The 4th

Ariana’s first holiday was the 4th of July, and it was spent away from home. Part of me knows I should be great full that that was the only holiday she missed, but part of me wants to be sad and angry about it. I wish she had been home, and I wish she had been with us. 

I remember asking her nurses if i could dress her myself. I remember being so scared to move her, or pull out her feeding tube that it took me about 20 minutes to put on a onesie and bow.

I remember holding her and just starring into her big, brown eyes wishing, hoping, and praying that we could take her with us once it was time to go. I remember feeling so helpless and hopeless. Helpless because no matter how badly I wanted, I couldn’t take my own baby with me. Hopeless because it felt like an end to her NICU stay was nowhere in sight.

I always remember how this holiday was spent two years ago. I always remember how I felt. How we all felt when we left for the day.

Helpless, hopeless, and heart broken. We wanted to be a family so bad. We wanted to be whole. Every day until she came home was hard. But that holiday was the hardest. Our empty arms yearned for her warmth and our hearts called out to her with no answer… what a day. What a month that was.

So today, and every 4th I will remember. I will remember how I felt in 2014. I remind myself how lucky I am to have her with me now. How blessed I am to have warm arms from her hugs, how all we have now is hope. How our hearts burst with love and happiness, and how our holidays are now full.

The little things in life are sometimes big.



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