Every time I shifted, the steady whoosh-whoosh of the fetal monitor would disappear. I was so scared to go to sleep, afraid that the tiny little man inside would disappear.
The look on the triage nurse’s face at L&D of the hospital I was transferred to just before she slapped an oxygen mask on me and propped me up on my left side.
An entire night of trying to convince the medical team that I was having “constipation pains” and not contractions. I refused to make a sound, believing that would make him be born sooner.
We’re supposed to go to a birthday party today at 1pm. This little boy was born 3 days after my original due date and the differences between the two boys and their development…
Oh I know I’m not supposed to compare, and I can remember that so easily in the comfort of my formerly RSV isolated home.
But I am sitting up, awake, terrified of a 1 year old’s birthday party with other full-term kids. How stupid is that?
With a million “what ifs” running through my head. The main one being, “What if he gets sick?”
But we can’t live in our safe bubble forever…