Miles’ Birth Story – Part 2

Well, here we are again! I’m officially the worst blogger on the planet. I have been so busy lately that I haven’t even had a chance to look at this blog.  It’s been nearly a month since I wrote part 1 of this post and I honestly have no idea where all the time went. So on with the rest of the story.

This is the first picture I saw of my son and I just remember thinking of what the nurse said  “Expect him to be here until his due date”  Based on this picture, I felt like that could be a reality and it hurt  my heart. He looked so fragile and helpless.

As soon as things settled down we called our parents to let them know they were officially grandparents and  I was moved to my own room shortly thereafter. I feel somewhat selfish about this now but I didn’t want anyone coming to the hospital to see Miles until I got to hold him, so we told everyone not to come.  I was feeling pretty helpless myself.  I couldn’t feel my legs; I was under the influence of more drugs than Lindsey Lohan and all I wanted to do was to hold my baby.

It was an agonizing six hours before I was able to be moved to a wheelchair and pushed down the long hall to the NICU.  The excitement and anticipation was overwhelming; my heart was fluttering like a butterfly trapped in a jar. The room was tiny and dark, and I was pushed up to the uncovered incubator and there he was. So small, so precious…it felt like my heart might explode.  It was hard to believe he was mine.  It was more than I could even comprehend. He was mine. Mine in a way nothing had ever been mine before.

I was in love and I was changed forever.

The beeping of the monitors quickly drew me back to the reality of the situation. I wondered how long my boy needed to stay here, if he’d be okay.  I wish I could do something, anything, to help him. All I could do was hold him and love him, and that’s what I did. Late into the evening I was finally convinced to return to my room for some sleep, reluctantly I went. All I could do was think about him.

The next morning I discovered just how strong my baby was. To everyone’s surprise he was off the oxygen and the feeding tube. I remember one of the nurses saying that he’s the only one that doesn’t know he’s a preemie. I felt so profoundly proud and amazed at his swift progress. Over the next two days I remained admitted to the hospital to recover from the c-section, however I spent every minute I could in the NICU.  Once I was discharged a new set of emotions crept in.

I was free to go. Now it was just my baby that had to stay in the hospital. I felt distraught knowing that I now had to go home to shower and sleep. It didn’t feel so bad when I was in the opposite wing of the hospital. Going out the doors into the fresh air for the first time in three days felt more suffocating than being stuck in the hospital for a lifetime. And every fraction of Mile that we got away from the hospital my heart would sink more and more. I felt like I was abandoning him, even though knew we would return in a few hours.  It was horrible.

Yet, every day he got stronger, ate more and was closer to coming home. Having him come home on his due date was reduced to a month, to two weeks, to a week.  My heart swelled. I was so happy that he was doing so great, there might have even been skipping involved. Over the next week I spent as much time as I could with him. Quiet moments breastfeeding, sweet moments watching my husband hold him, fun moments visiting with family and friends and countless moments just staring at him.

Finally, on September 1^st, exactly one week after his birth, we were told that he could come home with us.  I cannot describe how this all made me feel, but just imagine getting the one thing in this world that you’ve wanted more than anything else. It was kind of like that.

Everything I’ve ever needed, I had.