It's been a while since I last posted. There were many reasons, including the multiple viruses tha caused my old computer to crap out in October, my obvious misery during pregnancy (see previous blogs), and one more reason, who is sitting at the kitchen table with me right now as I type at my new, virus-free computer.
Little Missy is our foster baby. She came to us when I was five months pregnant with my little boy, whom I gave birth to in late February. She arrived on a Friday evening, while I was baking a cake for my mother-in-law's birthday. We certainly didn't expect her, but we welcomed her with open arms. She was only supposed to stay with us for two weeks. That was six months ago.
When she arrived, she only weighed five pounds. I don't think I slept for a week: I sat at her bassinet while she slept, watching her chest rise and fall, jumping at every snort (and there were quite a few snorts going on for the first few weeks). She was a delicate flower, and we all handled her gingerly. We diligently sterilized bottles (which was new for me, as I nursed all of my boys for a ridiculously long time). We bought teeny clothes, and a friend supplied her daughter's baby clothes as well. She swam in 0-3 months, and we have the pictures to prove it.
My husband was the picture of gentleness. So were my boys. When I held her, she balanced on my pregnant stomach, seeming quite comfortable there. I wore her in my Snugli around the house. We brought her to our own doctor, after calling the NICU doctor who knew her to inquire about every detail of her history. We took her for multiple appointments and follow-ups due to her issues in NICU, issues which gradually disappeared over time, with love, patience and gentle care.
Now she sits with me in the kitchen, 16 pounds strong. She is thriving. She hums along with us when we sing to her, watches the boys play the Wii from her swing, talks to us from her crib in the morning. When our youngest - now seven weeks old - cries, she stares at him, reaches out for him, makes comforting sounds. She cries for my boys, who run to her, hold her, carry her around, sing to her.
Taking care of two babies has been a challenge. I don't sleep much some nights. Still, the joy that both babies bring to us is worth everything. And they won't be little forever. Soon they will be walking, running, soaring.
Little Missy will most likely go home in the next two-to-three months. My neighbors, friends, family talk mostly of how devastated WE will be when that time comes. Yes, we will be devastated. We will miss her terribly. My boys will grieve, I will grieve, my husband will grieve, my mother-in-law will grieve. I sometimes cry like a baby now, thinking about getting that call, thinking about her growing up without me.
Still, she is the one who will grieve the most, since she is too young to understand why she will not be with her "family" when the time comes for her to go home. She will cry for me, for my husband, for her grandma, for her brothers.
She will be loved at home, though. I am hoping that in time, she adjusts,that we have helped her to become strong enough to deal with setbacks,to learn to love her "real" family as much as she loves us. Perhaps they will even keep in touch, though I don't know what the likelihood of that will be. And I know in my heart that it is the right thing, that as long as she's safe and loved, she should grow up with her biological family. This, in the long run, will be the best thing for her.
We did this for her. And so we make plans, buy her clothes to fit the seasons, dance with her, hold her, sing to her, knowing that we could get a call at any moment to send her home. I am making her a baby book, cutting out pictures of her and pasting them into an album, recording her height and weight diligently, keeping records for her biological family so that they are able to reflect on how she's grown. And when the time comes, I will wash all of her clothes, her purple bear that my 11-year-old son gave to her and that she sleeps with every night, her pink blanket that she holds near her cheek in her carriage when we walk outside, and snuggles close to when she sleeps.
Until the time comes for her to go home, we will love her. Unconditionally.
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