It occurred to me while re-reading my last post that perhaps I sounded a bit... dramatic?

Like, someone who didn't know me might get the impression that my baby died or something. Which is NOT what happened. My little boy is alive and well and doing what newborn babies do - that is, eat, sleep, and poop.

I should have mentioned that he did eventually come home, but at the time I wasn't trying to tell the full story so much as I was just wanting to jot some thoughts about how I felt during those crazy days before and after his birth.

The experience of having a baby was and is so intense that I need to write it all out. Unfortunately, the experience of having a baby makes it nearly impossible to do that -- coherent thoughts are a real luxury when you're working on only a few hours of sleep every day.

You've been warned!


what I thought:

40 full weeks,
so ready.


small overnight bag waiting patiently by the door,
clean and organized home stocked with all the necessities,
a sweet little nursery decorated modestly with a few carefully chosen things.

calm ride to the hospital,
taking the practiced route,
holding hands with him.

complication-free labor and delivery,
my perfect baby.

lots of cuddling,
marveling over fingers and toes,
leaving the hospital together, a newly formed family.

what I got:

water breaking far too early,
not ready.

more fear,
and even more fear.

toiletries thrown haphazardly into a red shoebox,
half-eaten pizza abandoned on the dinner table,
an unfinished child's dresser sitting out on the patio.

miserable ride to the hospital,
blinking back tears, lungs tight with worry,
clutching and clenching his hand.

tough decisions,
labor and delivery,
my perfect baby.

taken away,
watching him through plastic,
ten eternal days of tubes and monitors.

stumbling out of the hospital alone, drowning in an ocean of tears.