First time guest blogger, Laura Maikata, is mom to three children. Her youngest was born at 23 weeks, and today she shares Part 1 of a 2-part series about how a glimpse of a jogger mom pushing a baby stroller helped her persevere after her son’s very premature birth.

The Jogger

I saw her just blocks before I passed her. A woman in a tight black running jacket, pushing a high-tech jogging stroller. My stomach lurched and my heart filled with joyous envy. The warmth of shared maternal memories was tainted by the bitterness of being unable to hold on to such a dream. I wanted to be her. Her back was to me, so I didn’t see her face, but I imagined she was full of joy.  How could it be any other way on a sunny day like this? Her baby was probably plump and perfect.

I sighed. This image reminded me starkly of all I’d lost. I didn’t have time to run now, with my evening NICU visits and a full time job and two children at home. Even if I did, the c-section scar still burned if I walked too long. By the time it healed, I was sure the crisp air and early sunsets would have set in, and it would be months before I ran outside again.

Her tight black jacket and bright running shoes reminded me of what should be, if things had gone the way I wanted them to go. For a moment I felt the pangs of should-have-beens. I should be walking with my other children, pausing every few minutes to look at the colors starting to turn in the trees, or to have them feel the baby, seven months along, kicking in my womb. My stomach – it felt so empty and flabby and flat. I touched it. I was back in my pre-pregnancy jeans. No one had ever felt him kick in my stomach. His leg movements were barely flutters the week he was born.

I shouldn’t be driving in to the NICU. I shouldn’t even have my third child yet. He was two months old and while we were grateful that he was still very much here, he was hooked up to wires, IVs and monitors, and he was in renal failure. He had just had his third surgery. I wasn’t sure he’d ever see the sun.

Regret and sadness poured over my heart. I was happy someone could be enjoying the day with their child, but my heart flip-flopped when I dared to imagine the same for myself.  Even if my son came home there was no guarantee that he’d be … well, we just didn’t know what to expect yet. I had stopped taking things for granted. He’d probably come home on oxygen or a trach. He’d probably not be so easy to go jogging with. I envied this mom and her baby. I envied that they didn’t know life could be any other way. I longed for my full term pregnancy.

By this point I was passing them. What was the point? I couldn’t put him back in my womb. I shouldn’t think about what could have been. I sighed. And then, well, I couldn’t help myself. I turned around and looked out the back window of my car, knowing it would hurt. But I had to, I wanted to, I would take a peek at the baby in the jogging stroller and the radiant mother. I wanted the full picture in my head, even if it only compounded my sorrow…

The Rest of the Story

Laura will be back tomorrow to describe what her peek at the baby in the stroller revealed. Until then, leave a comment on Laura’s story so far and visit her website to learn more about her family.

The Jogger, Part 2

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