Say what you wanna say, and let the words fall out. Honestly, I wanna see you brave... with what you want to say, and let the words fall out. Honestly, I wanna see you be brave. I just wanna see you, I just wanna see you, I just wanna see you...I wanna see you be brave.

Here we are... Evie is 5 months old! I can't hardly believe how fast the time has gone. What was once my little, teeny, tiny baby- is now a big, 17 lb, chunky, little lady! And I couldn't be happier. In truth, I think I was so upset when she was born so tiny, that I have made it my personal mission to get her to be nice and plump!

And, friends, that is where this blog post is going today... I'm finally ready brave enough, to talk about something that has made me so upset, I've sometimes said I have PTSD from the experience... Hi, my name is Stephanie, and I gave birth to an IUGR baby. 

IUGR, to my non-OB friends, is an acronym for Intrauterine Growth Restriction. Which, in a nutshell, means that the baby growing inside the womb, is not growing at a normal rate. IUGR is often picked up at your OB visits during the pregnancy, by measuring fundal height (this is the distance from the pubic bone to the top, or fundus, of the uterus). Throughout my entire pregnancy, my fundal height was measuring right on point. And I wasn't having complications which would have warranted a sonogram to evaluate my baby's growth. 

The risks in having an IUGR baby are many... low birth weight, varied complications after birth (many originating from the low birth weight) and stillbirth. So, that's some pretty scary stuff. Thankfully, I didn't even know I had an IUGR baby until after she was born... that definitely cut down on the worry and anxiety I might have experienced otherwise. 

As I mentioned in my previous blog post about my delivery, I showed up for my 38 week appointment and was sent directly over to L&D for monitoring for blood pressure issues. I've never had blood pressure issues in my life...nor my entire pregnancy. Even though I knew I was being ruled out for pre-ecclampsia (one of the risk factors for IUGR), the thought of having a critically small baby never crossed my mind... I was measuring right where I should be.

Fast forward to my delivery, and I remember my nurses, my friends, saying "Steph, she's pretty small." And even then, I couldn't really imagine how small, "small" was. And then, I remember them telling me that they would have to alert the NICU. Even in my severely clouded (hopped up on Propofol) mind, I knew that wasn't a good sign. 

This was not how things were supposed to go! I'd had a perfect pregnancy. I was measuring on schedule. My baby was supposed to be doing skin-to-skin within an hour of delivery to help enhance the bonding process. We were supposed to "room-in" and she wasn't supposed to be away from my bedside until we were discharged from the hospital. Emphasis on the "we."

I had dreamed for months about how things would go after our baby was born!  The frequent feedings, the meconium diaper changes, the bonding as a brand new family of three, having people come to our room and showing the baby off to everyone... and all of that was taken away from me in a matter of minutes. 

My baby was taken directly to the NICU, where she remained for 6 days. And I was left behind, feeling heartbroken, confused, concerned... and angry with myself. How did I let this happen? How could I have given birth to an IUGR baby?!? I'm a Labor & Delivery nurse for goodness sake! I did everything right! I did light exercise! I was careful to monitor how much weight I was gaining! I did everything I should've done... so why, oh why, did I have a teeny, tiny baby?! 

The NICU was a whole other experience, that I couldn't bring myself to write about until now. There is something very unsettling about giving birth to your baby, having them taken away from you and then seeing them in an isolete, hooked up to IV's and monitors... so small, so new, and so fragile. And then, the overwhelming guilt and feelings of abandonment whenever you leave their bedside. 

Jas and I would keep vigil by her bedside, for hours at a time. Sometimes leaving just long enough to get a quick bite to eat and then quickly returning. I was constantly afraid that Evelyn would think that we had abandoned her. We were there for every feeding... even through the night. We were both walking zombies, but this was what we HAD to do. 

You can't tell how tiny she is... but man, she was small!

We had a few excellent nurses while Ev was in the NICU...and a few not so excellent. One in particular, constantly made us feel like we were doing something wrong. She indicated that we "weren't there enough" (which wasn't possible... we practically lived in that unit), we weren't "taking charge of her care well enough" (this was confusing and never well explained... it was the ICU for goodness sakes! How much "charge" were we supposed to be taking?!). My milk supply was "not adequate" and we were going to be forced to supplement with formula (which I really didn't want to have to do- not that anything is wrong with formula- I just wanted those early days to be strictly breast milk)... And when I requested that she be supplemented with donor breast milk it was a big to-do. It was a constant cycle of highs and lows. The high of getting to see our precious new baby... and the low of having to leave her behind. By not having an adequate supply, I felt the low of feeling like I had failed my baby yet again... I had already failed her in the womb with the IUGR. And now, I was failing her out of the womb. 

I went into survival mode. But not survival for myself, survival for Evie. In fact, I completely neglected myself during those 6 days. I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't eating. We were setting our alarm to go up to the NICU every 2 hours all through the night. Just as soon as we would get back from the NICU after a feeding, we would no sooner lay down and close our eyes, and it would be time to go back to the NICU again. One of the NICU doctors finally had to hold an "Intervention" of sorts for me, because I was completely neglecting my fresh, post-operative self. She told me I had to go home. The thought of leaving my baby behind at the hospital was beyond unsettling.  I initially refused. I said, no way, no how. And then, in the midst of an emotional breakdown, I looked at myself in the mirror and didn't even recognize myself- the dark circles, bags, redness from lack of sleep in my eyes... and decided that I was no good to Evie in this state. I was running on fumes... and there wasn't a whole lot left in the tank. 

We went home that night, and I slept for the first time in days. I woke up teary and upset a few times during the night, when I would touch my belly and realize that it was now empty... but so was her crib, that we had set up for her so many weeks ago. 

Two days after I was discharged, she was discharged too. Our family was complete. Everything felt right. She was still teeny, tiny... so, I made it my mission to make breastfeeding successful (despite a few setbacks in those early days). I was going to get her good and fattened up. I wanted her to constantly be ahead of the growth curve, and never behind... not, again. And so far, knock on wood, she has done just that. By her 8-week appointment she had more than doubled her birthweight. And we have never looked back since. At her 4-month appointment she was in the 76% percentile for length, and 75% for weight.

Right before we left the NICU. She was so small in her carseat.

So here we are... 5 months later. I can finally write about the experience. Despite a few early setbacks, I think she has more than made up for lost time. She continues to amaze me every single day. And sometimes I just want to eat her cheeks off. 

5 mos and her premie pajamas that were initially a little big on her! 

1 week vs. 5 mos. 

2 weeks versus 5 mos.

She's such a bright light in our lives! And I just love that smiling face! Happy 5 months to my sweet, baby girl! We love you!