Monday, February 16, 2009

Maybe, today.

Maybe, today.

It's what I think each morning when I wake up. Maybe, today, Cally's bilirubin levels will have dropped. Maybe, today, we'll be able to bring her home. Maybe, today, Ella and Buddy will finally meet their new baby sister. Maybe, today, when Ella runs to the door after I return from feeding Cally and asks if I brought the baby, I can say yes.

I feel like we're in a holding pattern. Waiting. She's a week old today and yet, we haven't really started. We have yet to settle in. The adjustment to having one more Nolasco has yet to come. And, we couldn't be more ready for her to come home. Her room is set up - clothes clean and folded neatly in drawers, sheets on her bed, bouncy seat assembled. Her pack-n-play is sitting in the corner of our room all made up. Waiting.

I've fallen into a routine over the last four days and nights. I go in to feed her at 11 am, 3 pm and 7 pm. I pump at 10:30 pm before going to bed. I set my alarm for 1:30 am and 4:30 am to get up and pump. I write my name, the hour and the date on the bottles and put them in the fridge. I get up and leave the house by 6:30 am to deliver breast milk for Cally's 7 am feeding - I'm not allowed to feed her at this hour because the doctors come. In between these hours - in two hour segments - I sleep or put kids back to sleep, I eat, I play with the kids, I spend time with Joey and my mum. I wait.

Last night, as Joey climbed into bed, he said how he couldn't believe how much you can miss a person you have yet to know, who he's hardly spent time with. I remember for him that on Saturday, he finally got to hold her again - for just five minutes - for the first time since Tuesday night. He said sometimes he has to remind himself that Cally is there. In the hospital. A little person waiting to come home and join this family.

I have no new pictures to share. The last ones we took were when she was just a day old - on Tuesday night. I've only seen half of her face since Wednesday. The other half is bandaged up with an eye mask. A nice nurse let me take a small peep at her eyes yesterday when she was adjusting the eye mask.

I want to see her. I want her to see us and feel the love we are all bursting to give her. And of course, I want her to be well. I just want it to start.

And so each night, when I close my eyes to go to sleep. I think.

Maybe, tomorrow.

6 comments:

Shan said...

My heart hurts for you all. The ache you must all feel to hold your new addition. I'm thinking of you all and wish Cally a speedy recovery. Love Shan xo

janiece said...

My fingers are crossed here hoping that soon---soon you''ll be able to bring that precious little girl home. I'm so sorry that this happened.

emily said...

i am so sorry, too, norbyah. i wish that there was more that i could do for you, from this distance. know in your heart that i am thinking of you and praying for that beautiful baby girl, hoping that today is the day that she gets to be at home with her loving family, right where she belongs. please, please, please call me at any time, day or night, if you need to talk. i love you heaps.

Diane said...

You are doing SUCH an incredible job, Nornie. I know you long to be 2 mommies right now so you can be full time with ALL your lovely children. Praying constantly for your family to be healthy and UNITED! Waiting is the hardest thing on earth - you and Joey are supported in love & doing the VERY best for each of your children. Ella and Michael are doing their part for the family, as well. Good Job Nolascos, ALL! Love from Seattle!

CheleTales said...

thinking of you guys and looking forward to your next post in hopes that it says that your family is all together at home.

mama alicianorman said...

We also pray for your little baby girl here. Hope she will be home soon with you guys and can feel the love from a happy and lovely family like you guys..

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