And it is wearing me down.
It doesn't help that I've noticed that Xavier's one of the oldest babies in the NICU. All of the babies that were there when he first arrived have long since been discharged. Every time I see yet another baby leave the hospital, I can't help but feel sad. Of course I'm happy that a baby is healthy enough to go home, but I just wish that it was mine.
It doesn't help that last week the doctor told us that he's doing so well that he'd most likely be discharged before week's end. Well, that week has come and gone and we're still there and, apparently, no one wants to tell us another estimate for when we can all go home.
It doesn't help that nurses have said to me, "Wow! He's been here for a long time!" and "You're still here?" I know they don't mean it in a bad way, but it is still disheartening to hear. It's not like I want to still be in the NICU or can help the fact that he's still there.
It doesn't help that the only reason he is still there is that he has regressed with his bottles and is still getting at least a few feedings via tube. I wish so much that there was some way that I could teach him how to do it so that we can just go home already. But, alas, it is a development thing, and he just isn't mature enough to get the concept down.
He can come home when he has had a few days straight when all of his feedings are via bottle or breast. Every time I hear that they had to tube feed him, I just want to cry because I know that it means that we'll be there for at least a few days longer.
Our home is finally ready for him. The crib is set up. His car seat is installed. His clothes are all washed. All we need is him.
All we need is him.
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