I love it when a mediocre morning turns itself into a marvellous afternoon. Yesterday started out with me feeling deflated and defeated by the world: the mood started with a futile phone call to my group benefits insurer, which led to crappy transit luck which culminated with another depressing visit to the pump room at the hospital where I once again produced zero milk for Nyana.
It’s amazing, then, that two and a half pounds of tiny daughter can brighten a mood so easily, so quickly. She looked so wonderful when I saw her yesterday morning, sleeping so peacefully in nothing but a preemie diaper that is still six sizes too big for her. Even when I reached into her solarium to stroke her head and back, she barely flinched an acknowledgement for her Mum.
Talking to the nurse, I learned that Nyana had gained another 73 grams overnight. Her feeds had been increased to 8cc’s every 2 hours yesterday with no troubles; this morning they were increased again to ten. On the morning rounds, the nurses and doctors had decided to keep her on the ventilator until Monday, and then try to move her to steroid medication with only supplemental CPAP support. This is a huge step forward for all of us. The nurse even mentioned that if all goes well with the steroids for the lungs, Nyana could be graduated to the Intermediate Nursery in a week or two.
And then they let me hold her again. Time seems to stand still when she’s tucked into my chest—she so safe, me so complete. There we sit in our rocking chair together, completely tuning out the beeping of machines and the crying of other babies, the two of us lost in each other. I love knowing that every time I hold her, she’s learning to know my scent, hearing my voice, reconnecting with the sound of my heartbeat. I stroke her soft hair and sing her even softer lullabies, lost in my own world of wonder. And in the blink of an eye, an hour has passed and they’re taking her off my chest and placing her so gently back in her solarium.
I marvel at the notion that I really am watching the third trimester play out before my eyes. Just last week, her little ears were still fused to the sides of her head; today I can fold them over, completely separated now. She looks much less fetal than she did when she was born. Tomorrow she’ll reach her 30-week gestation. I’m not getting ahead of myself, but we’re only a few short weeks away from a transfer to St. Paul’s, just down the street from our house. Our baby steps forward seem to be picking up the pace. I think Nyana wants to be home with us just as much as we want her home. It was her idea, after all, to escape the womb so early. She must have known where the good love is.