We take it all for granted

I thought I'd share a few of my thoughts over the last few days. They are raw and painful and joyful all at the same time. On Monday afternoon, I gave birth to my second child, a beautiful baby boy. We named him Dawson Curtis. He has a Great Uncle Dawson and a Great Grandpa Curtis. I was overjoyed after a drug free labor, where believe me I wanted to die multiple time, to hear it's a boy and have him laid on my chest. I filled with tears of joy. Bob whispered his name into his ear and said a beautiful prayer. Picture perfect. Right?

A few moments later, we decided to try to let him nurse. He seemed to struggle and it sounded as if he needed a bit of suctioning. They took him away and started doing that. Bob and I began calling family and friends to share the news. We soon realized, however, that Dawson was not getting better. More people were called into look and my whole world stopped spinning. I sat staring trying to figure out what was going on. Before I knew it, the words NICU were spoken and my perfect little prize for enduring the hellish labor was whisked away along with my husband and everyone else in the room.

I sat there in the bed stunned. What in the world had just happened? I stared out the window and tears welled up in my eyes. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Dawson was 36 weeks 6 days just like Ollie. He had two cousins both born in the 36th week and they were fine. What had happened. The tears began pouring out and Laurel (my labor and delivery nurse & friend) came back in. She asked if she could pray with me and I said yes. At the time, the yes was more out of I know I should and less of I really want to. I probably shouldn't admit that. It wasn't as if I was mad at God. I can't really explain. I wanted to run away,go back in time, hide, disappear, something, anything but this. This sucked. My boy was gone. My other son couldn't go see him and I had no idea what the prognosis was.

The days have now bled together. I have cried and cried. I couldn't hold my baby. It's Friday. I gave birth on Monday and I've held him 4 times for a combined total of a few puny hours. I didn't even get to see his face and head until Wednesday. I can't nurse. I'm tied to a freaking pump every three hours from now until he comes home. I long to be up in the middle of the night with a fussy baby not to pump and wash the parts to do it again in 3 hours. I'm ripped in pieces. I'm heartbroken because a new baby should be comforted and held and nursed not poked and prodded and left alone on a bed table deal alone. My two year old should be experiencing love and jealousy not jealousy for an imaginary brother he can't see or meet. He shouldn't scream when I leave the room for fear I'm gone again. Every free moment shouldn't be scheduled. My husband shouldn't have had to wait two days to hold his own child. My sister shouldn't have to cry because her child is crying since she's gone. This shouldn't be happening...

I'm in love. All I want is to hold my baby and love him and kiss him. We take it all for granted. Not everyone gets to hold a baby at all. I guess I'm a lucky one. That's hard to swallow.