I thought about this day probably every day of my pregnancy. I kept finding comfort knowing eventually my daughter’s cleft would be repaired and she would look like any normal baby. But I never thought about the specifics of this day and especially just how difficult it would all be.

Just before Iris turned three months old, her surgeon’s office called wanting to confirm the date of her surgery. I got the call while strolling through a hobby lobby. I remember staring at little wooden craft models of cars when the secretary said “March 11th”, a date that will forever hold a special place in my memory.

For the next week I cherished my daughter’s smile like never before. I’d stare at her all day falling deeper in love with her little cleft that I originally thought I’d hate. But as soon as she was born I knew she was perfect. Her extra wide smiles for those first three months will forever be some of the most beautiful memories of my life.

The day before Iris’ surgery I was a total mess. I cried all day over not wanting my daughter’s face to change and fearing how she would deal with the pain after surgery. We went to bed but I never really slept; the sadness and fear were so loud.

We arrived at the hospital a little before 6AM. Literally that week the Coronavirus had become a real threat and hospitals were just beginning to take caution. Before we entered we were met with masked healthcare workers who took our temperatures and asked us a list of questions. Once we entered everything moved quite quickly.

We were taken to triage where Iris was weighed and had her blood pressure taken. At this point I was barely holding on to my cool. I just kept staring at her in disbelief that these were my last moments with her as a cleft lip baby. Soon after Iris’ vitals, we met with her ENT doctor who would also be placing ear tubes, and then her plastic surgeon. And then the nurses told us it was time.

I held Iris as we walked to the operating room. I will never forget her sweet little face looking at me because I kept thinking “she has no idea what’s happening”. And then we were outside the double doors. I slowly, reluctantly passed my daughter into the nurses arms and my tears refused to stay put. I held Iris’ face in my hands and kissed her cheeks while my tears poured all over her face. Eventually I let her go and she and the nurse walked through the double doors.

My husband, Mark, and I walked into the waiting room which was thankfully empty. Mark offered to go to the cafeteria to grab some breakfast. While he was gone I sat down and wrote a letter to Iris on my phone. It was short and the words “I’m sorry” were repeated throughout it. Because as I sat there in a comfy chair waiting for food, my daughter was being put under anesthesia and having someone cut into her face- and that filled me with pure guilt.

I felt guilty that somehow my body had created this cleft. I felt sorry that I couldn’t prevent or help the pain that she would soon be in. I felt terrible that someday the wound that would eventually become a scar would cause her to hate the way she looked. Iris is 1 in 700 and as I sat there alone in a big empty waiting room I absolutely hated that fact.

Not even three hours later the same nurse that had taken Iris from my arms came into the waiting room with news that Iris was in recovery. I practically jumped out of my seat and ran there.

I had always imagined seeing Iris’ cleft repaired for the first time. I imagined joy and relief, but in reality when I saw her I was overcome with heartache. She literally looked like a different baby. Her face was swollen and her body lay totally limp from the anesthesia. I picked her up careful to not pull on her multiple wires that were monitoring her. I held her close and stared at her face for a long time trying to cope with a thousand different feelings. Sad, guilty, happy, angry, relieved. It was all there and the swirling mixture of them hurt.

After half an hour of just holding her, the nurses asked us to try feeding her. Alternating between her bottle and a syringe, Iris managed to drink almost two ounces which pleased the nurses. Throughout the feedings Iris would moan and scream in such a violent way that I had never heard before. The recovery unit was packed with kids with broken arms and whatnot and all everyone could hear for over an hour were the painful screams of Iris.

Around noon, our surgeon came by to talk about recovery care. Iris was to wear arm restraints known as “no-no’s” that prevented her from touching her face. She also wore nose stents in her nostrils to help shape her new nose; they were stitched in and so tiny that it seemed she could barely breathe out of them. We were told to keep them as clean as possible so she could breathe well. Iris’ pain management consisted of Tylenol as needed and ear drops for her ear tubes, and that was it. After going over everything we were released and home before 1PM.

Once we were home Iris slept most of the day. The feedings were long and strenuous with more painful moans, but I kept telling myself that things would get better. That night my husband and I took shifts holding her all night. She refused to be laid down on her own. Usually the instant Iris has a paci in her mouth she’s out, but her paci caused her so much pain that she became repulsed by it.

The next few days were long and tiring. It felt like I had gone into the hospital with my sweet gentle girl, but I came out with this new bothersome grouchy baby. Obviously, I didn’t blame her. She had been through a major surgery and was on the path towards recovery, but the stark difference was emotional and exhausting for me. After a week and a half I began to see glimpses of my sweet girl again. I saw her smile with her brand new gorgeous smile and I heard her familiar perfect giggle. She was drinking from her bottle wonderfully and now that she didn’t need to wear the “no-no’s” she was much happier.

A month post-op, Iris had her nose stents removed and I could finally see her new smile and nose clearly. While the cleft journey is a long one, we had made it through our first leg of the race. Our surgeon did an incredible job and I still stare at her new smile in awe. But often times I long for her old smile. I think about the very first moment I saw her face and the very first smile she gave me. Her cleft smile is gone and ultimately was there for a tiny portion of her life, but it was a huge part of mine.

Iris still has her cleft palate and will have that repaired near the end of 2020. I have a more clear expectation of surgeries now having gone through lip repair, but I expect it to be just as challenging and emotional. There’s no way to prepare for handing over your baby for surgery, there just isn’t. But until then I’ll enjoy her bubbly personality and silly smiles; I’ll watch her grow and develop like any other baby and I’ll know in a way I’m luckier than most moms to have had the chance to fall in love with my daughter’s smile twice.