When we got upgraded to the 7th floor a few weeks ago, it was an awesome feeling. The great thing about the 7th floor is most of the babies are close to going home. The bad thing about the 7th floor is most of the babies are close to going home - except mine.
Every day, another baby is discharged from the NICU, and I have to watch. Another car seat test is passed, another dad comes in smiling, another mom talks about her angst and worry during her NICU days, and how happy she is that they are over. Today, a doctor told a woman that her baby would have to stay in the NICU for three days. She started to cry. Three whole days. Wah. We've been there for 80. (Yes, I count.)
I had never dared to ask about my own children. So, I did it. The unthinkable. I asked the doctor when the ETA might be for the Axt twins . . .
"It's going to be awhile," she said.
"Owen might be ready to go home in 3 - 4 weeks at the earliest, but Eliot will need more time."
Sinkity, sank went the heart, and the hope that the twins would be home in March. The acid reflux is holding both babies back from feeding. Owen couldn't finish four bottles yesterday, and won't be allowed to try for at least one more week. Eliot couldn't even attempt one.
Another month at Hotel Northside. I don't believe it. I don't feel like I have another month in me. Up in the morning, drive to the hospital, stay all day, drive home lonely. It's as if I never gave birth. Mike and I certainly don't feel like parents. We joke that we have "Rent-a-Twins." You can look at the babies, hold the babies, even love the babies, but you can't take the babies with you. No, no. They belong to the hospital.
So, it's going to be "awhile." That's the update. And there's really no need for pep talks at this point. I'm so NOT in the mood for pep talks.