Yesterday I sat down with Dr. Patel. I asked,
"Why is Reese being treated for Elliott?"
"Why aren't they home yet?"
"What orders can you put in so that we can all get on the same page?"
I said,
"I want to approach getting these babies discharged the way we approached getting them extubated."
I asked,
"How can Reese be held here for losing less than 20mg over two days, when I know that he isn't even weighed at the same time each day?"
In my head, I said,
"GIVE ME MY FUCKING BABIES NOW! GIVE'EM! NOW!"
...
We all rocked a little more in our hospital grade rocking chairs. I congratulated Elliott for burping on my shoulder.

Dr. Patel told me that he would change their orders and start making moves on his next shift.
I guess that will have to do for now.

I don't have many regrets when I look back on how I've handled this experience, but lately I'm coming to recognize that I'm nearing the end of good behavior.
I want them home now.
I want to start now.
I don't want to wrap their wires in my fist every time I pick them up.
Or pull the curtains around us every time I breastfeed.
I don't want nurses asking me if our house is ready yet.
I want them to mind their own business.
Sigh.
This will all be over soon.
I would apologize for such a venty, dear diary kind of blog, but I happen to know that the people reading this actually care.
That means everything to me.
Thank you.