I'm living in a bad made-for-tv movie.
"Questionable" lung development (turned out to be nothing...grrr!)
"Questionable" weight loss (if you're not feeding him anything...DUH!)
"Questionable" billirubin levels (again...gotta FEED him!)
I've done it before. I'm not doing it again. I am NOT leaving this hospital without my baby in my arms.
Another day. Again. Only now I can be discharged. So even though I'm not leaving without him (insurance will pay for one last day so I'm taking it), there is some disappointment and guilt.
My body is generally a failure at the pregnancy thing. And it is apparently not interested in compensating for that shortfall by making any grand post-partum achievements. So, Myles is held hostage while I talk to my boobs and try to convince them to produce enough milk to sustain him. And I try to make people understand why I feel so strongly about this (without creating the impression that I am just a weepy hormonal mess...or a complete bitch).
This motherhood after loss thing...it ain't for the weak.