NICU Blahs

For those of you who haven't heard, still no Asher home from the hospital yet. Apparently, my kid is a born puker.

The problem is that his little stomach just couldn't handle being stretched when we were feeding him every three hours. He was throwing up all of his food and losing more and more weight every day. So the doctor decided they needed to stick in a tube and start him on continuous feeding--where he's drip-fed teeny amounts of milk all day long.

That decision was made a week ago, and it was a sad, sad, day because we knew it meant that it was going to be awhile before our baby was coming home. I was in the room when the nurse came in with the orders to switch from bottle feeding to tube feeding. Asher was hungry because it was time for him to eat now. But instead of being given a bottle to drink in 30 minutes like he was used to, the nurse put him on a drip line that took four hours to feed him the same amount. All I could do was sit there and hold him while he squirmed and cried and his little stomach growled. It took about two hours for him to start feeling full, and it was awful.

It's also been hard having to prioritize my children. One child is chock full of endless amounts of energy, hates sleeping with a passion, and requires constant attention to avoid bodily damage to himself and others. The second child sleeps all day long and has his own team of qualified caregivers. I bet you can guess which kid gets most of my time.

I try to spend a couple of hours at the hospital a day. Some of the time, baby is awake, but most of the time he isn't. My biggest fear is that he's going to forget who I am. It's impossible not to dwell on the hundreds of hours of his little life that I've already missed being a part of. It's hard to hold him and breathe in that wonderful newborn scent and realize that I have absolutely no idea when he'll be coming home. It could be one or two or three weeks. Or, it could be more (though I refuse to think about that right now.)

But, before I put my hormonal little self in tears, it might be time to dwell on a few positives.
---There is nothing wrong with Asher that a few weeks of maturation won't cure.
---We are living off of student loans and a net income of, well, not very much. Why is this a positive? Because it means that good old Uncle Sam will be footing all of our medical bills. My week-long hospital stay alone was almost $14,000 and I don't even want to guess what Asher's will be.
---I am finally feeling completely well and back into my pre-prego jeans. Bye bye elastic waist bands, hello buttons!

And, thanks again to all of you who have been praying for us or who have called or left comments on the blog. It really does mean a lot.