It was Sunday afternoon and I was stressed out. I was overwhelmed, and Leo was crying. He was looking at me like I had utterly betrayed him. I cuddled him and told him I was sorry, I was just trying to help him, but I had got it wrong. How had this dramatic scene come about? I had taken him to a baby swimming class.
Leo had not been swimming this year until we went to the hotel pool last month. He had been ill, and we had been busy at weekends. He hadn’t enjoyed the hotel pool – it was cold and noisy. I knew swimming was very good for him – the water would support him, and he would enjoy greater physical freedom than he is used to. I was determined that we would get back into swimming with him.
A visit to our local leisure pool went better and I was looking forward to the swimming class. It takes place in a hydrotherapy pool which is great for his muscle tone and there would be no older kids jumping around and shrieking. I had a vision of a lovely mother and son bonding moment in a cosy pool while Leo grew confident in the water.
The reality was 30 minutes of fast-paced activities, feeling like I didn’t have enough hands and a very upset Leo. I felt quite stressed trying to keep up and I felt very guilty that Leo was having such a rotten time. At the end of the class, the stress subsided, and I felt very upset. First of all, I felt very bad that I had put Leo through such a miserable time. Then I felt disappointed that I had failed to find the right class for him. Finally, I felt demoralised. I had acted with the best of intentions and I had upset my son.
I am what you might call a ‘summer person’. I love light nights and going out without a coat. I used to feel dragged into autumn kicking and screaming. Wishing for one more day dashing about in flip-flops. But not this year. While autumn always felt like the end, this year it feels like a new start. Like a new term, but for family life. While I used to crave excitement, now I like order, routine and knowing my plan from one week to the next.
Our transition from spring to summer was sheer relief. Leo spent eight weeks of spring in hospital and he was discharged in May. He had been gravely ill – more so than I would allow myself to reconcile with at the time – and were just so grateful that he was well enough to go home. I looked up and noticed that the trees were full and green, the sun was higher in the sky and the grass was regularly overgrown.
I was feeling a bit frazzled this morning. I don’t know how getting two humans out the house feels like such an ordeal, but most parents would agree it’s a challenge. Leo was up too early, and he had to entertain himself just a little bit too long when I did unreasonable things like having a shower, drying my hair, tidying up, putting the washing on, getting all his stuff together for nursery and packing the car. His little toy giraffe was shouted at and the poor wee wooden animals were decanted from their ark. I do a lot of singing in the morning to keep the entertainment going while I try and sort things out. Leo’s little applause at the end of each song keeps me going.
Despite being up for more than two hours, I left without time for breakfast. That wee emoji with the steam coming out, that was me. As usual, once we are in the car, we both calm down. We chat about our day, sing songs and practice animal noises and arrive at the nursery. We are always greeted with a cheery welcome and Leo brightens further when he realises a fun morning awaits.
Saturday was World Prematurity Day and the hashtag was trending. Seeing my social media timelines filled with images that reflected our experience of having a baby, as opposed to what is the more mainstream experience, made me feel part of a very special group of families when I often feel isolated.
It was a year since I wrote my first blog on Leo’s early arrival and I reflected how so much has changed since then. Last year, I didn’t share the whole story. We were still relieved to be at home and seeing our baby thrive. We were enjoying normal baby things. We had our First Christmas coming up. I hadn’t fully allowed myself to feel the anger and grief that was circling around my head and I was still very much in the ‘taking it a day at a time’ headspace thinking that eventually, our life would plateau out.
Earlier this year I shared the information I had left out in this initial blog; our baby had suffered a brain haemorrhage and his development may be affected. On World Prematurity Day last year, I was putting my fingers in my ears saying ‘la, la, la’ and still hoping for the unlikely outcome that Leo would not be impacted by the damage caused. In fact, ‘hope’ was the theme of the blog.
Ten months in… A while since I wrote my last blog. What does prematurity look like ten months on?
When we first brought Leo home. He was like any newborn – just smaller. He fed, he cried, he slept, he pooped, he thrived on cuddles. In a matter of weeks that would change as he underwent neurosurgery but soon we were back on the ‘normal’ newborn train. Eat, sleep, poop, cuddle and repeat.
In the last ten months Leo has grown, he sleeps all night, he makes adorable sounds, he kicks and wriggles, he enjoys porridge and purees and he puts things in his mouth. He is alert, aware and one of the cheeriest souls you will meet.
At ten months I see the distance with Leo and other babies widening. I know, I know. Don’t compare. All babies are different. They all do what they want and when they want. Leo doesn’t sit or roll… yet! But boy are we working hard. We’re filling 3-6 months vests now so we are on our way.
#PrematurityIs being told your baby is on his way into the world, foot first, at 25 weeks in the wrong city.
Friday 17 November is World Prematurity Day and the charity, Bliss, is doing a great job of raising awareness of prematurity. Prematurity is the leading cause of death in children under five around the world. One in ten babies is born prematurely.
I have had some experience of prematurity in my life so far. I was born five weeks premature. My youngest sister, Taylor, was born ten weeks premature. There were no signs during the pregnancy that my son, Leo, would be born at 25 weeks and 6 days. It had been plain sailing before that.