Today is the fifth day you have been a part of the outside world. You continue to grow and reach milestones daily. I am blessed to be a part of your journey.
Today your Dad got to hold you for the first time. I have never seen him so terrified. The entire time he held you, he was worried. He was concerned for your body temperature and kept watching the temperature on the monitor in your room. I told him that if you were too cold, the nurse would not have allowed him to hold you. He kept trying to cover you up better. Finally, he got so nervous that I had to go get the nurse to put you back in your incubator.
He asked the nurse about your temperature. "It's fine," she said. "The temperature monitor is not even hooked up."
I guess that we are typical nervous first time parents. It is difficult not to think about how fragile you are since you are so small and you have so many cords attached to monitor you.
I wait for the day when we can hold you without the help of the nurse. I want to be able to sit and rock you in the chair in your room. Right now, I sit beside you all day. You may not even realize that I am there, but I want to believe that you do. I gaze at you and memorize each of your features. I talk to you and sing to you. I cannot wait for the day when we can bring you home.
Dear Grace,Today the least anxious person to get out of the hospital was discharged.
Leaving the hospital without you was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I was miserable. I stared out into space as the volunteer helped me in the car and we drove away. Then I cried.
The road home looked unfamiliar to me. I was not sure if places had actually changed or just me. It turns out it was me. I was miserable. You are my life now. When you are not with me, everything seems wrong.
I am in physical pain from the surgery now. It will take me a long time to heal because of all the swelling. I am not sure that I recorded it here, but during my last month of pregnancy I gained over 20 pounds. That is more than I had gained in all the months prior put together. I have already lost a lot of the water weight.
My physical appearance is ghostlike, even though I look much better than before you were born. I look like a train hit me directly in the stomach. My arms are a covered with a mixture of deep blue, purple and black bruises. The stretch marks that I tried so hard to avoid by pursing a healthy pregnancy cover my stomach. However, I have made progress. My fingers are now defined again instead of big balloon hands.
Your Dad managed to get me in the house, where I sat around until he was finished with work. Then, we drove back to the hospital to see you.
It may sound strange, but the hospital felt more like home than my home did. Your Dad agrees. He said that his first night spent at home without us just felt wrong. We have learned through this that home is not where you live - it is where your family is.
Our home will not be home until you are home.
Releasing this month: