It's been a long while since I've written you a letter. I've told myself to write so many times and put it off, over and over again. I think part of me feels overwhelmed when I think of putting my experience with you into words. Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes I worry that I might leave things out. I don't want to forget. And I want you to know how very special you are - from before you were even born. So here it is baby girl. Today, I'm going to tell you about the day you finally came home with Mama and Daddy.
Lots of things had to happen for you to be able to come home. You had to gain weight consistently, take bottle feeds 100%, be able to sleep in an open crib and lastly, no more spells. When you had spells, your heart rate and oxygen would drop rapidly. That monitor alarm always made my heart race and this last hurdle would take the longest for you to pass. We couldn't quite shake the spells. Anyone who knows anything knows that coordinating breathing and swallowing milk is NO easy task. You had to learn it. It took time. and that was okay. The nurses kept saying "maybe tomorrow" but when tomorrow came, they weren't sure you were ready to leave those monitors just yet. Until the day you were.
I found comfort in the familiar sounds of the little room that had been yours for 63 days. I was confident that you were totally fine under the watch of professionals, who knew exactly what to do in any situation. I knew that should you stop breathing, the monitor which I had grown dependent on during your bottle feeds, would immediately alert me and I could act to stimulate you back to catching your little breath. And just like that, the comfort was gone. You were ours now. We would be the monitor. We would have to know what to do should anything happen and our silent alarms would have to go off should you stop breathing. The nurses reassured me that I knew exactly what to do. So we took you off of your wires and dressed you from head to toe in normal - premie - baby clothes. Even premie clothes were big on you, but dang, you looked SO sweet. This was the first time that your feet would be covered. For 63 days there was a little monitor on your foot. It was finally off and you would feel the comfort of warm, cozy footies.
After being walked through (multiple times) what to do, how to administer your vitamins, how to add the extra formula to my milk to help you gain weight, and the million other things a parent needs to know before walking out of the hospital doors for the last time. Your nurse, Barbara, told me we were going to be fine. And I knew that she was right.
I didn't think that all was going to be fine because we knew what we were doing. I knew that bigger than our hands was the hand of God helping us along. Strengthening us when we needed it most. Picking us up when we stumbled. And keeping you alive. I knew that The Lord was in control of everything up to that moment, and He would be in control of everything after it. His plans, they're better than ours. Everything that happens and will happen...ever...is for our good and His glory. We had our Father, helping us parent you. And mama also had daddy's hand, physically there when I needed mine to be held.
On September 17th. You went outside for the very first time. The air was cool and there was a light breeze. You took your first breaths of fresh air. You heard sounds that your quiet NICU room had never let you hear. Finally, sweet Mercy girl, you came home.
It is the LORD who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.” Deuteronomy 31:8
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