Pity Party

I'm posting at the end of a long day at the end of a long week at the end of a long month. I'm feeling real sorry for myself so if you don't feel like reading a healthy dose of bitching and moaning, do yourself a favor and close this window immediately.

It is rainy today in NYC. I'm officially tired of hauling ass up to Northern Manhattan. It took two hours this morning to get to the hospital. Put a little rain on the roads in the city and those drivers who normally drive like maniacs start acting like they've got their drivers ed instructors in the passenger seat. We spent approximately twice as much time in the car as we did with Desmond.

He is supposed to be home now. Compared to the two pound NICU babies who are still supposed to be cooking in utero, Dezi looks like a 14 year old. He is more alert with each passing day and I can't help but think that he's bored in that NICU, staring at the Dallas BBQ across the street. It makes it harder and harder to leave there after our all-too-brief visits.

He's made good progress with the nipple this week but is still not eating enough from the bottle. My heart is like glass and it takes up more space in my chest than it should. When the Dr. utters even the slightest muttering that can be construed as negative I can feel parts of my glass heart shattering. She says to Dezi, "You're a big talker! You should be eating 45 ccs!" He has only had 30 and I want to cry. I know that means that we'll be spending more time here. My giant eyeballs give me away and she starts to backtrack a little, "but that's okay. we'll wait for you. take your time." My tear ducts are like over filled water balloons today. I haven't really cried but feel like I could at any moment. It is because I am tired.

Patricia, little Mahalia's mom, comes to Dezi's bedside to chat with me. Mahalia has surprised everyone, living longer than they think she should. They are all waiting for her heart to stop. I am having trouble talking to her and looking at her in the eyes. It is too painful and in the moment I cannot think of anything to say to her.

I started bleeding today from the old private parts. I call Dr. Daddy to ask if I should see my OB. We chat for a minute and he says that I need rest. Mother picks up the phone, "You've been pushing it like you never even had a baby." I sense that she's been holding this one back and I don't know what to say. If given the choice, believe me, I would've spent the last 4 weeks in my pajamas with my feet propped up on the coffee table checking out Ellen DeGeneres. It was not in my cards.

Ho hum. On a positive note, my Mahalia is asleep now. She held Dezi again today, singing to him and gently rubbing her forehead against his head. I told her at bedtime that I was really proud of how gentle she was with him and what a great big sister she is. She said, "He's coming home really soon." I know she is right. He will be home soon. The waiting, though, is getting brutal.