Dear Will...

You're here. I can't believe you are here. I wait sometimes to feel you move again inside of me, and then I remember that you are here. But I'm here on the sofa in our little house on Timor Ave., and you're not here. You're back at the hospital...and I ache. You're not inside my womb anymore. You're 6 miles away while I wait to go back for your next feeding. I miss you so much.

Will you please eat? It's the only thing keeping you from coming home to me. Honestly, my desire for you to get out of the NICU is primarily for my benefit. My heart can't take this apartness too much longer. I can't walk out of your hospital room too many more times without just bursting. I know that God will give me the grace to go in and out of your room as many times as I need until you are ready to come home...but it just feels so unbearable right now.

In the nearly two weeks since your birth, you have changed so much. You already seem like such a big boy. I'm still trying to figure out if you look more like Hunter or Millie as a newborn, but I think you are a mix. You have some "older" features that remind me of Millie, but when you sleep in Daddy's arms, I see Hunter. They are so excited for you to come home. Hunter has already been asking when you can sleep in their room. I can't wait for you to join our life at home. I will wait for that day, but I continue to long for you to be able to live life with your brother and sister. Y'all will love each other. We haven't even gotten a picture yet of our family of five, because only one child is allowed in the NICU at a time. Oh, how I long for all five of us to be in a room together.

I know you are not mine. I had that attitude in the beginning. I was discouraged, because I thought you belonged more to the nurses and the hospital and the NICU than to me...but a good friend reminded me that you belong to no one but the Lord. You don't belong to the hospital. You don't belong to the nurses. You don't belong to me either. The Lord has given you to our family. He knit you together in my womb and brought about your days on the earth by His good and perfect will. Will, I will thank the Lord for everyday he gives us to love and care for you. And I will wait for when the Lord allows that to be in our own home.

I love you, Sweetie. I love your scrunchy face...just how I thought a squirmy one like you might be. I love your little squeaks and squeals. When you start to cry it always starts with a squeal. I love how you look at me for the longest time right as we start to nurse. It's fun to connect with your beautiful, dark eyes in those moments. I love watching you grow. I wish I could watch you right here in our home...but I will watch you wherever God has us. You will not always be under our roof. God is using this time to teach me that you are his and not mine. That has been a major lesson for me. I am, however, ready to learn more with you here with me, snuggling on our old couch on which I have lain and snuggled with your brother and sister.

Will, please come home soon. Your Mommy misses you while we are apart. Lord, please bring my boy home. I will wait and trust you to be sufficient in the ache. I will try not to panic, thinking that I am missing these first few weeks of my son's life. I will embrace these weeks by your grace...knowing that you have things for me to experience in these weeks that I might not at home. Thank you for my son. What a treasure he is.

Will, I love you, and I will see you in a little more than two hours when we return to the hospital for the umpteenth time. And I will continue to come back until we can bring you home. What a day that will be.

With all my love,
Mommy