I was completely exhausted after our NICU class and it was only noon. We ordered lunch and then waited anxiously for my parents to arrive with Logan. We had spent our first night apart and we missed our little guy. We wanted to see our happy, healthy, perfect son and squeeze him until he begged us to stop. My parents had been texting me updates throughout the morning and it sounded like Logan was having a wonderful time and a good long sleep. They were having a leisurely day and would bring Logan soon.

Before everyone arrived Travis and I started reflecting on the morning. We talked about how scared and stressed and worried we both were as we tried to imagine what having a baby in the NICU was going to do to our lives. I didn’t want a NICU baby. I wanted a healthy, full-term baby. I wanted to complete my family without complication and that was no longer an option. I was angry that this was happening to us and as much as I hate to admit it, I was mad at the baby. This poor baby that was failing to grow, and that I loved so deeply, was also making me incredibly angry. I was worried that if we spent months in the hospital or months in the NICU that I would resent this baby for uprooting our lives, or that Travis or Logan would, and we would have to live with that resentment and guilt for the rest of our lives. Then I reminded myself that our love would overpower those terrible feelings and one day we would be a normal family. And then I thought, what if we aren’t a normal family? What if this doesn’t come with a happy ending?

This whole situation was so unfair. There was no “good outcome” that we could hope for. There was only bad and worse, that was it. I found myself thinking that things would have been so much easier if we had just gone to the first specialist appointment and discovered that the baby had already died, or if I had just miscarried when I first started bleeding in early pregnancy. There would be no drawn out hospital stays or decisions to make. There would not be this torture of slowly watching the time tick by waiting for the moment when our baby would need to be born and finding out if she would live or die. I hated myself for these thoughts but they were there and they were real, and I had them more than once after we found out I needed to be hospitalized. I worried what someone else would say if they heard what I was thinking and I was ashamed. Was I a bad mother? Was I wishing this baby was dead? No. I never wanted her to die. I wanted this pregnancy and this baby so much that the thought of losing her was torture. It was a torture that I had already endured for weeks and I had no idea how much longer I would be trapped in a hospital tormented by worry. It felt like a bad horror movie where the villain draws out the inevitable, maiming and torturing their victim while explaining their evil plan until the poor soul begged for death. I didn’t want my daughter to die but I wanted the torture to end. I wanted whatever was going to happen to just happen already and the thought of waiting months was terrifying. I remember thinking that if the baby was going to be OK and survive then I would be happy to endure but if she was going to die then I just wanted to get on with it already.

My parents arrived with Logan just in time to save me from myself. Logan came running in with big hugs and kisses and joyful shouts of, “mama!” I was so happy to see him. We visited with my parents for a while and then Logan went down for a nap in his pack n’ play which was set-up in my bathroom, and we napped as well. That afternoon a new neonatologist came to talk to us about what to expect specifically with a 27 weeker in the NICU. She didn’t have anything too scary to tell us. Once baby was in the NICU there were not a lot of long-term deficits that we would expect to see. She talked about possible complications with baby’s eyes that could be remedied in the NICU and that was the biggest thing. At one point she did get serious and say that a baby born at 27 weeks is pretty much guaranteed to have A.D.D and some degree of learning disabilities. She felt the need to repeat this to us multiple times. I laughed every time I told someone that. Lady, have you met us?? We aren’t exactly the most mellow and focused people and don’t even bother asking my dad how many times I went crying to him about math homework, even well into my 20’s! I think we can handle a little A.D.D and learning disabilities. I mean we were just discussing whether or not her lungs were going to work, I couldn’t care less about the rest. She was upbeat, and real, and optimistic. Her enthusiasm was starting to rub off on us.

As the day came to a close my parents, Travis and Logan left to get dinner. Travis would be back but I had to say goodnight to my parents and my little buddy. Just like the night before Logan wasn’t too sad saying goodbye, in fact I think my iPad got more kisses than me. I ordered dinner and made some phone calls before Travis returned. I was on the monitor again and the baby sounded great. I was getting a lot of kicks and wiggles and her heart rate looked fine. My nurse came in to visit and take me off the monitor and then she told Travis where he could find the secret late night stash of good food on the postpartum floor. We munched on our snacks and reflected on the day together. I never stopped worrying but I was feeling more and more optimistic. I was sure Monday’s ultrasound was going to show improvement and we were going to get through this. I even fumbled with my bed a bit and got it to be a little less obnoxious. Things were looking up. I didn’t stay up late worrying or writing e-mails or texting in the wee-hours of the morning. That night I slept. For the first time in weeks I got a full, restful night of sleep. I knew I needed it but I had no idea how important it would be. It was the last time I would sleep for over 24 hours and it was the last time I would go to sleep feeling a sense of calm holding my swollen belly, feeling my tiny baby rolling around inside.