I can’t believe I’ve been in the hospital for two weeks and on bedrest a total of eight weeks. Already! But who’s counting? It’s finally starting to sink in that we WILL have a baby to bring home in November. Although I’ve always been hopeful about the outcome, I never wanted to get ahead of myself. I knew the possibility of saying goodbye to our first child was very real.
I guarded myself by not thinking about the future much more than the day in front of me. I haven’t read my parenting books, don’t know a damn thing about breastfeeding, have no clue what we need in terms of raising a baby. But I think I’m now ready to venture down that exciting road.
Both T and I have been talking about what it will be like to have a daughter. We wonder what she’ll look like and what kind of hair she’ll have. Anyone who knows Tyler knows he has extremely curly, afro-potential, jet black hair. I had a head of white hair as a kid, so we surmise she’ll have a blonde afro. Most of our friends have little girls, so all the daddies have been plotting an all-girl band when they grow up.
Tyler asked me the other night, “Isn’t it weird to think we could be parents in just a few short weeks?” I told him that we already are in every sense of the word, but yes, meeting her on the outside much earlier than we expected is definitely weird. Baby Girl T could arrive at any time, but she’s managed to happily hang out inside for eight weeks without her swimming pool, so I’m confident she’ll hang on for another four weeks at the very least.
We are already so bonded with this baby. This is our first and I don’t know what it’s like to have an uncomplicated pregnancy, but I have to imagine I’m more connected to this baby now than I would be had the pregnancy continued to be uneventful. That’s not to take away from the very real bond that mothers have with their babies in a normal pregnancy. But I’ve done nothing but spend the last two months thinking about this baby and her health. There are very few distractions to direct my focus elsewhere.
I watch her heart beating on the monitor with such strength and determination twice a day every day. I pay attention to her every movement so that I can tell the nurses if her activity level changes. I’m a proud mommy every day, because she never gives the doctors or nurses a hard time, she’s showing up all the other babies with her skills on the monitor and she’s growing just like she should. I’m starting to envision a family of three instead of two. I think of all the ways we’ll make up for lost time next summer: baby’s first trip to the State Fair, going for runs along the river while she naps in the jogging stroller, and a Blanchette-style baptism in Pike Bay. I drink from my water bottle all day long and envision her peeing, filling up her pool, taking a drink and growing those lungs. Weird, right? But these visions are calming, and at times, they’re all I have.
Still, the biggest risk we face is pulmonary hypoplasia, which basically means incomplete development of lung tissue. And we just won’t know the extent of the problem until she arrives. We continue to ask you all for your prayers and support. I’m 100 percent convinced we wouldn’t have made it this far without all of you on our side.