A Day in the Life of a NICU Mom

Josiah has been home for a week and for the most part, it’s been a smooth transition (minus the times I’ve almost fallen asleep nursing him at 3 in the morning 🙂 ).

But before I get caught up in all the daily little and big things that come with being a mom, I wanted to take the time to reflect and remember what my life was like as a NICU mom.

Because as painful as those 9 weeks were, that was the first time I truly experienced how His grace could be sufficient enough for me.  Those slow weeks showed me what I was capable of when I believed in my Good Father, that He would carry me through.

The 10 foot by 10 foot space that was Josiah’s NICU room became my own little sanctuary.  Behind that closed curtain, I danced with my son for the first time to the tune of the mobile playing above his crib.  It was where I dreamed about a day when Josiah would run and play, and wept with countless tears asking the Lord for strength I didn’t even know how to ask for.

It’s where we faced terrifying moments that tested our faith, all the while looking at the face of our precious, sweet son who was braver and stronger than us.

These pictures below represent just a snapshot of what my daily life was like from November 20, 2016 to January 23, 2017.  It was filled with lots of “firsts” – Josiah’s first nursery, crib, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, nursing and eating, and bath time…just to name a few.  Our brave little man also endured his first surgery, ultrasound, and MRI during that time as well.  But he was always surrounded by a state-of-the-art medical team who became more like family to us during our 9 week stay.  And without all of this, Josiah would not be able to be with us today.  So for all that those 9 weeks were – the most miraculous, terrifying, heart-breaking, glorious season of my life thus far – I want to remember it all fondly.  It’s become a part of me in a way that I will never forget.

And one day, my sweet son, you may be reading this as well.  And although you of course won’t remember any of it, I want you to know how incredible your birth was.  How miraculously the Lord broke in and healed you in ways that nobody could explain.  How brave you were and how proud of you we are, your daddy and I.  This is your story as much as it is mommy’s and daddy’s.  Now it’s yours for the telling.

 

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Waiting

Abba Father…

Here I am, again.  I look around and feel an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.  Haven’t I been here before?  Haven’t I spent enough nights, tossing questions and doubts through the caverns of my mind?  I thought I had done my time on this island, looking out at the vastness of the unknown.  Sure, the circumstances are different, but the whirlwind of emotions feel oh-so-familiar.

Yet, here I am.  Again.  Waiting.

As I sit here with my candid thoughts and fervent emotions spilling forth from within, You’re reminding me so gently of this – but, dear one, we have a history together.

And then I remember.  How those many quiet moments of desperation led me back into Your presence.  How stubbornness got the best of me and brought me low, lower and deeper into raw conversation with You.

The fog begins to clear and I can see glimpses of truth.

How waiting turns into relationship when my fears are melted in the vastness of Your love.  How waiting turns into joy when I experience the breaking in of Your light onto my darkened soul.  How waiting seasons my heart, refining my character and burning away the too many unnecessary things.

See, there’s a history of waiting between You and me.

And so, I declare what I know to be impossible to say by my own strength.  I will remember You.  I will sing of Your great love and mercy.  I will declare Your faithfulness, goodness, and kindness to me, one so undeserving.

So I wait…with hope and expectation.

Because You are Immanuel God.  And that’s all I need to remember.

Amen.