Day 89

Listening to the doctors "round" on my boys, I overheard them say it was day 89. It hit me in the chest like a brick.

In 89 days, our boys have fought pneumonia, pulmonary hypertension, sepsis, brain bleeds, anemia, and many other conditions. They've been poked and prodded, tubes put down their throats and into their stomachs.

For 89 days we've been NICU parents. We've traveled back and forth to the NICU, talked to doctors and nurses, every day for 89 days.
For 89 days we've been parents and we've yet to take care of our babies on our own.

For 89 days, all four of us have survived this trip that could only be described as going to hell and back.

89 days.
That's a quarter of a year.

That's 712 times that I've sat and pumped to provide milk for our babies.
That's almost 3,400 miles traveled to go see them.

They've grown from 1 lb 8 oz and 1 lb 10 oz to 5 lbs 10 oz and 5 lbs 13 oz. They now weigh what I had hoped they would when I gave birth. They're beautiful pink and plump boys who simply need to gain the strength and stamina to take all of their feeds by mouth and then they can go home.

Looking at them, you'd think they were healthy newborns. You'd think they were only days into life, not months already. They smile. They chew on their hands when they're hungry. They cry when they need a diaper change. They stare at their mobiles with wonder. They love snuggling and stroking their hair makes them close their eyes in bliss. Their stay in the NICU doesn't show in their faces. They're glad to be here. They're happy for each day, all 89 of them.

89 days.

89 days ago, two super heroes came into our lives.