God's Timing

As I exited onto the 2nd floor the other day during one of my daily visits with Rhyan, a new father with an empty carseat almost ran me over as he rushed off the elevator and towards what us preemie moms like to refer to as "the fat baby nursery." I glared with envy as I turned right and headed for the NICU where I would visit my baby for a few hours and then leave empty handed as I had approximately 148 times in the past two and a half months.

"N-ICU, this is ..."

"Yes ma'am, I'm here to see Baby Faughn."

"Relationship?"

"Mother."

"Okay, I'll open the door."

I entered my second home carrying my cooler full of breast milk for the milk lab tech to later add microlipids, calories, or whatever to then place in a syringe to be infused via pump into the little orange tube taped above Rhyan's lip and going from his mouth to his stomach. As I continued to wallow in my pity, I passed a young girl in a hospital gown  slightly bent over as she walked slowly through the hall. "Those good ole c sections," I thought. Then it hit me. She was alone. I thought back to the first few days after my c section. I remembered Jake pushing me down to see Rhyan in a wheelchair and carrying my epidural pump when I decided to become a martyr and walk.

I no longer felt sorry for myself, but I prayed for that young girl as I contemplated that the only thing harder than not having your baby at home with you would be facing this journey alone. 

"Good one, Lord, Perfect timing."

I walked into Rhyan's room in the NICU stepdown unit and watched him as he stared at his glow worm and nodded his head to the hum of "Twinkle, twinkle little star," on his glow worm.

After spending a few hours with him, I went home to pump and wait for Jake to get home. My daily routine. And although I loathe the breast pump, it is nice to burn calories while you lay in your bed and watch reruns of SVU.

When we went back that night to do Rhyan's daily weight, lotion, clothes change, etc., the nurse held him as he cried when we had to switch scales as the one we originally had was not accurate. As I watched her attempt to console him, my insides screamed, "GIVE ME MY BABY!" And although I knew that she meant well, I realized that my strength was waning and my patience had thinned. 

After Rhyan was dressed and tucked snugly back into his crib for the night, we went back home to our currently baby-less house. I went into his nursery. I sat in his glider and prayed. I thanked God for the blessings he had bestowed upon me in the form of my husband and son. And I prayed for patience.

Rhyan was born at 27 weeks and 3 days on Halloween because that was God's timing and His will for our lives. And we will bring him home on God's timing, not mine.

"But please, Lord, SOON!" We are still working on the whole patience thing.