Another ghost

I was thinking just this morning, feeding Lolly in bed, that neither of my girls have ever had formula and what a personal achievement that is... I think it has a lot to do with the fact that, at the time, it was all I could do for Ellanor so it was vitally important to me. And now, with the LGBB, she has thrived on breastmilk and I think it would have been a very different healing process if we had not been successful together on the whole breastfeeding front.

But then, as my stupid mind does, it wandered and made up imaginary conversations and retorted back that the "achievement" with Ella doesn't really count because it was only a month. I realise that it's the ghosts of comments past that cause my mind to go these ridiculous lengths to cut me down a size. And it's something I will have to watch closely.

Then I was reminiscing about that month with Ella and how it felt like a whole lifetime (and for her, it was her lifetime I suppose), was wondering how I found the time to express and be by her side all day - I'd express at the hospital round at the maternity ward each day where I had her, go back and sit by her side all day in the NICU and at night I'd go home, meet Steve home from work, don't even remember eating, then we'd both go back in and stay until shift change over around 10.30 - we'd leave before the nurse officially came on but I could never go home until I knew who was looking after her - and I was expressing twice overnight as well. That dropped back to just one express at the request of the neonatal nurses because I was bringing in more than she needed in the end, as if my body was overcompensating for all that I couldn't do for her. I recall washing and sterilising things at 1.30am and leaving them in the microwave so that I could catch just a bit more shut eye before the next 5am-ish time to express. And I'd be back in the car in peak hour, which thankfully wasn't full-on because it was school holidays still, at around 7.30am.

I know I remember thinking to myself then "Dear God, how do people do this with a baby at home" and sort of being almost thankful that Ella wasn't actually at home waking me as well, without recognising the vital point that most people don't have to drive to feed their baby. It was a strange thing to think but in my addled state it made sense - if she was home, derr of course all of the travelling much less the expressing wouldn't have been taking up a lot of my time. But all I could think was "at least I can have a relatively uninterrupted night" and thought I'd grieve later for the bizarre first months of her life and how there was a distinct "yes but you're not properly mothering your baby because she's not actually with you all the time like other mothers" feeling about it.

And the casual comments of same were scattered through conversations, even after she passed away, and I felt so devoid of anything recognisably "me" that I just allowed people to say them. They would now argue defensively that they knew no better and have never "been here" (supporting someone who's lost) before. But now I can say confidently, you do NOT say things like "Oh yeah, but you didn't really experience what it's like because your baby wasn't home with you and you weren't having to get up to her", etc. Of course that is fact, Blind Freddy can see that. But holy shit, there's a little thing called compassion, solicitude, simple kindness that prevents (thankfully) most people from having to point that out to me as if I didn't know. Human decency prevails for the most part, amen. Sometimes even that can't make up for the razor-sharp ignorance of the very few.

Of course, as it turned out, I grieved for so much more than the fact that I was able to sleep.

Phew, don't know which vault of my mind that surfaced from. Anywho, as they say, better out than in.