I imagine if I asked a room full of people, “What has been the happiest day of your life?” I would get answers like, “The day I got my license.” “The day I graduated.” “My wedding day.” But I believe the resounding answer-the answer that would echo off the walls would be “The day that my child was born.” If you ask my husband about the day Henry was born, he will tell you it was the worst day of his life. He was scared he was going to lose Henry. He was scared he was going to lose me. And he witnessed a lot of frightening things that left him feeling powerless to intervene.
Henry entered this world fighting, and he’s never stopped. He spent 28 days in the NICU until he joined the 4-pound club and graduated! I could dedicate an entire blog to infertility, or pregnancy, or starting a family with the help of the NICU, but these were traumatic events that I don’t want to revisit today. Maybe some other time. I’m not going to make a habit of shying away from hard topics, and nobody would accuse me of toxic positivity. I’m just protecting our mental health. I will say this: if you’re wondering how to support a family in the NICU there were 3 things that were a huge encouragement to me. One, a sister who kept me laughing. She renamed the “Healthy Baby Nursery” the “fat a** pre-diabetic baby nursery” on our walks past the healthy baby nursery to the NICU. Two, a best friend who prayed for us every day and gifted me a journal of those prayers after Henry graduated from the NICU. And finally, the trifecta of my mom, sister, and bestie dropping everything to be with us. During a crisis, you can’t go wrong with humor, prayers, and physically showing up for the people you love. (It also helped that our doctor and nurses were absolutely phenomenal!)
I’m fast forwarding through the drama that was the first 28 days of Henry’s life and skipping to the day we brought him home! I remember how carefully Steve followed Missy's (Henry's nurse and honorary mommy) directions about buckling him into his car seat. I remember how defensively he drove on the way home. You would’ve thought he was transporting a nuclear bomb. Looking back, I was watching Steve step into the role of "dad." He was learning how to be a father and taking it very seriously. When we made it home, I introduced Henry to Keebler, our Malteepoo. I gave him a tour of his new home. And being fresh out of the isolet, he insisted on being held all night. It was hard to believe. He was here! Our little boy was finally home, in my arms where he belonged!
Our first year as parents was pretty much a dream come true. For sixteen years I had been imagining all the fun activities I would do with a child. We did all the things! We went to zoos, museums, pumpkin patches, Christmas tree farms, hayrides, and visited family. We dressed up in goofy family-themed Halloween costumes and made Christmas decorations out of his footprints. We didn’t take one second for granted. It was a year of firsts…first time sitting up, first time rolling over, first time clapping, first tooth, first time standing, first steps, FIRST WORDS! We celebrated all of it, every success, big and small.
One of my favorite “firsts” was when Henry made it on the family growth chart. My parents had a growth chart on one of their door facings. It was labeled with the entire family’s heights…two generations! I always dreamed about having a child and getting his/her height etched onto that door facing. Watching my mom add “Henry” to that list of names will forever be one of my favorite memories. He was wearing a cute little green and red striped Christmas onesie and had the proudest smile on his face as his dad held him in place for his measurement!
Two months later we would experience another first, Henry’s first seizure. That’s when our lives changed course in the most drastic of ways. Today our lives only resemble that first year of parenthood in one way. We are still, and always will be, madly in love with Henry. I’m deeply thankful for that year of firsts, even when the memories prick my heart.
Sometimes I wonder, would I have been as eager to complete my checklist of parenting dreams with Henry during his first year of life if I hadn’t carried those dreams through years of infertility? Or would I have put those meaningful events off for a later date? Would I have celebrated each of Henry’s “firsts” if the nurses hadn’t taught our family to celebrate the small things, like gaining 1 oz, during our time in the NICU? The NICU and infertility were, in part, responsible for the way we savored and relished every moment of that first year of parenthood. I believe God’s plans for us include hard things. Hard things soften us and shape us. Hard things can be an invitation to deepen our relationship with the Heavenly Father. The hard things, in my life, were a catalyst for the ridiculous joy I experienced during that priceless gift that was the first year of Henry’s life!
