I type by the light of the ipad.
In a room the size of a closet, shared by another family.
On a couch the size of a toddler bed, harder than a rock.
I try not to move or to make a sound.
I try not to wake The baby as she rests and partying that the baby next to her does not wake her.
I am thankful that we have made it to Tuesday. I didn’t think I could make it. I have waited for today for 12 months.
12 months ago, I knew that today would come. I was pregnant and knew the next steps. We had been through them before. The dexamethasone, the weight gain, the insomnia, the visit to New York, the surgery. I calculated the days, the months and tried to plan it out in my mind.
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So here I sit, at 3:30 in the morning, typing away as I do what I do best. Earning another badge on my parenting uniform, that I wear so proudly each day. This is what I do because it is what we all do as parents for our children. We do the best that we can.
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But now it’s over. The trip is almost finished, the recovery has started and now I can rest. I can rest knowing that her father and I have made every decision for her with the best of intentions. We have the best doctors looking after our daughter. I would have it no other way and neither would you.
But now I can rest. I will rest knowing that my daughter is healthy and will go home soon. It’s been a long road to get her but for now, it’s time to rest.