3/30/2009

It is my birthday today. Today I am 33. More lucky threes.

Sometime during this pregnancy I remember saying to Shane, "Maybe we'll get to bring the boy home for my birthday." No such luck. He is doing well, learning to eat, literally taking baby steps. We are trying to be patient and take it all one day at a time. But I am starting to get antsy.

Every person I see seems to ask me the same two questions: a) When is he coming home? and b) How are YOU doing?

I can answer both of these questions with one answer--I do not know. I have no idea when he is coming home and I have no idea how I am doing. I dare not ask the first question of Dr.s and nurses in the NICU. I understand that this is not a question that they would ever answer for the same reason I should have known better to utter the thought that perhaps he would come home for my birthday. There is no use hoping for something that is not in your control. I think about what Dolores the feeding specialist said, "He's in charge here. He'll tell us what he needs." I remind myself that he is so well cared for in his little NICU pod.

This entire experience has gone by in a flash. I am in a time warp. It is always morning and I am always fumbling through the day trying to get to the hospital and do something fun with Mahalia and, oh shit, it's already dinner time? When it is over, this ordeal, I would like to sleep deeply (which won't happen for obvious reasons.) I would like to go somewhere that is overwhelmingly beautiful and just sit and be quiet.

Another day older, another day gone when the sun goes down.