Today, my sweet girl had her one year anniversary of being home. Before we'd left the hospital Saturday afternoon, one of our favorite doctors asked us if we'd like to bust her out the next day. Parenting in the NICU is trumped only by parenting one child at home and one in the NICU, and I was lucky enough to only have to have one day of that horrible task. I made sure both going home outfits were clean and packed. The sweaters and hats my mother had made were ready to go. We arrived Sunday morning, and it seemed like I spent most of the day tracking down nurses and other mothers to say goodbye, that we were finally, finally leaving...exchanging emails and phone numbers and facebook profiles. Paperwork. Dressing them. I buckled them into their car seats. Then finally, finally, walking down the hall with them, one over each arm, one of our favorite nurses escorting us. We were free. We got home, and I lay them both down together in Baby A's bed while I attempted to unpack the previous two months of our lives. It was her turn to get snuggled up.
I lay them both down to sleep in the basinnettes in my room. I got us all up for their 3am feeding and my pumping session. I fed them one by one and thought "okay, we're good." I started pumping, and they started screaming and I again resolved to get them to breast.
They were asleep by the time I was done. I pent that night with a hand on each chest. I stared at their faces and wondered at what I'd gotten myself into.