Adrian’s poem
of Hamish’s birth, 2005
1.75 – HAMISH
A longed for cry
burst our bubble
of fear and what-ifs.
And washed over like us
like a silky sigh
of blessed relief.
1.75 kgs flashed in red
as a machine placed a weight
on the two of us plus joy.
I followed him
into Intensive Care
and my son looked at me!
She was so tired that night
in pain the next day
but we still saw him.
Into Special Care after a day
there for another 3 weeks
almost a month of one's heart being away.
2.00 kgs flashed in red
and we slowly and softly
took him home.
For the first two months
sleep was estranged
but it mattered not.
The life we had
movie, social, couple is gone
but it matters not.
It matters not
for each day he smiles
and envelopes us in him, and love.
Four months and six days
of him breathing our air
and giving us heaven.
1.75 is now 6.00
and he looks like me
and like she.
My life
once divided
is now tripled.
He is here
the world is the greater
he has arrived, and thrived.
Contentment
is his smile.
1.75 - Hamish.
“Tired is my middle name.”*
Back when my second child was a baby I’d never have thought that, almost six years on, I’d still be sleep deprived. There are at least four big differences now – my resilience is worn down, I’m working and not on maternity leave, my son can walk, and he can struggle and argue about why he won’t go back to sleep. For about two years now we have lived with the likely prospect that every night, somewhere around 3.00am, we will be woken by a little voice saying ‘I’m scared’, or some variation thereof. Last night was the clincher – I haven’t been back to sleep since 3.30am – and it’s time to seek help. We’ve tried everything – the usual reassurance and cuddles, soft music, a nightlight, dream catcher, crystals, meditation CD – and I’m horrified to say that nothing has worked! I’m heading for a helpline right now!
* © from Being Mummy by Anne‑marie Taplin published April 2007