mom here now

This p ost was originally published by Courageous  P arents Network on February 8, 2 0 23. You don’t recognize me, but I recognize you, though it pains me to do so. I see you, held together with fresh stitches, supporting yourself on wobbly feet over Viggo’s isolette. This is a nightmare you are waiting to wake up from. You want to—need to-–escape. Yet you are taking your ibuprofen and Tylenol on schedule and starting to pump breast milk, even though your baby cannot be fed at all right now, and you only held him once, and your hormones are all over the place, and your body and mind are trying to catch up with the present reality. Everything about this situation is wrong. The emergency C-section at 32 weeks and 5 days. Viggo’s club feet. His little imperforate anus, barely a pin prick, unable to pass more than a small black pearl of meconium.  He has a huge, unwieldy C-PAP lodged up his tiny nostrils, obscuring most of his face, and held in place by a cap that covers the other...