This time next week we’ll be wearing wrist bands. The too-tight, white, plastic laden variety. They will be very informative something like: Hobbs A. Smith 11/03/11 8/28/13 7:03 am. They will be our pass into the NICU. Our badge that lets the other parents and relatives in the waiting room know we get it. We’re in this together- wether we’re reading People or knitting or checking our Instagram…Right now we’re more alike than different.
They’re gifts everywhere. The gift of feeling ‘more alike’ is probably one of the most precious, in my opinion. It’s practically the gift of sight- because until I could see this, this commonality between myself and the rest of the world, I was blind. God made every person beautiful. YOU are so beautiful. It’s o.k just accept it. There’s nothing you can really do about it; you can’t hide it, or brake it or lose it. Sorry, beautiful.
I’m feeling really mushy today. Not just weepy and cuddly although yes, both of those. But also, grateful and open. Like warm play dough rolling around in the palm of a 5 yr old. What will you do with me today? What sort of wild shapes can we make together? Thank God I’m play dough, I would die if I was a rock.
Can we only play today? Can we stop folding whatever, and stop checking off the list and let the dishes pile up? Just for today. Let’s not and not say we did not. Yah, let’s accept our not-doing-it full on and put it out there for all the world to see. My house is a mess and I’m kind of a mess too and somehow we’re still all ok. We’re enough. Dirty dishes, egg shells and leftover Kraft mac-n-cheese and all. We’re enough.
I am about to hand over one of the most precious things in the whole wide world, Hobbs. I’m about to sign a waiver stating that I understand the risks involved. That 1-2 in 100 kids don’t make it. That 3-4 in 100 end up with a pace maker they will have for the rest of their life. I’m about to cross the t’s and dot the i’s in what is sure to be the most challenging test of penmanship and faith known to any mother. How the hell do I do that? Before I sign anything they will need to sign a document that states they understand: His smile, the one with chicklets for teeth. His gentleness and quiet eyes. His new tricks like; Hiiiiiiii and bye-bye, Ma-Ma, Da-Da and Tay-Tay. We’ll need to talk about his favorite color, book and song. That boy loves him some sing-alongs. I’ll request, You Are My Sunshine for when he goes to sleep. Sign and date that you understand this is the world’s most precious cargo. X_________________________
Praying is good. I’ve been doing it a lot lately. Not like I am accustomed too though. It’s not all gratitude and fluffy bunnies. I’m a little bit trusting and mostly suspicious. You see, the God of my understanding is awesome. But not always as awesome as I am. (I’m kidding) But really, I think I know better a lot of the times. At the core of my soul I know Hobbs is just my rental car. He’s not really mine for keeps. But parenthood is tricky in that respect. Its an optical illusion. I’ve had to pray just for the willingness to be willing to pray these words: Thy will be done. I’m afraid that God’s will won’t be my will. That I won’t get my way. That Hobbs won’t come out the way I want him to. Alive. Dancing. I’m afraid that right now you’re reading this and shaking your head because I’m being over dramatic or unrealistic. I’m afraid. So, I’m doing the only natural thing I know how to do in these times and exposing the lie. How else does light get in but through the cracks? I’m cracked. Not broken. But good and cracked. Love me anyways.
You’re welcome to send love at anytime but 1 week from today at 7 am in the morning we’ll be admitted into the hospital. If you could stop and think of Hobbs and send him your angel on loan that would be lovely. We promise to return them, with snacks. I know we’ll be doing this with the love and support of some very amazing folks. Family driving over- friends taking shifts, meals, kind notes and thoughts. It all helps. Thank you, Thank you.
We’ll be back with the good news soon. xo