seven months after the shock and horror of spending day after day watching our precious, long-awaited newborn baby fight for his life, we are right there again - reliving a nightmare.
helplessly watching as a fragile, tiny life struggles. hearing the endless sirens of machines. staring at a blood pressure number you once never even knew existed and now all your hopes rest on it.
out of control.
how is it even possible? what are the odds that this happen to us again? it's beyond unfair. everyone else, it seems, gets to take home their baby from the hospital with no issues, no stress, no heartache. 99% of parents don't even know what a NICU looks like, feels like. and this is our second round.
we feel cursed.
just a few short days ago we believed, like everyone else, that this last minute adoption situation was our rainbow, our beauty and promise after the storm. finally, our dream of bringing a healthy baby home would be fulfilled.
it seems so easy for everyone else.
oops, we're pregnant.
shall we have another baby? sure, ok, that sounds fun.
and then to the hospital they go and 24-48 hours later they are home, cuddling with their newborn.
why not us? it's so unfair.
we were created for this. every bone in my body is built to be a mother. i've wanted this my entire life, and yet...my arms are empty.
i know we aren't the only ones who have struggled. i know it isn't easy for a lot of people. we aren't alone. but right now, it feels that way. especially being half way across the country from our family and community.
the last time we prayed for a miracle of healing, it went devastatingly unanswered. so it's unimaginably difficult to find the strength, but we're hanging on to the smallest ounce of concentrated hope we've got left, and asking, once again, for a miracle.