T, I sat for about half an hour today and held you while you slept.
It was perfect.
They best part was that while i held you, you were having the best baby dreams.
You would huff and puff, softly chirp, squirm, and breathe both fast and slow.
Your face would change from happily asleep to a frown and back again.
For or five times you smiled like something fantastic had happened.
You are so beautiful.
And it was such a delight to watch you dream.
I hope you dream big forever.
I love you.
-Dad
T, you are making squirmy baby noises in the corner as I type.
I mean, I wish i could describe it better for you, but the echo of squeaks and grunts and grumbles is something I am nostalgic about at this point.
I remember them with H. And I remember them with K.
So here I sit, enjoying them a few last times, before too many more days go by.
It makes my heart ache for the past.
T, I can’t believe tonight is your first night at home.
Welcome.
I love you.
-Dad
This is most likely my last night in the hospital with a newborn baby.
And late hospital nights are enough of a thing, I wanted to stop and eulogize them for a minute.
If I’m correct, this makes night number seven for me.
3 with H, 2 with K, and now, 2 with T.
Anyhow, there are so many little things that I would like to not forget.
The clock on the wall says it’s 10 till 11:00. The room is dark, but the bathroom light on and door ajar gives the room a nightlight glow.
A pain chart hangs below the clock with faces asking you about your pain levels from 1-10. Beside it a dry-wipe board lists the doctors and nurses currently on call. I can hear T squeaking and squirming right now as she sleeps. Mom is thankfully asleep too.
Every hour or so a nurse comes and checks vitals on mom or T. They took the IV machine away a few hours ago, but the pump inside of it has a clicking sound that gives the room a certain level of white noise that I find cathartic. Three other lights from the wall and hospital bed glow and blink softly.
The wide vinyl couch in the corner is what I sleep on. It does not pull out wider than it looks, or even look like it was originally designed for sleeping on, but the nurses will bring you a blanket and sheet if you ask them. I would have enjoyed sleeping on it more when I was 18, but it still feels good to lay down on if you get tired enough.
There are big bay windows to my left that point east out over the front parking lot. We have the blinds open and you can see the city lights disappear out into the fog. From here on the fourth floor, Lubbock looks bigger than you would think it would be. Under the windows is a six inch wide ledge that it seems like we have piled all of our belongings on.
If you leave the respite of your room for ice or water or snacks down the hall, you will discover the hallway lights are almost too bright on your eyes to justify the trip. Sleep deprived, emerging from a dark cave, is hard on the eyes.
I will never forget the smell of the hand soap here. Even smelling it now brings my memory back to my first new baby hospital stays with H and then K.
I almost can’t believe this season of my life has come to an end.
What special and happy nights in a special and happy place.
The nights here were exhausting.
But each time we came was the start of another lifelong journey that I wouldn’t have missed for the world.
I love you.
-Dad