18 Months

Dear Kathryn,

It's been 18 months to the day since you were born.

I can't believe that I should have an 18 month old and a three year old.

And I cannot believe that we are going through this AGAIN.

I've talked so many times over the last year and a half about living one day at a time, and now, I believe my God is testing me to my limits on whether I do in fact believe that's how I need to live.

Baby Kathryn, my sweet middle child, your baby brother is sick.

His name is Micah, and he's got the same problem you had.

And now, at 29.5 weeks, I'm permanently confined to a hospital bed.

My water broke Friday.  While I was at work, just doing my thing.  I'll admit I may have pushed myself a bit much (Thursday afternoon you would have found me at the car wash cleaning out my car and vacuuming it out myself, all with severe polyhydramnios). 

But it happened so suddenly on Friday, just like that, a gush of fluid. 
And those sweet sweet women I work with took me to the hospital, where I met your dad, and so began our new journey.

I continued leaking fluid, and continued contracting.  On Saturday, contractions were coming every three minutes. . And by Monday morning, they finally confirmed it was amniotic fluid (your brother Micah's fluid looks different--perhaps from the shunt procedures), and they officially moved me upstairs to the High Risk OB floor, to be here "indefinitely" until I deliver. 

And then, of all days, I woke up this morning, and saw it was the 13th.

And I did the math, and realized you would be 18 months old today.

And my dad, your Doc, called, and I just broke down.

I am totally stuck.
In a bed.  Can't get up.
Can't go to the bathroom by myself.
Can't take a shower. 

For a woman that is on the go constantly, this hit me like a ton of bricks this morning. 

So sometimes, you know, you just need to talk to your daddy.  And I did.
Then the nurse came in, and she and I sat and talked. 
And she said I am doing better than most.
And then I got to see your daddy and big brother all morning.
And then I got to talk to my mom.
To talk to my best friends.
And to spend the day "gettin' my mind right."

Because I don't do well with a pity party.
I don't like it when other people do it, and I most certainly don't tolerate it in myself.

So today, on your 18 month birthday, I've started to embrace my new normal. 

The chaplain came by this afternoon and said, "you have to decide if you want to give yourself daily goals or weekly goals."

My answer: "I do it one day at a time."

And I try my hardest not to get overwhelmed thinking I may be in here six more weeks.
Because I know what they say is true: if it will help Micah, then I need to do it.

The devil sneaks in every now and then and puts this little thought in my head:
I did everything I could to keep Kathryn in until 36 weeks, and it didn't do any good, so why should I suffer anymore because, honestly, this baby might die too.

And you know what?
He might.

But that's not for me to decide.

In my devotional this morning (Mended, by Angie Smith), she said:

"...you need not miss what He has for you by believing there is something worth going back for.  Leave it be.  The Lord has told you where to go, and it's time to walk."

Ironically, "walking" for me, seems to me to mean staying still.
Being quiet.
And waiting.

For Micah.

I love you, Kathryn.