Watching the Grass Grow

I haven't written in a while because while a tremendous amount has happened in the last month, it is difficult to organize those events or the feelings surrounding them into a short, coherent blog entry. Also, I just haven't felt the energy necessary to write one of these. It takes a surprising amount of energy for me to write one of these, because I really try to pour myself into it. The purpose of this blog to begin with was to chronicle our experiences & feelings and God's faithfulness so that it would be a lasting testimony and a future encouragement to others. Therefore, I feel it incumbent upon me to bare myself while writing. Don't worry - I always put my clothes back on afterwards.

I have a son.

It's a very short sentence, and it seems pretty straightforward in its meaning, but it's not really. Within those four words are packed an immense amount of emotion, history, and future. I don't even fully know what it means. At a very basic level, I know that there is a new human being who emerged a month and a half ago from Lara, and who shares with me 50% of his DNA. I know that my sense of well-being is now very much wrapped up in this new human being. I know that he is very small, but that his personality is very big. At times I am overwhelmed by emotion when I even think of him, and at other times I feel completely numb when I am sitting right next to him. I know who he is as well or better than anyone else in the world, except perhaps for Lara, but I don't feel I really know him, yet. He is like me, but he is also not like me. He will surprise me countless times in the future as he shows me how much is like me and unlike me.

I feel so attached to him, but it's difficult to feel the full depth of the emotion, because so far physical interaction with him has been very limited. More recently, we both have had the opportunity to hold him, and we can reach into the incubator pretty much whenever we want. We've been able to change his diapers and feed him regularly. Still, I can't wait until he doesn't need the incubator and CPAP anymore when we can hold him without a time limit. Then, I think, I'll start to feel like I can begin to express to him what he means to me. As it is, most of my affection is expressed through staring at him.

I have to be honest, though. I get bored watching Peter sleep for five hours. I love him more than anything, and I am thrilled everytime he moves or opens his eyes. Just last week I heard his first actual newborn “wah, wah, wah.” He was irritated that the nurse had put him on his stomach, which is where he has preferred to be up until he threw this particular fit. He settled down once he was on his back again. These little things are amazing and wonderful. But watching him sleep is boring.

So I bring a book and sit there next to him for a couple of hours reading. But then I think to myself, “Why am I here, if I am just reading and not looking at him?” I can read just as well, better even, somewhere else. Many days, when Lara and I come to the hospital together, I spend about an hour with Lara and Peter, then I go downstairs to the hospital restaurant where I can concentrate (which is where I am as I write this) and read or write or whatever I need to do to feel like I am going somewhere. I'm there until a little less than an hour before we go home. Then I head back up to the neo-natal unit, watch him for 45 minutes or so, then leave. I've started wondering why I come even on days like this.

But if I take too much time away from Peter, I begin to feel guilty, like I should feel like I'm missing something. I came in today after having taken two days to stay home and work on research to find Peter having clearly gained weight since Monday. I can't really say that I feel bad, though. I just feel like I should feel bad. I actually feel that I have begun to discover a balance in my time spent here at the hospital. Two to three times a week max is sufficient for me to feel like I'm getting stuff done and seeing Peter enough. I don't feel guilty about that at all, but I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. I think I would feel guilty otherwise.

I'm not really as conflicted as it sometimes sounds. I think our current existence, while difficult, is actually rather fun. I mean, when is life ever ideal? It hasn't ever been for me, except for scattered five minute spurts when I can focus on only the good and ignore the hard. I want to cherish this time for itself, because how many people get to experience the amazing joy and relief of having an extremely premature baby who survives and thrives? I love having unique experiences. They are what define my life as opposed to anyone else's. If that sounds existential, it's because it is. Who is Kerry Lee other than the choices he makes and the things he experiences? The only appropriate ideal against which to compare this is the hypothetical plan of God, but how do we know even that outside of experiencing life as it comes to us? We've been on an adventure with God for a long time. I don't want to start being a party pooper now, especially now that I have a new partner in crime.