On the inside looking out.

I'm still here without much to report. I've gotten to know some of the nurses and staff; my day nurse is leaving tomorrow for her timeshare in Aruba. She said she'll be gone for two weeks and added, "I hope you're still here when I get back." I have mixed feelings about that.

I don't really want to be here. Let's face it: I'd rather be carting Bruce off to school, playing with Phoebe at the park, starting the day off with a run, ending with laundry and chores. It's super-boring in the hospital; there are about 30 TV channels, one of which features a round-faced clock where you can watch the second hand sweep around the circle minute by minute. It's maddening. I also don't enjoy having random people pop in the door wanting to poke me at all hours (have I ever mentioned how much I hate needles?!).

But I do want to lay here, knowing what the alternative is. The nurses like to say that one day in the womb is equivalent to three in the NICU. With that in mind, I can start to wrap my mind around a few weeks of this confinement. I would much rather lay in bed with this little guy contentedly kicking around inside me than be separated from him, worrying constantly about his health and prognosis, leaving him at the hospital and always feeling torn between baby and kids while trying to recover from birth, pump milk, and maintain some normalcy for Bruce and Phoebe. If you think I'm going crazy from hospital bedrest, just check out the October/November 2009 blog archives from when Phoebe was in the NICU. That drove me crazy.

And so I'm trying to make the best of this. I lay around, I have food prepared and brought right to me in bed, I have a drawer of chocolate-covered goodies next to me, I have books I've never had time to read, and I'm getting to relax more than ever before. I'm also uplifted by the many, many people who have offered prayers, babysitting, meals, rides, visits, and anything to make this experience a little less harrowing. Thank you, I love you all.