Every day Justin and I both insist on being the one to spend the night with Maggie at the hospital since it's nearly impossible to get any rest when you are sleeping on a hot, plastic hospital mattress and waking every three hours to feed Maggie. He wants to stay so I can be at home with Mary Lawrence more and, he says, he's already up all night working anyway so he might as well be up with Maggie. I insist on staying so he can get a stretch of good sleep after he finishes working at two or three am.
Last night I won the argument and stayed with Maggie and I'm glad I did. I've said before that the hospital brings back awful memories for me, memories I want to wash out of my brain. Six months after leaving the hospital I often still wake in the middle of the night in a panic - checking to see if I am massively bleeding again and then trying so hard to be perfectly still to see if I can feel that reassuring movement of the baby in my stomach. Last night I woke up in a sweat with that same fear hovering over me. I heard a screaming down the hallway and running just like I used to on the antepartum floor. I froze.
But then I heard soft breathing next to my bed. And I look over next to me and there is a metal baby bed, and in it is my baby, who is alive and well and sleeping as peacefully as any baby ever has slept. It was the most surreal moment of my life. How many hours and weeks did I llie in the hospital bed praying for her life and longing so badly for her to be here with me? How many times did I pray that God would heal me and save her? How many times did I pray for those darn "leaves"?! And begged to one day be able to hear that precious sound of breathing like I did next to me last night?
I am still in awe of what God has done in our lives. He has been so good to us.