This wasn’t what I expected

We first shared this in Eloise’s facebook group a few weeks after she was born.

When we got pregnant the first time we tried IVF in 2017, we were so confident things would be okay. The odds were in our favor. Family members even sent us a few things for our baby. Then we lost her a few days before our second trimester ultrasound, at 13 weeks. We named her Ava. Afterwards, we found out her name meant “life.” That felt like an accidental declaration of hope. We grieved. I painted a painting. Brian got a tattoo. But we felt pretty confident one of the next few IVF tries would work and life would happen.

Then, after 6 more failed embryo transfers, it started feeling like maybe our story would never have a happy end — at least not in the baby department.

Then on embryo transfer number 8, this miraculous pregnancy happened, with twins! But this time around, I was way way way more cautious because I wanted to know in the end that if something went wrong, I had done everything in my power to make sure it wasn’t something I knowingly did. Both of us, in different ways, were so scared to dream about our little babies and grow attached — after all, our track record hadn’t been great. But we decided that every night we would take time out to overcome our fear of “what if the worst thing happens?” and just imagine life with them in the future. We knowingly allowed ourselves to grow attached to the idea of our little ones, in full knowledge that if we lost one or both, if would hurt all the more.

Then the worst did happen. We lost our larger, healthier looking twin, Leonid, at 17 weeks — a month already into the second trimester. Our world came crashing down. It had happened again. Despite all odds, we lost another baby late in the game before we could even hold him.

After a few weeks, we started our grieving processes. Brian got another tattoo. (I couldn’t paint just in case it was harmful to baby girl.) We both put to use some of the trauma counseling techniques we’ve learned over the years that have got us through some really tough stuff. I also visited the hospital psychologist to check in, too. And, miraculously, within a few weeks, life felt bearable again. We still had our baby girl who would hopefully join us, although that still felt like a long shot. After all, twice now in the pregnancy doctors had given her a possible grim future diagnosis.

I was okay again but still afraid we’d lose Eloise, too. After all, our track record on making and bringing home babies alive was pretty poor.

So when we finally hit 26 weeks, when she had a decent chance of survival if she were born, Brian and I decided it was time to overcome our fears and finally buy our first ever baby item. I won’t lie — it was hard to get myself out the door to do it. I kept delaying our trip. There was some irrational voice in my head that said if we got some item for her, then she wouldn’t make it. But Brian said we needed to start acting like we were going to bring a baby home or we would never be ready when she made it. He was right.

So this bear suit was the very first thing we purchased. It was the smallest size they had at H&M. Size 0 months (newborn) or size 50 (that’s 50 cm). Many babies skip the newborn size altogether because it’s too tiny for them. Our hope was to bring her home from the hospital in this little suit.

We finally dared to try it on her this week. But, it looks like she’s got a long road ahead of her to fit in it.

Somehow, seeing her in it just feels like a perfect visual analogy for where we’re at.

We made it. After 13 years of hoping, we do finally have a living, breathing baby. But it doesn’t look like what we expected.

We knew from late 2nd trimester that she was small on the percentile charts. (At that point 93% of other babies her age were larger. Later the numbers started dropping more.) But I wasn’t really worried. Once I could finally feel her at 24 weeks, she was usually a great kicker. I was mentally preparing for our first blissful skin-to-skin right after she was born, for sleepless nights, for hours of baby carrying to soothe her, for learning how to breastfeed in my sleep, for poopy diapers, for obsessing over milestones, and for googling what to do with diaper rash or upset tummies in the middle of the night.

But somehow I wasn’t prepared for not being able to see my baby for the first 9 hours of her life. I wasn’t prepared for the first full day I spent with her to feel like it was someone else’s baby I was holding, attached to loads of wires and cords, not feeling much warmth towards her but more like obligation. I wasn’t prepared for a NICU and hospital stay that felt more like a prison sentence than keeping us both safe. I wasn’t prepared for how tough it would be to be separated from Brian while I was there. (Covid sucks!) I wasn’t prepared for pumping for 4.5 hours a day and worrying if my supply would be enough. I wasn’t prepared for my pumping to take me away from this very baby I’d longed for. And I wasn’t prepared that, in the back of my mind would be a fear because of all that was already wrong, “She could have very very serious issues. And you might not know for awhile.”

But I also wasn’t prepared to fall in love so completely. With the dolphin-like sounds she makes as she sleeps. With the angry grunts she makes when she’s super hungry. With the way her face scrunches up before a sneeze. With how her little eyes gaze up to explore the world above her. With how carrying around her tiny tiny body feels lighter than my winter coat. With the way her arms and legs flail out when she hears an unexpected sound.

So far, being Eloise’s mom is everything I imagined it to be. And nothing I imagined it to be. Both. I was really concerned I’d be too selfish to be a good Mom, but if anything can help train that out of me, then maybe this pumping might be just what I needed to help me ensure my focus is her.

I guess, yes, putting our tiny baby in a suit that should fit her but one she swims in wasn’t what we expected. But she’ll fit it, eventually. And eventually we’ll find the perfect rhythm (or, well, as close to as you can get with a newborn.)

But also what was unexpected was the warmth and generosity of strangers and friends alike that have sprung up in this community.

Once again, thank you.

One plus side to all my pumping is I have time to at least write and process stuff like this. I’m sure I’ll be happy later that I have something written down.