I can't believe its almost time. In less than three weeks we will know your sweet fate. It seems almost selfish really to continue holding on to the hope that we will bring you from the hospital into our homes in the flesh rather than simply in our hearts.
We've had nothing but time with you and been blessed with so much more than we ever could have asked or hoped for so many weeks ago.
So little time left.
Absolutely no guarantees.
I haven't been blogging much because I simply can't wrap my head around the fact that *this* is almost over. I finally plucked up the courage to arrange a priest for your baptism. We also talked about things like confirmation and a funeral. Father Kurt will be on sabbatical and may never meet you at all.
I haven't built up the courage to arrange a photographer just yet, but I know I should.
We have invited your siblings and grandparents to be in the hospital the day you are born even though I really don't want them there. See, the birth of a new baby has always been a time for just your daddy and I. We've never had anyone even *on call* to come right away. A few hours at least, just for the three of us.
But you might not have a few hours and I have to again face the truth that it would be selfish of me to keep you from them.
Yet no matter how much of a mess I am, I don't want tears and hugging and crying from everyone else...a wish that I know is unrealistic. I already can't handle my own emotions and I don't want to handle anyone else's. I'm an extremely private person emotionally, physical touch is just about my last love language, and having had a couple of these c sections before I know I am going to look and feel like absolutely crap...possibly for ever single minute of your life. I don't want an audience.
Please, please, please let me not be too drugged to remember it, or have any of those previa related complications that mean I miss all of it.
At the same time, however, I feel incredibly lonely in this journey and sometimes find myself wishing that your story had become one of those widespread internet sensation stories. That everyone knew your name and your story. That I could see the fruits of how you have affected people.
I want to share you with the world and keep you to myself.
Of course we are still hoping and praying for a better outcome for your life. The doctors are optimistic that they will be able to sustain your life for a few days at least while they diagnose what exactly is going on with your kidneys. There is still no clarity or even expectation of what they will find, although no one believes it will be good.
So maybe a few days instead of a few hours.
A few days in an incubator instead of a few hours in my arms.
If there is even the slightest possibility that those few days could turn into weeks or years then that is what we will shoot for, but that selfish me rises again... If only there was a crystal ball that would give us the wisdom to make the best decisions.
In other words, I want all sorts of impossibilities.
Your siblings know and love you so much. Aidan leaned over Christmas morning during Mass and whispered that it was your first Christmas. Of course it truly is, but that realization came with the overwhelming desperate emotions of knowing it might be your only Christmas with us. Lucie loves her "Ena Baby" and can't walk by without giving you a hug or a kiss. Sometimes her love can be a little rough and you often push back against her touch. Kylee checks with me every day to make sure she will get to see and hold you at least once.
Yet to say they are excited for your addition to our family might be a little bit of an exaggeration.
They have born so much heartache in their little lives, these siblings of yours. Aidan and Caleb have already said goodbye to their first sister, Kenna. They all know of our miscarried babies. They have moved from place to place to place, lost their home in a major fire...and yet they are still so full of faith and joy and love. When I think of the things they have faced in their short lives and add the last months of uncertainty to the list, my heart breaks for them. It is my job as a mom to protect my babies from these harsh realities and in this I have failed them all.
Your siblings are so much stronger than your mom.
The Christmas season is so short relative to other seasons of the Church year. Only a couple of weeks. And when the Christmas season ends, so will our waiting. On the third weekday of Ordinary Time you will make your entrance. It is like living in Christmas but still being stuck in Advent.... wondering what exactly Christmas will bring.
A babe in the manger, yes.
For how long, we just don't know.
And it ultimately might not be our crib in which you lay your sweet head.