Trigger Warning: anxiety, depression, congenital heart defect

Once Oliver was discharged from the NICU, life carried on; he was a happy, seemingly healthy baby and our little townhouse was our sanctuary. But I dreaded going out for more than a neighborhood walk. Leaving the house led to being assaulted by well-meaning questions about Oliver’s health that I couldn’t answer. Not only was it too painful to discuss casually, I didn’t have the answers. Every cardiology appointment made me feel like I was underwater and couldn’t come up for air again until we were back in the car.

To compensate for my guilt and the constant dread that his blood oxygen level would dip too low, I set impossible, Pinterest-worthy standards of motherhood for myself. Within weeks, I had filled the first of many notebooks recording his naps, diaper changes, milk intake, and milestones. By July, I had crocheted a stack of hats he would outgrow before he’d see his first snow. By September, I had sewn his first Halloween costume. In this way, I managed to fool doctors and family members into thinking I was thriving; but most days, unless there was a chance someone other than Jason and Oliver would see me, I struggled to shower, get dressed, or brush my hair.

The surgery was scheduled for November.

Against an October backdrop of golden leaves, we took what I worried would be our last family photos. Jason and I designed my birthday gift: an arrow tattoo, for my right arm; a skin-etched promise to my son that we’d move forward together, no matter what.

The morning of his surgery, while the surgeon covered procedure details with Jason, I hugged my baby close. With his paper gown crinkled against my chest, I smoothed his wispy blond hair, fought back tears, and said a silent goodbye. We returned to the waiting room filled with family members ready to sit with us during the longest day of our lives.

Exciting Announcement!

I recently contributed to this art journal for mothers and birthing people! If you have children, know folks with kids, or work with mothers and birthing people, this project is definitely worth checking out.

About the Books

Entwined is an anthology that weaves together stories of creativity and motherhood. This is a grassroots project including 55 mothers who are painters, writers, potters, visual artists, musicians, poets, and multipassionates. The purpose of this project is to inspire mothers to pursue creativity in their own way.

Ember is an art journal companion. A variety of creative prompts (writing, observation, ideating, dreaming, and making) curated to help mothers to kindle their creative sparks.

You can support the project by preordering, donating a copy, or sharing on social media.

Stay tuned for Translating Anxiety into Art: The First Bloom (Part 4)! Drop your email in the footer below and I’ll let you know when it’s published.

The Postpartum Collection: Translating Anxiety into Art was originally published on June 25, 2024 in the Moms Mental Health Initiative Stories of Hope blog.