Coming Home

Nobody expects to come home from the hospital alone.

And fine, I wasn’t technically alone. My husband was there, and my aunt had come to visit. But here I was, without my baby, my parents, heck even my in-laws… trying to prove I was still a good mom even though my baby wasn’t coming home with me.

I pumped a lot those first few weeks. It was the only thing I could control. I felt miserable… it was so hard getting in and out of the tall bed in my guest room after a c-section but I managed… multiple times every day and night… going to the kitchen, washing the pump parts, storing the milk, putting a label on it so the NICU could tell which baby it was assigned to.

I absolutely hated it. Of course being away from my baby, but also the pumping. I had DMER and constantly felt nauseated and anxious and cried almost constantly while I was doing it. If I couldn’t be there for my baby at least I was doing something.

I had been every day since getting out, but only after my husband finished work. I started going to the NICU all day once I was cleared to drive. I know the nurses hated it. I begged my doctor a week after my c-section to give me the all clear to drive, and she did. So I went. And I sat. I stared at the baby I wasn’t allowed to hold or touch except for a few minutes every 3 hours. I took pictures. I read to him. I pumped some more. I waited for the nurses to walk by so I had someone to talk to.

My husband would stop by on his way home from work. Some nights we left before rounds. The nurses rounded between 7:30-8:30 every morning and night, and nobody was allowed to enter or leave the NICU during that time period. Other nights we left after rounds, in the dark and starving. I’d hop in my car and my husband would hop in his.

And I’d leave the hospital alone.

Again.

This went on for weeks but it felt like months. Time both stands still and drags on forever when you’re in the NICU. Before I knew it, it was Halloween and we had to get a costume for our baby because he was actually going to be home.

When this 1-year-old-less-and-less-of-a-baby-every-day wakes up in the middle of the night and wants in our bed, or my arm is falling asleep while I’m holding him, or he’s screaming in the backseat of the car because he can’t see anything… I just remember how awful it was to not have him here and how short our time really is together.

So I just sit and stare at him a little longer.