A Baby after HLHS
My midwife checked her O2 levels for me before she even left. She knew how important it was to me.
When she reached 100%, I just cried.
Our sweet girl is healthy and beautiful and here. Her birth was amazing and empowering and beautiful and fucking badass.
And I want to watch her and hold her. I am convinced if I don’t, if I blink,’I’ll miss something.
I am requiring the paths in my brain that say she isn’t safe, that’s she’s sick, that each noise means distress. Because it doesn’t.
Lilliana is not Dean. She does not have HLHS. She is home and has nurses and pooped the gross Mac poop (and I got to change her!!!!). My sweet girl is here and safe.
She is mine. Ours. Healthy.
I didn’t expect those old fears to creep back in, but they have. And I slamming the door in their face, now. I refuse to let fear ruin this baby moon.
She is here
She is safe
She is ours
She is healthy
