened... or maybe even worse - I don't want her to think I'm weak or a bad mom for not 'getting over it.'

So how do I tell her about the day she was born? How do I convey to her how happy I am that she is here, that I am here - that we got through it together without making it seem so hard... even though it was? How do I explain that the first hours of her life, I wasn't there? That I hardly remember meeting her? That I spent that entire day either sedated or having panic attacks and uncontrollably weeping? How do I tell her that my love for her wasn't enough to get her here safely?

And time does heal. I no longer wince when I have flashbacks or tear up when the inevitable (and for the record, really inappropriate albeit always well-meaning) question, "are you going to have another?" is asked. And in that way, I know that I'll find my footing and be able to tell her all she wants and needs to know about the day she was born... when she's old enough to ask :) 

After a lovely and joyful birthday party we threw for her yesterday, I lay awake thinking about the conflicting feelings I have about her birthday. I pictured my grief and saw a jagged stone. Rough, sharp in spots - hard to hold. And then I thought about what has happened to that stone in the last year and it feels like it's been placed in a flowing stream - washed and smoothed by 365 days of ups and downs, of watching Wyatt become a big brother, of Spencer's giggles and scrunchy smiles, of leaning on my husband and friends, of reaching the limit of my strength and realizing that the limit gives way to something potentially more powerful - my softness, my stillness, my ability to sit with the discomfort of an uncontrollable situation and not be able to do a damn thing about it - and for that to be okay. 

The rough spots still remain, the jagged edges haven't disappeared - and they likely never will. But time, and life, has allowed me to hold that stone more often and less gingerly. Some days it's heavier than others, and some days my body feels it more than my heart. 

I want this to be her day - to focus on celebrating her amazing personality, all the milestones she's achieved this year. And maybe after this first year, it can truly be about her. This first one might just need to be a little bit about me too - how far I've come. How much I've endured. Because if this happened to her, I'd tell her - she's worth the pause and recognition. And yet - I feel so guilty for not being 100% focused on her. That taking the time and energy to revisit my experience, reflect on the difficulty this birth and recovery was for me is selfish. Be grateful. Be happy. You're fine and more importantly, she's fine. But I know that's not just the trauma talking, it's being a woman & a mother :P 

I'm not sure there's an end to this - holding both joy and grief on my daughter's birthday. And I'm starting to realize that's okay. I will continue to show up and love her fiercely, while also ensuring I don't push my fear, anxiety and grief away. I want her to know that you can be both strong and soft - they don't cancel each other out. Allowing for both opens possibilities for growth, for connection. I want her to know that most of all, she taught me this. My sweet and spicy little girl. She's a fighter... and I guess I know where she got it.