This was not part of the plan.
As the weeks until Jillian's birth have quickly dwindled down into the single digits, I've found myself wondering more and more, who's life this is that we're living. I mean, clearly, this is not our life. This was not part of the plan, even if the plan wasn't clearly laid out.
Last night, JR and I were talking about how fast this is all going. How fast Jillian's birth, which really, has become how fast her (first) surgery, is creeping up on us. And we? Are. Not. Ready. Period.
We know that it has to be better that we found out about Jilly's defects ahead of time. But, lately we've just felt robbed by it. Our anticipation for her arrival has become less excited and more worried. Instead of only having 5-8 weeks left to get everything ready for her to come home, we still have... a lot more than that, once hospital time is figured into the equation. Instead of wondering how the heck I'm going to manage being home with an almost 4 year old, 2 and a half year old and newborn, I'm wondering how I'm going to manage being away from my husband and my boys, in order to be with my daughter in the hospital, willing her to fight for her life. I don't know what size clothes to buy her, because I don't have any clue when she'll be home. After 6-8 weeks in the hospital will she be newborn sized still? Will she be preemie sized thanks to the surgery? Or will she be bigger?
Right now we should be eagerly anticipating the day our family becomes complete. But this diagnosis has made us wish we could slow down time. It has us hoping to somehow drag out this pregnancy as long as possible in order to give her the best chance possible. Her kicks and rolls and stretches should be giving us nothing but joy and happiness, but they've somehow become a constant reminder of the fight she will have on her hands from the moment she is born.
We're having to plan for the boys to be at the hospital when she's born so they can quickly see her before she is taken away and prepared for surgery. We don't know if they'll be able to hold her. Or kiss her. We're just hoping they'll be able to see her. They won't be able to see her for at least a week after her surgery. And that? Sucks.
So, for now we're just trying to stay positive. Trying to concentrate on what we can do. Trying to "keep her in there" for as long as possible.
I guess we're still adjusting to this life.