A rainy Saturday last fall, I was newly pregnant and feeling all the normal things one might expect. Particularly, hungry for carbs and sweets.
Our little growing family readied the “fixins” for a pancake breakfast at home. The bacon was crackling and the pancakes fluffy and gold. Everything was ready. Except wait…the key ingredient was missing. We had no syrup.
No syrup? Really? What’s a pancake feast without that sugary, sticky drizzle?
I thought about that morning a lot this week. Our baby girl has a room ready to live in. Pictures are hung on the walls, sheets line her crib, and lamps have working lightbulbs. It’s ready.
She’s the missing ingredient.
I wish Chris could run out and get her as easily as he could a bottle of syrup that day last fall.
Today is #52. Fifty-two days she’s been in this world. Fifty-two days she’s taken residence in a hospital. She continues to be seen and consulted by a large team of doctors. Cardio, neuro, orthopedic, neonatology, ENT and genetic specialists all learn more and more about her each day. At the same time, there is still much to be determined that only time will reveal. Today, in one work day, an eight-hour period, each one of those specialists visited Audrey. They asked more questions then they answered, but each are doing the best they can.
She has surpassed the six pound mark…by half an ounce, but it counts! We’ve not had the opportunity to start bottle feeding again, but once her breathing becomes more stable we will. She has remained on high-flow oxygen this week, I would love to see her graduate to slow-flow in the next several days perhaps. Her heart surgeon plans to remove her chest closure stitches tomorrow (Saturday) morning.
I still feel so full and in love every time I hold her. It doesn’t get old. I notice something different or I catch a glimpse of a grin here and there and I melt into a puddle.
She’ll yawn and then smack her little lips. Her smile always starts with a curl on the left side of her mouth. She sneezes louder than her most angry cry. Her knees are the softest thing I think I’ve ever felt.
It’s late, I miss her. I’ll call and check in with the nurse and she’ll tell me all is well. Sure, I know it is.
I’m proud of our baby and her will to live. I’m thankful to God for His grace and mercy. For His daily reminders of what truly matters. Even in the midst of my darkness, He casts a light that cannot be ignored.
Enjoy the weekend ahead and be a light for someone in your life.
Until next time…
Love and hugs,