Today is a bad day. Tonight is a bad night. I haven't had a bad day in about 2 weeks. But today, this moment, it's bad. Libby had her very first bottle today. All this week, every single day for 7 days, she has shown progress so today she had a bottle. I expected her to not do perfectly. I knew to not get my hopes up. But I suppose my heart didn't get that message. In reality, she didn't do horrible and the doctors are not giving up on her. She threw up-projectile vomited, her second bottle. Nearly the entire thing and the green contents of her stomach. This was after spitting up "normal" baby spit ups about 10x in as many minutes. The doctors are going to let her work through this and she is going to eat her third bottle of the day in 10 minutes. John is downtown with her right now, holding her as I write this. So in reality, there is nothing to be sad about. But I guess my heart and head aren't communicating so well right now.
My chest feels heavy. My legs feel heavy. It's hard to walk, hard to sit, hard to even be. Darkness clings to the corners of my eyes. Every now and then when I turn just right, I can see it and I know it wants to overtake me. I can't concentrate. I can only think about the sadness inside of me. Only think about how unfair this all is. Only think about how desperately I want my daughter with me. How I would give just about anything to have her crying next to me, laying on my chest, breathing, here with me in my home. Tears stream down my face and my throat is in knots. My heart actually hurts. Did you know it can do that? I actually have pain in my heart because it aches so badly for her. I want to give up. I want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head and wake up when this is over. I almost wish I could stop loving her, stop being attached to her and just pick her up when she's ready to come home and start to love her then, because then this wouldn't hurt so much. I can feel myself regressing down to basic animal instinct and this mama bear just wants her cub.
She is so very close to coming home. I can see the light on the horizon, I can spot the finish line waving in the breeze...maybe that is why it hurts so badly that we've had to stop on the course for a bathroom break...I want to get back out there and run my hardest and be done, but I'm not in control of how long the course is, how hard it is or even my ability on how fast I can run it. There is no other choice-absolutely no other choice-but to press on no matter how many times I stumble and another piece of me breaks off as I fall to the ground. No matter how many mountains I have to climb even though I know they are too tall for me. No matter how long and far it is-even though I am weak, and weary and faint. I have to press on. And so I will. Because I love my daughter. Because I want her here with me. Because the thought of her sweet face one day smiling at me when I pick her up from her crib keeps me going. The thought of one day feeding her when she cries for food encourages me to move one more foot. Thinking about how sweet it will feel when I can carry her next to my body without any restraints makes me fight this battle and run this race. And in the end, crossing that finish line will be so very sweet.