Tonight I sat in a dark room with my son, who refused to go to sleep. I started thinking about how, three years ago, I woke up to concerning evidence of a serious issue with my pregnancy. We rushed to the hospital and spent the night (New Year’s Eve) in the hospital, hoping to stabilize and go home. I remember being in the ICU, watching “New Year’s Rockin’ Eve” with an IV port and magnesium sulfate, a billion doctors, and Andrew, sleeping in a chair. We were scared and had no idea what would happen that night.
Time went on, and my brief stay turned into nine weeks. I made craft projects with the other “inmates”. I resurrected our old wedding website (this one) and turned it into a place where we could talk about what was happening with the pregnancy. I ate a lot of ice cream. Andrew took me on countless wheelchair rides. I watched the entire extended director’s cut of Lord of the Rings and all the extra features (22 hours of Middle Earth goodness). We watched our new 11th floor antepartum friends have their babies and move out.
When Dougie came on March 4th, I was happy to be a mom and move on to the next part of my life, but I was also sad to be leaving the amazing people I’d met. We had a very positive time while at the hospital, and I knew it was sort of odd, but I felt like somehow my pregnancy had been a better experience due to it. I don’t know if it prepared me for the chaos of parenthood, or if it was having constant medical care and attention at all times… Or if it was the ice cream and baked potato bar. I am grateful for that time and the experiences that came from it.
New Year’s Eve will always be special to me in that extra way, I think.
