A Million Miles Apart

A few nights ago, Chris and I sat down, in the same room, at the same time while Chris ate dinner. And even though we weren't eating at the same time (hello unrealistic dream), we were in the same room. At the same time. By ourselves! In the two and a half months we have had Frankie home, I could count on one hand the number of hours, total, we have spent alone together.

You see, having a premature baby with reflux, vomiting and a feeding tube is hectic. If you put her in her cot during the day she will likely last ten minutes before she screams in pain from reflux or vomits and you need to commence the sheet cleaning, spew cloth gathering, baby changing regime. So, after every feed, someone holds the baby while the other person washes and then sterilises the three syringes, one bowl, one bottle and one teat required to feed her.

Being alone is a pipe dream. We go to the hospital and are in rooms with multiple people at once. A room with us, Frankie, a nurse and three doctors. Another room with us, Frankie a physio and an OT. A dietician and a speech therapist. A neonatologist and a registrar. A nurse and a doctor. It's never just us. And quite often, it's only one of us, accompanied by my incredible mum.

Even when sleeping we aren't together. We take turns, one of us in the room with Frankie and the other in the spare room. You see, Frankie spends her nights vomiting and if she's not vomiting she's grunting and groaning and sounding like a tiny dinosaur because premature babies are ridiculously noisy. Why not put her in her own room you ask? When you have watched your baby stop breathing as many times as we have, you follow the SIDS safe sleeping guide to the letter and that means having baby in with us.

Feeding during the middle of the night is quite often a lonely affair. One of us sleeps while the other sits on the couch, holding Frankie upright with one hand and pushing formula down her feeding tube with a syringe in the other. And if we're both up for feeding, Frankie is there too. Plus, we're not really together. One of us is tube feeding in the lounge room while the other washes and sterilises in the kitchen, being called back only to help refill a syringe.

So when other new parents enjoy special time together doing something that they thoroughly enjoy, I can't help but think about how we don't get any time together. Not even shitty, vomit cleaning, syringe sterilising time. None. We do it all on our own while the other tries to make sure Frankie isn't vomiting so that, by some miracle, she grows to the size greater than that of a full term newborn. Because at 4 months of age and 3.6kg, that's all we can do. Try our best. Alone.

* Clarifier: By alone I mean Chris and I are not together. We are the most incredibly lucky and grateful parents in the world to have the support of family around us. I do not think I would have survived these past few months with the last remnant of sanity I have remaining without my parents. They are the reason Chris and I have managed the few hours of time together that we have.