I am way too paranoid and superstitious to, you know, celebrate any sorta milestones. But yesterday P was 3 weeks old, today she reached 33 gestational weeks, and you know, things aren't bad. She finally had 2 negative cultures on the yeast (they will continue to check them, and to keep taking one each day, to make sure), so it looks like that's finally been vanquished. She's cleared for feedings, so I watched her take 5 ccs of my breastmilk today (finally!!).
The best part is that we had a meeting with our team (doctor, nurse-practitioner, and social worker), and we found out that it ain't necessarily so that we have to wait 21 days after the last positive culture. We take that day by day. It was true for the strep, but not necessarily for the yeast, so she could be sprung from the pokey in as soon as 2 weeks. YaaayyyYYYAAUUUGGHHH WHAT?!?!! We need everything! A co-sleeper, a crip (no wait, a crib -- a crip would really not help, it's the Bloods who are known for their childcare abilities), a changing table, a crib, those cute decals for the wall, an Ergo, a car seat, A CAR!!! AUGH! also: AUGH! okay. So i have my work cut out for me the next few weeks. Ikea, here we come!
What else? Oh, we tried breastfeeding, but she was infuriated by the attempt. She made a really loud, squeaking cry that scared the crap out of me. In retrospect it was really cute and funny, but in the moment I was like "Oh, super duper. My breasts are poison -- I knew it."
I was saying to Randy a couple of nights ago that I felt like there was something wrong with me because although it's horribly difficult to leave her each night, I don't feel that physical pain in my chest and hands and heart that I used to feel after a terrible breakup/heartbreak. Why, when some now-nameless guy broke up with me, did I shatter, and now, with this, which is so much harder, I'm able to move through the world and function?
He said, well, it's not a personal rejection -- it's just that she was born early. There's hope. But I still crave her all night and all day, like an amour, yet without that overarching misery. It's difficult to leave her, but I manage. Am I heartless? I remembered back to when my grandma died and I didn't feel as sad as I thought I should have. She was 95, sick for years, and I felt relieved for her, and then I felt like a schmuck because my mom was so destroyed and what the hell was wrong with me?!
But now, a few days later, I'm starting to realize that yeah, it's just that the feelings are too big to have all at once. The first week I was just too flabbergasted to have much of a response. The second week was all about working out a routine and being all official about getting things done and then going to the hospital, la-dee-da, lookit me having a job-like schedule and a big important thing I do. Now it's week three and it's starting to get really old. The novelty has most definitely worn off, and it is slowly wearing on me -- worse and worse -- the more I hold my daughter, and the more times I have to put her down, the worse it feels. It is a slow burn. The kind of thing you think would be a shock at first and then you'd get used to -- but it's the opposite. At first you're too preoccupied and too scared to hold such a tiny creature and too dependent on the nurses and the machines to care for her. Now she's looking so hale and hearty, and so close to being healthy and well, it's almost impossible to imagine putting her down at all.
I know where she belongs -- on me at all times. And yeah, it's just a few more weeks and this is just a blip on the radar-- yes. right. I get that. But one thing giving birth has taught me: there is an Amy that has nothing to do with rational thought, who operates, literally, on instinct, and that animal-lizard-brain Amy is foaming at the mouth with frustration and fury. So uh... down there, Chaka. All in good time.