It's not what I expected

So, exactly a year ago I was laying on the couch dreaming and praying of a happy and healthy baby. While trying to be industrious during my period of house arrest, I can now confess that even while reading/knitting/embriodering/blogging... what I was really doing (consciously and subconsciously) was praying for BP to arrive safely, quickly, and at 38 weeks weighing 6 pounds.

Well, 3 out of 4 ain't bad.

We got safely and quickly, but missed the mark by a few weeks and more than a few pounds.

Nothing of this past year went as I expected.

I never expected the bedrest. I never expected having a preemie and basically living at the hospital for 5 weeks. I never expected the fear of watching your baby turn blue as you try and feed him 22 ml of breast milk.

I never expected to become best friends with the Ameda Purely Yours breast pump; learn to carry a baby and an apenea monitor without dropping one and setting off the other; and I especially never expected to have to go to battle with an insurance company over medicine for my baby.

I knew I would be tired. But I never expected to be this tired. For this long.

I also never expected for my heart to leap as much when my baby reached for me for the first time. Or, the first time when he smiled when he saw me (or the millionith time). Or laughed out loud. Or curled up tight in my arms. Or snuggled in close to that space between my neck and shoulder. Or when he clapped at the end of his favorite book. Or squealed in delight at the sight of our cat, or his dad.

To see this baby grow from such a tiny creature to this robust, hilarious, wonderful baby has been a true gift.

I never expected to be this lucky.