48 hours until spawn

Another night, another 4 AM wake up.

This one started out as Shea's fault - his blankets needed adjustment, and he called out for daddy. But I found myself unable to fall back asleep, filled with a million thoughts a moment, distracted by the roar of thunder outside.

We need to install the infant car seat. I need to set my out of office reply at work. My house is a mess. Laundry to put away. Do I have everything I need in my bag? Will Shea be OK while I'm in the hospital? I need to deal with the content of my lost wallet. I have to stop at the post office. Shea needs to make thank you cards for his birthday. Grocery shopping.

And so on, and so on, and so on...

One year ago today, we found out Harper was dying. Definitively. Dr. Porter left no room for doubt.

Of all the dates that I remember, I'm surprised I remember this one. But I do.

In 48 hours, we will be heading to the hospital for the arrival of spawn.

The calendars no longer exactly align. It's jarring. I'm above and beyond excited to be meeting spawn. Even more excited to no longer be pregnant. A little worried that being at Georgetown will feel strange and sad. Wondering if I'll recognize any of the nurses. So much of our time there is such a blur of people and emotions.

I remember a moment in the hospital, friends visiting with their little boy. Ordinary talk of children sent me sobbing, reeling.

Add packing the waterproof mascara to the list.

Right now, I'm moved easily to tears. Feeling disproportionately stressed over little things. Hurting, hurting, hurting physically all the time. But too restless to take it easy, to relax.

It is not hard to be reassured, because spawn is the chief source of pain sometimes - clearly too crowded, he stomps on viscera and stretches me beyond capacity with impunity.

But in these wee hours of the morning, I worry. I worry about something going wrong, some new, unexpected diagnosis.

It's not likely to happen. But it could. It did.

Today, I learned the cardiologist who first saw Harper, who discovered the heart defect that marked the first chapter of this journey, lost her own life. Tragically young, leaving behind a small child and a baby. She was kind, compassionate, smart, reassuring. I still have her card among Harper's things. Lou and I both remember being envious of her healthy pregnancy as ours crumbled around us. Her loss is unimaginable, and I can't comprehend how difficult it must be for her family and friends.

There is untold value in a reminder about the preciousness of every day we get to experience the loved ones around us. It is too, too easy to get caught up in the minute annoyances of everyday living. I'm totally guilty of that, even with Harper's squeaky cry echoing in my ears, even with the litany of SLOS related sad news, even with the kicks of my rainbow taking my breath away.

48 hours from now, I could really use a good, old-fashioned happy ending.

Right now, I could really use some sleep.