A Day In The Life Of A NICU Mom

So, I get this one all the time:

"Well, at least you can rest up now while your kids are in the NICU."

And when this happens, what I really want to do is stare deeply into their eyes and slowly and deliberately smack them in the forehead with my open palm. However, the only thing I really can do is just blink at the offending party as if they had just said, "banana-rama slipper face monkey sucker," ...or something equally ridiculous and nonsensical.

Because rest is exactly what I'm not getting, but people always think they know shit.
Sheah. As IF.

My day starts at 5:00 am, where I wake up (for the third time that night) soaked in a cold sweat from my hormones re-balancing and leaking boob juice onto the front of my shirt.
Great.
So I get up, strip off my vile, disgusting, clammy pajamas, breast pump, shower, make coffee, and give the cat her insulin shot.
And now it's only 6:00 am. The sun won't be up for another hour.
Life is awesome.
Since I've got an hour and fifteen minutes until I have to leave, I squeeze in a little bit of work. (because I'm an idiot and agreed to take on some hefty assignments before the kids come home).

At 7:15, I drive through rush-hour traffic, brandishing my fist of rage or the even more popular finger of justice, and make it to the hospital by 7:45-ish. At 8:00, I feed one meatloaf, usually after much drama because I attempted to change his clothes and ended up with a head through an armhole or a butthole, or disconnected his leads, which sent the nurses running for dear life because they though he was coding.
We feed from 8:00 to 8:30, snuggle from 8:30 to 8:45, and then it's time to traumatize the other meatloaf by accidentally poking him in the eye with the thermometer or otherwise endangering him.
Feed, snuggles, apologies for bodily harm, etc.
Since I have a whopping HOUR until it's time to do it all again, I head down to the cafeteria for some grub (because feeding babies makes mommy hungry).

Back upstairs for more traumatizing/breastfeeding.

Now it's 1:00.
I get home by 1:30 and daydream of napping, but instead I sit back down at the computer and frantically attempt to finish this work before the kids come home from the NICU and shit really hits the fan.

So I blink, and it's 4:15. Time to head back.
Back through the rush-hour traffic, only this time I'm too tired to communicate my displeasure to the other drivers, so I just stare straight ahead and make every effort to stay awake and not hit any bicyclists.
Feed meatloaf 1.
Feed meatloaf 2.
Try not to kill them.

Now it's 7:00 (or 7:20, if we didn't snag the nurse before the shift change and got essentially abandoned for half an hour before someone realizes that we didn't actually intend on spending the night).

Back home, at which point Brian and I talk about all the things we need to do, like the dishes that haven't been washed in 3 days, or the laundry that's needed folding since I gave birth, and instead eat dinner and collapse in front of the TV/X-box.

Consequently, I get in about 15 minutes of Ghost Hunters before I drift off to sleep, only to be awakened by my 12:30 alarm because surprise, fucker, it's time to breast pump again.

So this has been my life.

I'm not saying it's going to get easier when the kids come home, but in terms of rest?
Yeah...notsomuch.

But the good news is that the boys are doing well. Isaac had a set back yesterday and couldn't advance to his 6 oral feedings (from 4). I tried to not let it get to me because they've been rocking it up to this point and steps back are inevitable. But when you spend all day and all night intentionally not thinking about how much it breaks your heart every time you leave them in the NICU, set-backs really have a way of turning you from a rational adult into a simpering child.

*sniff sniff

But they're fine. They're beautiful and well-behaved and just wonderful in every way. So I'll continue with this crazy, hectic schedule for as long as it takes, because, quite simply they're worth it.