Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Dear babygirl,

I wonder sometimes if you look around and think – remember when. I know later on and soon you won’t remember when you were this little but right now, do you remember when you were ittybitty? I look at video or pictures and I can hardly believe it’s you.

One night, when we were all in the hospital one of the first nights after you were born at right around the very same time it hit us what was happening. When we went to visit you and we wanted to hold you, at the very least just touch you and we knew we wanted to talk to you – for you to hear us and for us to hear you. It was when you wore earmuffs to block out the noise - even though we couldn't even whisper. The blinds were always pulled and the only light came from the blips on the screens. There is one night I remember so clearly – it hit us at the same time that there was a very real possibility we wouldn’t know you.

We wouldn’t know that your favorite fruit is blueberries or that you hum "mmmm" when you really like something you are eating. We wouldn’t get to find out that your mullet would turn into blonde curls or that your eyes would be blue. You laugh when we dance crazy, your favorite time of the day is bath time, you would be enamored Elmo or how you tug on your hair when you start to get sleepy or that I would be able to calm you by just holding you. We would never hear you squeel when we play fetch with Abelle or the pup would easily gain the freshman 15 in your first year.

It was the same night after going into visit you and the NICU nurse told us that there had been an “incident.” Your vitals fell and you almost followed that light. The night your grandparents continued to be not see through their inability to let us be parents. The night we broke down and let it all sink in. You were not in the NiCU anything ‘routine’ – you were there and in the ‘sick’ room – with the sickest of the sick babies. The most delicate. Children born months before they were ready, some less than 3 pounds, most with long term potential problems weren't in that room. You were the ‘sickest’.

That night I lay in my hospital bed next to your dad who was on the cot next to me. We held hands in the darkness and looked up at the ceiling – room 13. We both felt the emptiness of the room. With out saying a word or even looking at each other I know that we felt the same things. It's that night we thought might never know you. It's that night I remember feeling overwhelmed with the potential of loss and the awe-inspiring love - the kind that people talk about but you never know until someone like you comes into your life.

It’s funny what you remember – it’s all in the past now and there are new things to worry about but sometimes when I sit in the darkness and I can’t sleep as I look up at the ceiling and look over at your dad. I think about that night and how absolutely empty we were, yet full of fear. Now I look to my other side and look in on you – first with the video monitor but on many nights so close to you I’m sure I'll wake you. And if you would, I’d scoop you up and thank you for coming back to us.

Happy Birthday Llybelly. Love you much. Love you always.
Momma

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