I'm still waiting on this baby. That sounds odd, doesn't it? It's just that I'm in this strange in-between time of being mother of two and not being mother of two. I'm still nesting. I'm getting ready to hear a sudden phone call that it's time to take my baby home now. I'm recovering from the delivery like it was a bad case of the flu or something... except that I'm pumping breastmilk day and most nights. It's wierd.

But at least I'll be able to move when he's home with us. When I'm called upon to take midnight diaper changes and feedings, I'll be awake. When he needs me, I will be able to get out of bed without wincing and pick him up without pain.

This waiting game, though. I'm not so good at it. I hate waiting. I hate being patient. What a thing to have to be patient on. Motherhood- with any luck these two children's start in the NICU will be the last major medical crisis I'll sit them through. Can I get the hardest part over with now? Or, as I thought the other night, is this not the "hardest" part yet? Would it not be harder to see them in ICU later on, after I've bonded and grown to love them more than life? Right now it's beginning for Robbie. I love this newborn. I'm his mother, I love him, but it's not set in place by those long afternoons together. I have yet to bond. Yet to hold him against my skin, to feed him myself, to fall asleep listening to him breathe. To do all that and then see him go off for days and weeks on end without seeing him; that would be worse.

I have GOT to stop thinking like this or I'll drive myself crazy. Crazier.