Mixed Emotions

Assuming the next few days are uneventful, it seems as if Daddy's Big Guy (who, by the way, is a whopping six pounds, three ounces) is coming home this weekend. For real, this time.

And now I'm more nervous than ever.

I always knew that Xavier would be coming home on oxygen. He hasn't spent more than a day or two without that nasal canula, and he's always needed that extra whiff of oxygen...especially during feeds.

However, I never put two and two together to determine WHY he was on oxygen.

Apparently, my lil' guy has chronic lung disease (also known as bronchopulmonary dysplasia or BPD) due to the fact that his lungs are underdeveloped, which is a common problem in preemies. As a result, he is more susceptible to infections, such as RSV...so much so, that he will require monthly injections to ward such infections away. In the meantime, he needs to essentially be "under quarantine" until his lungs develop new tissue, and he gets stronger.

So all that care that we went through to keep things germ-free when Lissie was a newborn? Well, we have to multiply that to the nth degree. Basically, he's never leaving the house. Ever. Especially with flu and cold season around the corner, I have to be even more careful when I bring Lissie to playdates and other outings, so that I can make sure she remains germ-free so as not to pass anything on to her brother.

And I can't help but think that this is not how I envisioned things. At all.

I'm still supposed to be pregnant. 37 weeks. Every time I see a pregnant woman or a healthy newborn, I end up feeling sorry for myself. I didn't intend for my son to be born two and a half months early. I didn't plan on spending the summer in the NICU. I don't want to have to worry about oxygen levels and germs and being scared that he will get sick and end up back in the hospital.

And, with that, while I'm excited for us all to be under one roof, and I'm glad that I don't have to make daily trips to the NICU, and I am soooo grateful that my son is healthy enough to come home, I am also terrified of caring for him without nurses and doctors just a step away. Especially since he is in such a fragile state.

Not to mention Lissie.

Oh, dear. We've started prepping her for The Big Day by placing her baby dolls in places where Xavier will be, such as the swing or the bouncer. Let's just say, she's not exactly graceful.

Plus she has long since associated Xavier with food (since it keeps her quiet and trouble-free long enough for us to feed him ourselves, so she always asks for "'nacks" as soon as she sees him), and I have a feeling she's going to think that she will get to eat a constant feast since he obviously isn't going away. Yikes.

The poor girl has no clue what's about to happen. And part of me is sad that she's no longer going to be the baby in the house anymore. Which is why we had one last Mommy/Lissie day today at the park.

All of our lives are about to change in a drastic way. And I'm excited and terrified and nervous and sad and ecstatic all rolled into one.

I can do this. Right?