I was feeling particularly stir-crazy today and decided to pack the baby up and go visit with a friend. Life happened, though, so we ended up at a coffee shop instead.
I was sitting in a corner by the window, working on a sweater I’m knitting, when I was suddenly struck with the memory of how impossible an outing like this felt not so long ago. In those early months of newborn life—especially with a medically complex, fresh-from-the-NICU baby—I truly wondered if I would ever get to leave the house again.
When we first moved to Washington, Dot was still just a couple months old. She was nursing constantly, and my sweet little NICU baby did not want to be put down. Ever.
At first, I just thought, this is what babies are like. But as the weeks turned into months, I was frazzled. I couldn’t even fathom leaving for the grocery store—much less to sit at a coffee shop.
She hated her car seat and would scream until she wore herself out and fell asleep. It was all I could do just to make it to appointments.
We didn’t really have a schedule, so there was no predicting when a “good” time to go might be. Sometimes she went three hours between feeds; sometimes I was lucky if she went a half hour.
Between an unpredictable feeding rhythm, multiple surgeries, two-hour drives to doctor appointments, and the occasional ER trip, trying to create any kind of routine felt impossible. My mom told me most babies eventually settle into their own schedules—but Dot never did. How could she, when life kept throwing her curveballs?
I remember longing for a normal nap schedule, if for no other reason than just so I could take a shower. If I couldn’t even predict her naps well enough to know if I had time to shower, how could I risk a trip to the store? And inevitably, on the rare occasions I tried, Dot always decided it was time to eat mid-shopping trip. There’s just not a great place to nurse in the middle of a grocery aisle.
Because she didn’t like to be set down, I did a lot of baby-wearing. But she was small, so my options were limited. And not only did she refuse to be put down—she also couldn’t be out of my sight.
She could be sound asleep, but if I managed to set her down and she woke to find me gone, she would lose her ever-loving mind. The cry she let out was so heartbreaking it could melt even the coldest heart.
As parents, you start to learn your kid’s cries: hungry, bored, mad. But this wasn’t any of those. As we did more testing and realized how little she was able to hear, I started to put the pieces together. Her vision was also pretty limited, and I was genuinely concerned at one point that she had vision issues, too. (That’s a tale for another day.)
I began to wonder if that forlorn, sad wail was her “I’m scared” cry. With so little hearing and compromised vision, touch was her only way to feel safe. For the first six months of her life, I had very few breaks. This little creature was attached to me always. My husband was a huge help, and my parents and in-laws were amazing. But at the end of the day, babies want their mom. And Dot was no different.
So, I ordered grocery delivery. Family members joined me for appointments. I gave up the dream of being a coffee shop regular. The only friends I saw were the ones who could come to me. My world became very small, and my house was both my safe haven and, in some ways, my prison.
Things began to change when she got her first hearing aid (left side). Honestly, the difference was huge. Immediately she began visually tracking better, started rolling the very next day, and—most importantly—was less opposed to being set down. She wasn’t thrilled, but she wasn’t vehemently against it either.
I’ll never forget the first time I left the room without thinking. I went to refill my water bottle, then froze, waiting for the wails… that never came. I crept back to find her happily batting at the toys above her play mat.
I cried a little. The relief was palpable.
It took time. She still nurses about every three hours. She still prefers contact naps. And honestly, I still prefer grocery delivery over wrangling a shopping cart with her.
But leaving the house no longer feels like the insurmountable task it once was. We pack the diaper bag with scientific precision. We’ve developed a system for what to bring where. And, little by little, we’ve found places to go.
We visit the park. We make it to music class. We meet up with friends. And sometimes, I even sit at a coffee shop knitting while she plays happily beside me in a bouncer.
Leaving the house with a baby isn’t always simple—but it’s no longer impossible. And what a gift that freedom has been.