Sweeter with each passing day

On this day, one year ago, we brought our sweet boy home and so began one of life’s greatest journeys.

Nine long days we spent in the NICU, over two hundred hours.

An eternity for a new mommy and daddy.

Waiting and watching and hoping and wishing. 

Our eyes fixated on the monitors. Willing numbers with all our might to reach their targets. Kissing our precious baby’s heels where they were stuck and stuck and stuck again to check this level and that. Maneuvering around cords and figuring how to position everything just so, so as not to send the machines into freak out mode when beeping pierced every corner of the quiet, sterile room. Making friends with the nurses who became our lifelines. Sneaking down early for feedings, or lingering minutes longer. Sacrificing sleeping and eating for precious minutes with our new precious miracle. Snapping umpteen pictures to send to friends and family not granted VIP access through the guarded doors. Waiting impatiently for the results of scans and sounds and tests.

Waiting and watching and hoping and wishing.

We drank our weight in Propel that week. And crunched more ice chips than law would allow. We smiled the ridiculous, giddy smiles of new mommies and daddies. And became known throughout the hospital as “Baker’s Mama” and “Baker’s Daddy.” And there was no name we had ever loved more. And prayed with a fervor that held me in complete and utter dependence of our Heavenly Father.

That was a good week, a long week. A week of miracles. A week of blessings. A week of answered prayers. A week of dreams come true. 

A week that I finally held in my arms the baby I had carried for eight months in my body, and a lifetime in my heart.

Finally, after nine days, we unplugged cords. And dressed Baker in the clothes we had chosen so carefully. We packed our bags. And loaded the car. When they finally removed the last of their hospital paraphernalia from my little’s body, I sat down with him in the rocking chair, scared to step foot outside of the protective arms of that little hospital. As diligently as we had prayed for the day to bring him home, I was terrified to leave. What would I do without the monitors we had come to lovingly dread? The numbers were comfort. A silent confidence. Could I be the mommy this little angel baby needed? Was I equipped? Was I strong enough? Did I have the answers? What if something happened? What if he needed more than our home could provide?

I asked these as a mommy. As I am sure most mommies do. You don’t have to be the mother of a child with special needs to question, and worry, and wonder. I was not exempt, nor was I alone in these concerns.

Brian patted my shoulder, and gave me the nod. The look that told me he believed in me as a mommy, as Baker’s mommy. That he knew, side by side, we would raise this little boy. That we didn’t have all of the answers, and we never would. That we would fail. Yes, we would fail daily. But that we would, together with the guidance of our Father, raise this little boy to be everything God had planned for him. On May 20, 2012, we walked, hand in hand, out of the NICU, through the sliding glass doors. My steps getting surer, my head lifting higher, my smile shining brighter, my love for my new family of three growing stronger and bigger.

That was just the beginning. And the journey is getting sweeter with each passing day.

A year later,

my little one has four teeth,

a smile that just won’t quit,

talks all day - every day,

sings with the sweetest voice,

loves life in a big kinda way,

has the strength of a warrior with a heart so tender,

loves to read, and dance, and play, and take baths,

melts hearts, brings smiles, brightens days.

 

Yes, sweeter with each passing day.