Yasha just finished her first week of life. She is in the NICU. Curtis and I go to visit at least twice a day.

One afternoon, the door was flung open, and a woman in a wheelchair was brought in to see her baby. She looked tired, and she still had an IV attached. She cooed knowingly about preemies, as this was her third preemie.

She is wearing clothes now. She went home yesterday. She is hopeful about her infant son regulating his temperature so he can go home.

One night, the door was flung open, and a woman was wheeled in on her hospital bed. There had been buzz about twin girls brought into the nursery. This woman was taken all the way to the back of the nursery to see her twins.

She is also wearing clothes now; probably gone home while her babies do the work of getting well enough to leave.

Several babies that were there when Yasha got there are gone now. There’s the tiny boy from the isolette next door–he had casts on both legs. One day, I was pumping behind the curtain, and I heard nurses buzzing about taking the baby’s casts off. The next thing I knew, his bed was gone.

All the mothers look like me, in a way. We all have big bellies still, with giant breasts once the milk comes in.

I have been pumping like never before. My whole freezer door literally overflows with tiny bottles of milk, and I’ve taken quite a few to the hospital, too. I also like to pump at least once while I’m at the hospital. Yasha is now getting 30 ccs (1 ounce) of breast milk through her feeding tube. She is waking up after nearly a week of sedation.

Curtis and I continue to pray for the miracle that will bring her home. I don’t like settling into a routine of the NICU. We can’t wait to rid our noses from its stench of tape and disinfectant. If I never hear another beep from a vital signs monitor, it will be too soon.