Happy Four-Month Birthday, Patrick!

Today Patrick officially turns four months old. Although it may seem like an insignificant landmark to anybody else, for some reason it stands out in my mind. So I'm taking a few minutes out to recall the journey that brought us to today, and you get to follow me on it.

(Patrick at about two days old in his incubator at the hospital)

I remember feeling silly for going to the hospital for back and abdominal pain that I thought was a kidney infection. I remember calmly pushing Patrick out a mere three hours later. I remember numbly holding him for a few moments before he was whisked off to the NICU, in awe that I was holding my son whom I was not expecting to see for another two months. I remember knowing without a doubt that he was fine, even though he was early enough that he should have had several somewhat serious problems. I remember my first visit to see him in the NICU and holding my tiny miracle, suddenly aware my life had changed and I was indeed now a mother.

(Me holding Patrick during one visit at the hospital, early in his stay)

I remember spending two hours in the car every day for the next five weeks just to drive across town to visit Patrick in the hospital for an hour or so. I remember spending every morning depressed, every afternoon hopeful and anxious about the visit, and every night either elated or disappointed, depending on how the visit went and Patrick's improvements (or lack thereof) since the day before. I remember watching Matt hold Patrick for the first time and the soft look of fatherhood that crossed his face. I remember the nurses encouraging us to help take care of him and our hesitation that anything we did wrong would injure him. I remember counting down the days until his expected homecoming only to find out the day before that he was staying a minimum of five more days--and the crushing disappointment and fear for Patrick's health that overwhelmed us. And I remember the day we were told we could finally free him from his incubator prison.

(Patrick all dressed up to come home, and obviously thrilled about it)

I remember that long drive home from the hospital where I tried to protect him from every bump in the road and every flashing light. I remember bringing him into the house we had so carefully prepared for his arrival, uncertain of what to do to take care of this fragile, tiny person who suddenly seemed a stranger. I remember the next few weeks passing in a haze of exhaustion and lack of sleep. I remember the diaper change where we went through three diapers at once because Patrick decided a fresh diaper meant it was time to potty again. I remember the day I learned it was better to bathe Patrick before I got myself ready for the day so that I wouldn't have to change clothes and redo my make-up after being showered in urine.

(Patrick at Thanksgiving--almost two months)

I remember our first trip with Patrick, to Dallas for Thanksgiving. I remember being proud to show off our tiny bundle of joy to the family and watching everyone get to hold him. I remember being jealous of everyone else holding him after a few days because I missed spending my days with him in my arms. I remember the relief at having Nana around to help, especially to cuddle with him in the middle of the night when he was reluctant to go back to sleep after a feeding. I remember the relief at being back home with him at the end of the week so that we could return to our routine.

(Patrick at Christmas--almost three months)

I remember our return trip to Dallas for Christmas. I remember being in awe at how quickly the car filled up with all the baby stuff we were required to bring for Patrick. I remember the joy I had taking Patrick to church for the first time on Christmas Sunday. I remember opening all his presents for him while he slept in Daddy's and Nana's and Grandpa's arms. I remember again being proud to show him off to the family and to watch them in awe of how big he'd gotten and his new accomplishments. I remember his first giggle around the same time, when he saw me in my new glasses and thought I looked goofy enough I deserved a giggle.

(Patrick at four months)

I remember finally settling into a reasonable routine just a few weeks ago. I remember Patrick starting to recognize Matt and me. I remember him starting to smile, laugh, coo, and squeal in reaction to us. I remember being amazed at every stride he made. I remember that morning I finally comprehended the mystery of motherhood.

And I remember holding him for hours just because I wanted to feel him close. And I remember loving him through everything, even the hours of inconsolable crying, because I can't imagine doing otherwise.

It's certainly been four difficult months, but they are also so filled with joy that I wouldn't trade them for anything. Happy four month birthday, Patrick. I pray for many, many more such birthdays that I get to celebrate with you.