Finally, finally HOME!!!

It’s so wonderful to be back home again, breathing the fresh air outside of the hospital while waiting for my husband to get the car feels great and watching my son’s eyes light up as I walk through the door feels amazing. I have missed him so much and my dog, my house, my home, our routines, our life. My son takes me by the hand and leads me on a tour of the house. This brings tears to my eyes, have I really been gone that long? And he is showing me all his toys, naming them one by one. He has grown up so much. He is talking a lot and he has grown taller. My mom is also relieved to see me home (and I think she is excited about the prospect of getting out of the house with me tomorrow, she has been alone with an almost 3 year old for 4 weeks after all). I can’t wait to sleep in a real bed, but my own bed will have to wait since I’m not allowed to walk stairs quite yet. My mom has made the pink guest room downstairs pretty and clean for me and I really appreciate that. First things first though, spending some real quality time with my littlest man. We read books and talk and play outside. We watch the Swedish cartoon “Alfons” and pretend to be trains and I am the coolest parent in the world until Dada comes home that is. These two, the main boys in my life have grown even closer over the weeks and my son idolizes his father. It is rather sweet and completely understandable since I have been away for so long. My son is my little bestie, my sidekick, we use to hang out all day, every day and I can’t help by feeling a tiny sting of jealousy and a little hurt but also guilt for being gone for so long. I just left one afternoon and didn’t come back for weeks. That is hard for a 2 year old to process. I know that I had to go but I also know that that is impossible for my young son to comprehend. That night I try to go to bed early, I am beyond exhausted and excited about the prospect of not sleeping in a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown and with nurses checking on me constantly, but I stay up a bit, talking to my mom. I’m so glad that she is here; when you are the most vulnerable all you want is your mother. We talk about all that we have been through, our tiny little girl still in the NICU, all our fears and that it can only get better from here on out. The feeling of gliding in between cold, crisp, clean sheets in my own house with my family close by knowing that I am finally home safe and sound, snuggling in getting comfortable is indescribable.

In the middle of the night though, I wake up with the shakes. I shake uncontrollably and no matter what I do I can’t get warm. I am way too weak to get out of bed to find more blankets and I feel like my legs wouldn’t carry me. I collect what feels like my last strengths to pull the covers tightly around my body and pull the blanket on the end of the bed on top of me. It is so damn cold and I can’t quite understand why, I feel delusional and it’s hard to think clearly. Although freezing (I don’t think I have ever felt this cold before, not even outside on the coldest, snowiest winter day) I am also extremely tired and it almost feels like I am passing out, gliding into a dreamless state of mind where it is bone chilly, dark and scary. Before I slip into the black nothingness though, I have time to feel frightened “what is happening to me?”

In the morning I feel much better, giddy even about being home, knowing that I get to share breakfast with my loved ones and then see my brand new love at the hospital, but first some shopping. The nightly shakes and tremors mostly forgotten, but not entirely since I do mention them to my mom (hesitating for a moment thinking that everything might not be okay after all) I shrug the fear away and dive into my day. I pump milk with the hospital grade pump the lactation expert taught me how to use and that we rented before leaving the hospital, jumping in to some normal clothes (yay, only downer is I still look about 5-6 months pregnant) and scoping up and kissing my giggling son (“mama stop it) I start planning the day with mom and my husband. But the day doesn’t exactly turn out according to plan…

 

 

 

 

 

About jennym

A doctor of psychology and a mother of three writing about the struggles and joys and the ups and downs of motherhood, marriage, pregnancies, deliveries and her absolute love for her children in a humoristic yet down to earth weekly blog!

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