Stand Clear

It is impossible to say anothing more about this day other than that it has been stupid.

There. I've said it. I've claimed an adjective so vague and unintelligent, you are forced for curiosity sake to endure whatever rambling I need to work through in order to satisfy your curiosity.

After falling asleep after 11 pm, Steve woke me at 12 am to pump. Pumping is stupid. There are too many small pieces that have to continually be washed and santitized. It's a pain keeping all the shiny cords away from the cats and I inevitably spill on myself. My new perfume is called "the well-milked mother". After washing and putting everything away (30 minutes later) we were able to fall asleep and get a solid 4 hours of sleep before the next session. Our alarm (of course) did not go off at 8am and by the time I got myself all hooked up and running, I could have completed some extraordinary feat in which I alone was the champion and would be remembered in centruries to come had I lived a second life.

After Steve got out of the shower, it was my turn. Showers are stupid. You have to wash every day if you don't want to smell like a hygenically unaware teenager. Why can't we just shower once a week and be done with it? Sully from Monsters Inc. had the right idea. He just sprayed on "odorant" (wet dog, stinky garbage, etc.) before going on a date with his lovely eight-eyed girl. Just hand me some "fresh from the gym" odorant and I'll be good to start my morning.

After a trip to my doctor to make sure I didn't have strep or something else enticing, I was declared healthy other than a cold for which I was perscribed some sort of nose spray. I asked the doctor about seeing the babies in the NICU and she said I'd be absolutely fine if I wore a face mask and frequently washed my hands. Armed with my perscription and this information, we left the doctors office, only to stop at home because....yes, you guessed it...I had to pump...for the 3rd time this morning. Stupid.


Ahh, yes. And so we come to the crux of the day. The REASON I sit here in the festively decorated Ronald McDonald room instead of with my babies. I am, as it turns out, a danger to the entire NICU. My runny nose and sore throat make me the monster in your closet or the basilisk in the basement of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I want to be the parent that rants and raves and makes people do things MY way for MY child. I want to make a scene. I want them to fear me! I want them to tremble in my very presence!!!

And yet, I don't. The problem is that I understand.

The problem is that as I sit here on this ancient computer, I can hear a doctor speaking to parents of a severly premature baby whose lungs are weak and whose exposure to a minor cold whether today or 5 years from now could kill him.

I cannot be that parent.

Sometimes knowing the right thing to do is stupid. It's heartbreaking. It's devestating. It's unbelievable that I have to wait to touch them, smell them, watch them as they breathe and struggle to open their eyes until I am "symptom free".

How long can I wait? Is it worth crying about (again)? Is it worth making a fuss?

I may not be able to be in there with them, but THEY WILL NOT MOVE ME from this Ronald McDonald room. I will be here until I feel 110%!!!!!!!!!!!!