As I sit here on the morning of Day 13, I can consciously feel my cautious optimism shaken. I have openly shared our journey, both the ups and the downs, here in the NICU. I have withheld sharing my selfish feelings and have chosen to focus on my daughter.
I haven't told you how after scrubbing in for the 1,200th time that my hands are dry and cracking, or how my cuticle on one finger has been a constant sore. I haven't told you that my nail beds ache from having the dirt dug out from under them every few hours in a hopeful attempt to protect my daughter from even further distress. I haven't told you how pissed off it makes me when a visitor doesn't take this seriously and says, "I can't possibly be dirty, I just took a bath."
I haven't shared how it feels to be able to fill 100s of bottles with breast milk, but to only know the satisfaction of filling your baby's belly a handful of times... a satisfaction that is short-lived as you hear the dreaded BERNK made by the monitor as her oxygen saturation drops into the 70s and you frantically struggle to find a way to make them go back up again.
How it feels to finally have her eating well only to have to pull her off every 2 minutes when her saturation drops. How it feels to watch her give up, lay back down and close her eyes- more content with an empty belly than the struggle it takes to fill it. To want to do the same so desperately, but at your core holding on to the knowledge that you can't. You simply can't.
I haven't shared how my chest has been perpetually saturated since I was 14 weeks pregnant, or how even my iPad and my underwear have both been soaked by my body's natural abilities to produce this source of both nourishment and nightmare since our time here.
I haven't shared how, despite daily showers, I smell like what can only be described as a mixture of sour milk and jock strap. Maybe there is something to that advertisement about stress sweat smelling worse? I have never smelled worse in my life and I grew up on a farm. With goats.
I haven't shared how everyone here has told me how strong I am and how impressed they are with my daughter's abilities despite her gestational age. I haven't shared that there have been many days where I close the door and sob all day long. Sometimes crying makes you stronger.
I haven't told you that my optimism and my endurance have both been pushed to their absolute thresholds. I haven't said that I have been ready to give up more times than I care to admit. I haven't shared how completely petrified I am to take her home because the only outward symptom of her distress is a beeping monitor.
I haven't shared that I quit even putting on makeup on the occasional day because I am guaranteed to cry it all off if I do. I haven't shared how it feels to get stares from people in public when I go out for food who are considering my disheveled appearance and caring so little about their rude stares that they maintain eye contact with pursed lips as my eyes meet theirs. Can I scream at your face?
I can count on one hand the number of things I have desperately ached for so much so that I could physically feel the longing in my soul. I can say that I've never prayed for anything so honestly and earnestly as I have my girl. I long for the days when I am exhausted by the normalcy of first time motherhood; the 2AM feedings, the pile of dirty diapers, the crying baby who will not be comforted. These things are so precious.
I haven't admitted that in the last few days I have grown homesick for my old routines. I haven't shared how I so desperately want to wake up at 5AM and eat a bowl of cereal after making my Husband's lunch. How I want to wash a sinkful of two days worth of pots and pans and dishes. How I long to fold laundry and be late on starting dinner. How I wish I could sweep the floors only to have Klaus roll in my pile of dirt before I can get the vacuum out to suction it up. I haven't told anyone how much I want to eat my lunch on my couch with "House Hunters" on the TV while I tell our two cats how much I hate that show, like I did every day. I haven't admitted that I feel like she is my home now, or that I just couldn't leave even if I could. No matter how ill this place makes me.
I haven't told you that if I hear so much as a phone's dial tone buzzing after this experience I am likely to literally lose my mind, or punch the nearest person in the face. You've been warned.
Especially, I haven't told anyone how God put it on my heart very early in this pregnancy that something wasn't going to go as planned. I prayed desperately and earnestly early in my pregnancy that I wouldn't lose this baby because of medical complications brought on by an unGodly youth. We pay for our sins in consequence. I haven't shared that I got truly baptized on November 3rd, 27 weeks pregnant with Lucy. I haven't shared enough how faithful and merciful our God has been to us. I haven't thanked our friends and family enough for their prayers and assistance through this time.
Is this one of those weird pregnancy dreams? Is the constant buzzing I hear only my alarm clock? Can I wake up yet? ...
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