The day I went into hospital to be induced with Georgia (the very last day of Before Georgia), Dakota went to kinder, and told the teachers that mummy was in hospital, and her baby was coming today. She was so excited!
This played on my mind a lot the first day of the After Georgia, as I waited for the girls to come and see their baby sister for the very first time. Georgia lay in the humidicrib in my room, under the blue lights, with her little mask on, totally oblivious to the fact that she wasn't supposed to meet her big sisters like that, she was supposed to be all swaddled, and laying in a plastic hospital cot, waiting for the love fest, for the first photo's, of how our family looked now. Oblivious to the fact that she was not the baby that everyone was expecting. I mean, she always knew, she always carried this little secret with her, she tricked 3 ultrasound technicians (and I can't honestly know for sure whether she would be here today if she hadn't...I don't know what I would have done), especially the first one, who couldn't get her to stay still long enough to get an accurate measure of the folds on the back of her neck. She was meant to be here. She had Down syndrome from the moment of conception, and I had walked around for 41 weeks imagining a completely different baby. She always knew.
I felt grateful that she was so blissfully unaware, of my pain, my fears, the endless tears that fell out of my eyes that very first day. For me, the guilt was crushing, the guilt for feeling so scared, so disappointed, so grief stricken, on the day that I welcomed this perfect little baby into the world. I had no right to feel these things....it.just.felt.so.wrong.
I had asked Gaz to bring the kids in at a specific time, when she was due to be taken out for a feed, as I didn't want them to see her for the first time through the perspex walls of the crib. He ran down the hall ahead of them to say they were here, and I lifted her out. Indi and Montana were distinctly underwhelmed, but Dakota ran over, and jumped up onto the bed, arms outstretched, waiting for her first hold. She cradled her so gently, so lovingly, and she thought she was a perfectly fine baby, with big chubby cheeks, and cute little newborn squeaky sounds.
We knew it would not be long before Dakota would know something was different about her baby sister. There would be many medical appointments in the first few weeks of her life, and therapists visiting the home. She is bright, my biggest girl, and she would know. So, I knew it was very important, what we did now, we had to react positively, as this could set the scene for their whole relationship. Dakota was going to have a sister with Down syndrome for the rest of her life, and it was going to have a massive impact on her, and Indi and Montana, too.
I dried my tears, and lay down next to my biggest girl, holding my littlest girl. I had waited for a long time for this moment, and I meant to enjoy it. I smiled big, I BEAMED, and I asked Dakota what she thought of her. "She's cute", she said, as she stroked the tuft of hair on the top of Georgia's head. "I'm going to help you look after her, always". I had to fight back tears again, when I thought how long always was going to be, when it came to looking after Georgia.
A few hours later, after the girls were home again with their aunt, Gaz returned, to find me in a bit of a state. I was pacing the room, like a caged lion, because that was how I FELT. I felt trapped. Trapped in this new reality, knowing that I could never go back to the old one. I said, over and over, "what am I going to do, I can't fix this, I can't fix it".
I kept remembering the time, when I was heavily pregnant with Georgia, maybe about 32 weeks, and we took our other 3 girls out on our boat. I sort of half waddled and half fell into the boat, and we put lifejackets onto the girls. We sailed from Frankston, pulling in at Mt Eliza and jumping out for a swim on the way, then continued on to Mornington. I remember saying to Gaz that this was so GOOD, the first time we had felt all the girls were old enough to be safe on the boat, and I felt quite sad that I was having another baby, and it was going to be another couple of years before we could do this again. Gaz said don't worry, when the baby is 18 months or so, we will all be able to be out on the boat all summer, every summer, no more babies (we were sure about that!) Sharing the good life with the ones we had.
For some reason, I kept thinking about that conversation...and realising that it wouldn't be happening now. That wonderful bit of freedom you get with every child, when they obtain those first bits of independence. When they first eat finger food, hold their own cup, climb into their own carseats, put their arms into the straps. Things that make life easier for any frazzled mum. I realised that Georgia was going to be a very long time doing any of these things, and there were some things that she would never do. It just made me feel very, very......tired.
I told Gaz of a dream that I had in the short few hours sleep I had managed since Georgia had been born. I was standing in front of a door, and there was a midwife there with me, who said that behind that door, there was my baby, and there were heaps of other babies too, all normal babies, and I could go in and get any one of them that I wanted, I could put this.....right.
"And what did you do?" Gaz wondered. "I nearly bashed the door down, and made a beeline for MY baby!" I was most emphatic about this, and it made me smile..this dream memory of grabbing her from her cot, and rubbing my cheek against her soft one.
"Well", said Gaz, through his tears, "there's nothing else for it, we just take her home and love her, and get on with the rest of our lives. We'll be ok".
Little did he know that the taking her home bit would not be quite so easy....we were soon on our way to special care.
(TBC!)
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