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.
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.
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.