Dreamers have heartfelt realizations

Meredith put the CPAP hat Linae made on Kenna's March of Dimes bunny.

I used to feel like I didn't know Kenna at all.  I was kind of hurt that her nurses knew her better.  Meredith had seen her sucking her thumb.  And I hadn't.  Caroline had such a sweet little nickname for her.  Kenna's their little bird.  Samantha started her Beads of Courage.  Ginger passed out her footprints to the nurses.  Linae dressed up her CPAP hat with a bow.  And that's only a few examples from part of the team that cares for Kenna. 

In some ways, I suppose I felt left out. 

I would go and talk to her.  I would sometimes touch her through her womb room portholes.  It was super important that we go at times that we could participate in her care. 

Sometimes the nurses would ask me questions about Kenna.  And I wouldn't know the answers.  I felt like she was more theirs than ours.

Over the last few weeks, that feeling has changed.  It was so gradual that I barely noticed.  Until about 2am.  Yeah, I have a habit of falling asleep watching television.  Normally that means that we're in the living room and I'm asleep in Sam's lap until wakes me up to go to bed.  Lately, it has meant our bedroom because the living room and the rest of the house have been a construction zone.  I have been waking up to the television still on in our room at 2am, then calling the hospital to check on Kenna.

She's almost three months old.  Three months.  One fourth of the first year of her life and she's spent it in the hospital.  That makes me sad.  And yet I know that is where she needs to be.

Last night, as I lay there, I realized how well I know my daughter.  I know her moods, when she's coming completely unglued.  I know how to soothe her...and it usually involves my voice and my touch as opposed to a pacifier.  I know her little fingers and toes.  (I love baby fingers and toes.) 

The other day, I just stood there playing with her stinky feet and she let me.  She watched me do it.  She discovered that Mommy can touch her feet and not hurt her.  She is used to feet touching resulting in a blood draw from her heel for her blood gases.  Instead, I touched her toes and told her all about the fun we would have playing 'This Little Piggy.' 

One of her doctors caught me in the hall yesterday.  She commented that Kenna looked amazing and she was convinced that she was going to make it.

me: You're convinced?  We've been convinced.  We just wonder when she will come home.

doctor: Well, that will still be a while.  Thank goodness you're normal.

Now, I've been called a lot of things in my life, normal is not one of them.  And I might have even been a bit insulted.

me: Normal?

doctor: Yes, you know...enjoyable to have around.

me: Oh.  Good.  Well, please don't let that influence your discharge decisions.  I'll bring her back for visits.  I promise.

Yes.  We're normal.  We're getting to do normal things, like getting to know our baby.  I know the wrinkles in her neck.  I know where the hair line stops on her fuzzy little head.  I know she soothes to the sound of my voice and my gentle restraint.  And I know one day, she'll come home.