I had mixed feelings about leaving. I felt like I would be coming right back–I felt like labor and delivery was a ticking time bomb, that might go off just because I simply walked out of the hospital. There was a certain measure of safety in being on the Mom Unit: if my water broke or the baby just decided to come, Daniel wouldn’t have to drive me 45 minutes through the city to the hospital. I was right there, with operating rooms and a Level III NICU down the hall.
But on the other hand, I missed Daniel and Mara sooo much. And it was good to be home. To actually rest on my own couch, in my own bed.
When we pulled up to the house, it was heart-wrenching to see my sick little girl, who (that day) was being watched by our friends Tara and Amy from church. Mara didn’t really know Tara or Amy. The combination of having strangers watching her while she was sooo sick (she still had a high fever due to the roseola) and not having seen her mother for four days was more than little 16-month-old Mara could handle.
Tara told me she had sobbed hysterically for the entire two hours they were there. In all her life, I don’t think Mara ever sobbed hysterically for two hours about anything! Not even as a newborn. I felt bad for Tara and Amy.–It is hard enough to have your own child crying for two hours, but it’s almost unbearable when it’s someone else’s child! And my heart was broken for my baby girl . . .
When they left, Daniel and I just sat in the living room downstairs (I was still on “bedrest” so I couldn’t do much else). My sick baby girl sat on the couch next to me. She wasn’t sobbing any more. She just sat sucking her thumb and deeply heaving with each breath, as you do after a long hard cry.
Finally, she looked up at me, and between heaving breaths, she ever-so-sweetly said, “Dadda . . . Momma . . .Baby,” and then she put her thumb back in her mouth, and leaned her sweaty, feverish head against my arm.
I will never ever forget that moment as long as I live. We were all together again: “Dadda . . . Momma . . .Baby . . .” And my little Mara knew that’s how it was supposed to be.
I wished like crazy that I could promise her that I would never ever ever leave her like that again–but in my heart, I knew that the chances were very good that I would be back in the hospital, and if I went back again, the chances were good we would also have a baby in the NICU for several weeks. . .
So in a way it was harder to come home, because I saw how hard it was for Mara. It really broke my heart.
We had 4-1/2 days together–Mara and me at home on bedrest, until my next appointment. We worked out for Daniel’s sister to help 3 – 4 days each week. This way Mara would have someone that she knew with her, at least half the time. We would try to fill in the other days asking people from church for help watching her. On Sundays she was able to go to church with Daniel’s family (since Daniel sometimes worked Sundays).
I tried really hard to be “good,” to rest, and to not go up and down the stairs more than once/twice a day.
But with my contractions continuing steadily with the procardia, I figured I would be back on bedrest in the hospital after the next appointment. Just walking to the car, through the parking garage and into the doctor’s office was enough to bring on stronger contractions!