Protected: Finally Finding the Words

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What This Community Has Given Me

I came into this blogging world with a simple idea. Write, write , write. Document your life, if not for you, then for your future wife and children so that they know what you were going through while waiting for their arrival. Record Callie’s changes while recording my own. Express my fear, joy, expectations and disappointment. I never thought that I would become a part of such an incredible community and that my life, my laughter, my tears, would be embraced the way that they have been. That I would have connected on such a deep level with people that I technically don’t know. That I would care so much about their lives and their triumphs and sadness, and feel what they feel right with them. Never in a million years did I anticipate words connecting with so many souls. Simple words…

This has been a really trying month for us. We’ve moved, received a new foster baby and embraced and welcomed her into our home, executed an amazing gender reveal party, took a child for respite care, (on a positive note) went on a much needed babymoon, and have visited the hospital because of (way too early) contractions. We’ve had issues with Mary’s mom, not very clear answers from our case workers, and sleepless nights because of two very sick girls with belly bugs. Let’s not forget to mention laundry, cooking, cleaning, groceries, homework and teething! This post isn’t about any of that though.

Today has been one of the scariest days in my life so far. I thought that our scare with Callie bleeding at the beginning of our pregnancy was the worst thing I had every experienced, until today. After 3 days on bed rest Callie woke up, went to the bathroom and noticed lots of blood when she wiped. She looked down into the toilet and realized that there was a lot of red. Very bright, gritty, grainy blood. She called me straight away at work and in a panicked voice, “Blood!” That’s all I got. That’s all I heard. My heart sank. Initially, when we experienced this some months ago, I freaked (naturally!) but my connection and bond wasn’t as strong. It wasn’t as pronounced. I hadn’t known my children. I hadn’t named them. I hadn’t felt and seen them kicking and squirming. I hadn’t experienced seeing them play together. I hadn’t sung to them, and I hadn’t pushed them back when they kicked me. The connection is different. I love my boys. Before, I loved the idea of having them with me, but I was learning and growing to love them everyday. Now, the idea of not having them makes me sick to my stomach.

As tears streamed down my face while I drove down I-95, I envisioned the worst. I got home as quickly as I could. Callie was waiting, red faced and teary eyed, trying to hold it together so Mary wouldn’t worry about the boys (she’s incredibly attached) and when I walked to her, we moved into the bedroom and she cried. She cried and worried and cried some more. I changed clothes, helped her put her Uggs on (officially Ugg season In NY and she is so excited) waited for Pop (Callie’s dad) to show up and ran out the door as soon as he did. We were sent to Montefiore at Albert Einstein (because our Dr says its a level 4 NICU in case we had to deliver TODAY they’d be getting the best care possible) and had every test you can imagine. First, worst hospital EVER! No seriously, I’m writing this from the “lounge” (hardest, most uncomfortable chairs ever!) after having been in L&D since about 10am, and now at 7pm (on the dot) we are still sitting here waiting for results of blood work from 2pm. No they haven’t forgotten about us (I asked, 4 times!) and no, they still don’t have the results. Second, bedside manor is comparable to a lobotomy! Long story short (too late, I know) everything with the boys is fine. Heart beats are normal, cervix is closed (and 3.2cm LONG), but the contractions are still coming on. The baby bump still hardens every 10-15 minutes or so. Babies and Mommy are still safe, still cozy, still sane (I hope) and still waiting.

This whole time, I didn’t know what to do. I reached out to a fellow blogger and vented. I shared my fears and she reassured me. I told her what was going on and she let me know it would all be fine. She asked what was happening and touched base. She asked how I was doing and if I needed anything. 30 minutes later, a nurse comes in and says there is something for us. A young man walks in, with a vase full of beautiful flowers and a card that read “We are thinking of you. Cook those babies a little longer so one day our twins will hang out. Love, Ashley and Devon“. This touched our hearts in a way that we can’t explain. There are no words. Perfect strangers, connected, by intangible emotions and a shared experience. Sharing each other’s pain and helping to lessen the load. What they have done for us today, simply by brightening a room and by sharing their love and support has reminded us that this community is real. That these people are real and that we truly do care about one another and that these rooms have power and love and light. But love…mostly love…

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