“In the real world, a beautiful and bright rainbow follows a storm and gives hope of things getting better. The rainbow is more appreciated having just experienced the storm in comparison.”
I finally have my rainbow baby. I finally have my rainbow baby. I wasn’t sure this would ever happen. 10 days later she’s still here and she’s still mine. This isn’t a dream. The storm is over. I have a baby and she’s perfect.
She has been such an easy going baby. She sleeps in 4 hours blocks, including at night. She sleeps through everything, including the dog being an asshole. She breastfeeds like a professional and will nurse for a solid 30-45 minutes per breast, latching like a boss. She loves being held, but also does well in her swing, bassinet, and pack-n-play. She loves her Daddy’s beard and running her fingers through it. She doesn’t spit up. She gets a little gassy in the evening sometimes and cries, but that’s really it. I told Kevin that I felt like we got an easy baby in lieu of our 2.5 year battle with infertility. Like maybe someone was watching out for us and thought we deserved a break.
I find myself staring at Brooke with tears in my eyes, swallowing hard to choke them back. 2 years of trying to conceive, 6 cycles of fertility treatments and trigger shots, reproductive specialists, multiple tests, unexplained infertility and 2 losses, it’s all still so surreal.
I get lost in thought, wondering what kind of mother I’ll be and will she know how loved she is? How wanted she is? How needed she is?
I want her to have the world. I want to teach her the importance of hard work, perseverance, and dedication. I want her to find something she loves and dive in head first. I want her to be fearless and live without regret. I want her to have the same type of relationship with me that I have with my own mother. I want her to be confident in who she is and not rely on others for validation. I want her to develop a lifelong love of learning. I want her to be happy. I want her to be more than me, better than me, go further than me.
Kevin and I joke that Chick Fil A has “Broken Mom Monday”. We see short tempers, playground refusals, toddlers denied ice cream, angry mom to dad phone calls, and the mom’s that just play on their phone the whole time. A few weeks ago a girl that could have been no older than 5 asked her mom if she could have a sip of her milkshake. Her mom, visibly frustrated, replied, “No, get your own.” Broken Mom Monday.
I know those days will be inevitable. I know I will undoubtedly have a Broken Mom Monday at some point, but I pray that after I’ve lost my temper, denied ice cream and playgrounds, and spent entirely too much time blogging about it, Brooke Marie will still know she is loved.
That she will be my forever rainbow baby.