2 nights ago, the longest night of my life. I held you in my arms for 11 hours in an ER. I then held you for another 2 or 3 in a storage room, as we waited for a room on the pediatric floor. Sleep didn't happen for me but I was happy when you would nod off.
Right beside us, the whole time, was your father. Correction, your father left once, to bring your grandmother home. He then came right back. He didn't sleep either.
Stay strong, ladybird.
Today, I noticed you trying to touch the dust motes in the sunbeams in our bedroom. I thought that you were hallucinating as you have a fever, but your dad figured it out. Ironically, he's usually Mr Worst Case Scenario and I am Mary Poppins.
In respect your care, I am easy to worry, and quick to come to conclusions. Perhaps because I medical, I know too much of what is possible. Part of it is certainly connected to depression, postpartum to be specific, as I just sometimes feel everything is insurmountable.
As a special treat, we are sitting together as a family watching Tintin. We really have not been exposing you to TV, but we feel that you earned a little zoning out. Perhaps we do as well.
