Three Weeks

"I know God won't give me anything I can't handle,

but I just wish He didn't trust me so much..."

~Unknown

 

Dear Micah,

 

You are three weeks old today!

 

My what a joy it is to watch you fight and grow each and every day. 

 

As I sit here in your room right now, you've been giving your sweet nurse quite the fit today.

 

All the folks caring for you love you so much, and it warms mine and your daddy's hearts to know you are in such loving care when we can't be here all the time.

 

You know, when your big brother was a baby I suffered from some pretty typical post-partum anxiety.  I worried non-stop about all the things that could go wrong, and how I could possibly protect him from every little thing. 

 

Anyway, when I would put Thomas to bed each night, and before I went to sleep, I would lay down, and say a silent prayer to myself:

 

"God, please be with my boy.  Because while I know I can't be there all the time, YOU can.  Amen."

 

Simple as that, but for some reason it calmed me down and made a world of difference.

 

I find myself praying that same sweet prayer for you now too.

 

And now here we are: three weeks in.

 

You are officially off the jet ventilator again, and you seem, especially today, to be waking up in a big way. 

 

You do NOT like to sit in a wet diaper (who can blame you), and we know that's the case when your blood pressure jumps up and your heart rate increases.

 

You cry and scream and furrow your brow with the best of them.

Who knew how strange it would be to watch a baby cry without a sound, but it's almost like I can hear you even though I can't.  Your face is louder than any scream.

 

You have been appropriately named 'the extubator,' as your hands are quick and you've already extubated yourself once, and pulled out your OG tube as well.  Because of this, sometimes you have to wear these really silly mitts.  They're not very fashionable, but they do make you look a bit like a prize fighter.  By the way, you HATE the mitts.  And you're pretty good at flailing your arms so much that they fly off at any given point.  I love this about you, and so does everyone else.  Stubborn feistyness fits you well.

 

Last Friday night, right after my last post, though, we thought we were going to lose you.

 

Around 8:30 that night, I called to check on you.  We discovered quickly you weren't doing well and were asked to come to the hospital for a talk. 

 

Here's the thing: we've done that talk before.

 

Once we called our friend to come keep Thomas, you could have heard a pin drop in our house.  BT and I didn't speak.  We just gathered our things, changed our clothes, and meticulously, almost neurotically, went through the motions to leave for what we thought was our last time with you. 

 

I put on makeup.

 

BT changed his shirt.

 

We called our precious photographer friend and got in touch with our pastor, asking both of them to come over.

 

And I placed your sweet outfits in my purse.

 

Ready for pictures.

Preparing for goodbye.

 

For you see, we've done it before.

 

I can't quite explain to you what it's like, thinking you're going to have to do that again.

 

There are really no words. 

Just an overall shaking.

My body just wouldn't stop shaking.

And by the time we got to the hospital, I almost threw up in the parking deck.

 

So we went in, and we had a talk.

The concern: that you weren't going to make it. 

That your gases were low, and you hadn't had enough urine output.

That your kidneys were shutting down.

 

That it really just might be too late.

And as we sat and talked, and as we all cried a little bit, and waited for the next round of gases, everything on the monitor started to improve.

 

We prayed over you, and with our pastor, we dedicated you to God.

 

And then, your blood gas report came back.

And it was as normal as it's ever been.

And your nurse changed your diaper, and it had over 100cc's of urine in it.

 

And we then realized: that night wasn't the night.

 

And we all took a deep breath, and looked at you, and I think then we all realized that you were a very special child. 

 

A fighter of a child.

A warrior of a child.

A mighty mighty Micah of a child.

 

I'll tell you this, love, you have a long way to go.

But oh sweet boy, your mom is so very very proud of how far you've come.

 

I wish I could begine to express how happy you make us. 

 

Every night, before bed, your brother asks me what your favorite part of the day was.

 

And I normally tell him that it was napping, or if your nurse did something extra special for you, or if I got to spend some alone time with you. 

 

And every night, after I tell him, Thomas smiles a really big grin.

 

He thinks you're pretty cool too.

 

We all do, love.

 

Keep fighting, champ.

 

Love,

 

MOM.

 

"And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose."~ Romans 8:28