I'm in love with two people at the same time. One is my wife, one is my son. Or maybe I just have a crush on him.
Since I'm unemployed, I've got nothing to do but clean the house, play with my turntable, and see the little man.
A few days after we learned that he has an ASD, we were able to feed him. The doctors gave him lasix to help remove some fluid from his lungs; he breathes slower now. Because of his nearly normal breathing we started feeding him a bottle. Every day he's gotten exponentially better. Yesterday he ate 25 ml at noon and 35 at 6:00. He at the 35 in 20 minutes. That's crazy. (however, I've just received a text from Mindy saying his breathing is fast today--that could mean bad things, or that we can't give him a bottle today)
Anyway, I'm not working. I've forgotten how to write. Sometimes I read. Other than that, the only thing that occupies my brain is Cy-guy. When I'm not with him I think about him. When I go to sleep, I see the NICU. I remember his smell. His name is in my head all day. I've lost myself. It's exactly the same as when I met Mindy. Holding him makes me feel less crazy, and I do everything to please him so he won't leave me.
Last night I dreamt that we got to take him home for the night. We checked him out like a library book. I dreamt that my own son lived in our house.
It's been 15 weeks and 2 days since his birth. For that long we've gone to the hospital once or twice (or more) a day. Now that he's bigger it's harder to leave and stay away. When he lived in the cube we weren't allowed to touch him or anything, so we stayed just an hour or less. Now that we can hold him whenever and kiss all over him, and feed him, well, leaving sucks. But life goes on outside of the NICU. Kindof. In between holding him I think about holding him while I scoop the litter, wash clothes, clean the bathroom and kitchen, play on facebook, blog...
I hope he's home soon, but I have a feeling it won't be until August. That bums me out because I wanted to spend 6 solid weeks with him at home, with Mindy, too, of course. School starts August 24th (I forgot that I teach...I could be working on my fall syllabus). So, that would be only 2 weeks with him before life would begin again.
I guess I've come to the last stage of grief: acceptance. I accept the fact that my baby lives in a hospital crib, that I have to get buzzed into the doors, that I have to sign in to see him, that my temperature must be taken once a day, that I can't see him between the hours of 6:45-7:45 in the morning and evening, that sometimes those hours are stretched and manipulated because of the doctors doing rounds, that the nurses know more about him that we do, that he will need more surgeries, that he can't really meet any of you for months, that he'll be in and out of the hospital. That I love him.