Today marks my sixth day in the hospital.
If only I could tell you how much I miss simple things like my own pillow and hot baths and fresh peanut butter bars and pooping without relying on a tube threaded through my nose. If only I could tell you how life changing this week has really been.
Instead I'll tell you about how Andrew dressed Aston in a bright yellow onesie paired with black skull faced socks today. (Because, really, who wears that?) I'll tell you about how amazing Aston smells. How the nauseating cliche about falling instantaneously in love with your baby is one hundred percent true for me. About how Aston squirted breast milk directly into his ears while laying on my chest five minutes ago. About how perfect he is. I'll tell you all day long about how unbelievably perfect that burrito is.
I won't tell you about the number of desperate looks I've seen on Andrew's face over the last few days. I won't tell you about how he cried. How he promised me a vacation, dinner out at my favorite steakhouse, a new diamond necklace, fifteen new diamond necklaces, if I could just hold on, just hang in there, just stay with me stay with me stay. with. me. as I covered yet another room in a fresh coat of pea green bile.
I won't tell you about those things because I want you to know that we're fine. I'd rather tell you about Aston's baby butt and how it's to die for. I have another surgery tomorrow and a few more days at the hospital and then I'll be back. And better. And remembering that the complications we've had could have been so much worse.
We will get through this. Just a little while longer.