Rainbow Baby

            There were few things I was sure of growing up but one thing I knew with certainty was that I wanted to have a home full of children when I was an adult. I never put much focus on falling in love or marriage. But I knew I wanted to be a mother and provide a happy and nurturing environment for children.

            Getting pregnant seemed to come easy. The hard part was keeping it. A few days after Christmas, when I was about six weeks pregnant with my first child, I miscarried. I was devastated and didn’t move from the couch for days. After seeing my OBGYN I was cleared to try again, but a few months later had the same experience. When it happened for the third time, I was numb. I told myself to expect the worst in order to try to soften the blow.

            After being sent to a fertility specialist and undergoing a series of tests, I started treatments that involved giving myself a shot in the stomach. The needle was small, I wasn’t afraid. I was willing to undergo whatever it took to carry a baby to term.

            The second round of treatments took. I had to go to the clinic every week for an ultrasound to make sure everything was going well. At eight weeks pregnant we could see the heartbeat and I cried tears of joy. At ten weeks pregnant I was released from the clinic back to my regular OBGYN.

            I was nervous though. Some nights I couldn’t sleep. I was extra careful with everything I did. Only three months pregnant and already I was so in love with the tiny life growing inside of me I couldn’t imagine going through the heartache of another miscarriage. Once I got to the second trimester I was sure I’d relax some.

            The second trimester came and still I could not stop the constant fear and anxiety. Surely by the third trimester the worry would cease. But it didn’t, and on top of that, pregnancy proved to be very hard on my body. From an SI joint dysfunction that made every step painful, to the most extreme case of PUPs my OBGYN had ever seen, I barely made it through the last few weeks with my sanity intact.

            The hardships of getting and staying pregnant and then the constant worry during the past ten months were nothing compared to the labor and delivery. I was in active labor for seventeen hours then pushed for an hour and a half. But my baby boy was just not coming out and I ended up having to undergo an emergency C-section as his vitals showed he was in destress.

            By that point I was delirious with exhaustion. I remember seeing my beautiful baby boy’s perfect little face, and he smiled at me faintly, before he was whisked away. I was in recovery for several hours because my own vitals were not normal. When I was finally able to hold him, it was only for a minute. He was born with a limp arm that was still not moving and on top of that, his breathing was abnormal. He was taken to NICU as I lay in my hospital room, barely able to move, and overcome once again with fears of losing my baby. A few very long hours later, my sweet baby Brayden was finally brought back to me.

            I kept him in the room with me the whole time, refusing to send him to the nursery. I attempted to breast feed for hours, but he showed little to no signs of hunger. He was quiet and so peaceful. His expression was always serene. He barely cried at all. But he also barely woke up and wouldn’t latch correctly.

            Brayden lost more weight than average, and we had to stay at the hospital for three days before we were released. Still, once we were sent home, his weight was so low we had to go to the pediatrician two days later for him to be weighed. And two days after that we had to return again, and two days after that.

            Most newborns wake every hour or so to eat. Not Brayden. He would sleep nonstop if we let him. But we were instructed to feed him every two hours in order to get his weight up. The problem was trying to keep him awake enough to eat. It would take over an hour to get just 2 ounces in him. We had to strip him down to his diaper, drape wet wash cloths on him, and turn the fans on in an attempt to keep him awake long enough to eat. But still, he would fall back asleep after a few minutes, and we would have to move him around and blow in his face and make lots of noise.

            I continued to try and breastfeed, and we supplemented with formula, but nothing seemed to work. When Brayden did manage to drink a few ounces, he would inevitably throw it all back up within minutes. He either slept or cried nonstop. He was clearly in pain, writhing and sobbing every time he ate. He was diagnosed with reflux but even with medication, feeding time was the ultimate challenge.

            Brayden was so thin he was scary to look at. He was bone with skin, that’s all. Most of his first month of life he lay limp in my arms or slept soundly for hours. The only thing causing him to wake was when he had a wet diaper. Still, I fed him every two hours, a job that was mentally and physically draining with little to no reward. I saw my baby boy withering away to nothing before my eyes, and I was helpless to stop it.

After a month we made the decision to use formula only. Brayden couldn’t latch properly and even with pumping regularly and taking supplements I was getting hardly any milk. Despite everything the lactation specialist tried to tell me, I feel it was this decision that saved Brayden’s life.

Finally, at six weeks old Brayden was back up to birth weight and we no longer had to have him weighed at the pediatrician’s office every two days. But that didn’t mean his feeding challenges were over.

Reflux was an issue until Brayden was completely on solid foods at a year old. But still his appetite was barely existent. At the age of two he lost weight again and we had to use Pediasure between meals. He did not like it and getting him to drink and eat enough was a constant struggle. Eventually when he was three, we tried feeding therapy and though it helped slightly, he was still an extremely picky eater, consuming only about five different foods and only specific brands of each.

We didn’t give up though. We constantly offered different foods, never forcing but trying to make it a fun adventure. Slowly, at a snail’s pace, Brayden began trying different brands of the foods he liked, and then attempted tasting new things here and there. We provided a safe and non-threatening environment for him to eat, try new things, and spit it out if he didn’t like it. It was a slow and steady process but around age ten, Brayden finally was a normal weight.

Tomorrow is Brayden’s thirteenth birthday. He is almost a fall head taller than me now. He eats more than anyone else in the house and is willing to try any food you offer him. He is goofy and loves making people laugh. Like his father, he is a fierce protector of his family, and especially me. He always knows when I need a hug and always offers compliments and unconditional love. He is helpful and thoughtful, creative and smart. I am his mother, yet he has taught me so many incredible lessons about the preciousness of life.

The journey to motherhood was not an easy one but it has been the most fulfilling and rewarding job I’ve ever done. When Brayden was about eight months old, I wrote a poem for him that included all the amazing things I wanted to show him and let him experience. It’s now a children’s picture book, which will be released in less than a week. He fills my heart up with so much love often times I think it may consume me. I can’t imagine my life without this amazing, precious boy in it. I want to give the world to him, because he is mine. And he always will be. My beautiful, miracle rainbow baby.