Two years ago, I woke up with the by now all too familiar feeling of excitement mixed with dread. I felt queasy.
Two years ago we got ready to go to the hospital. Again.
Two years ago I longed for the days I wouldn’t have to hit a buzzer to be permitted through a door to see my little boy.
Two years ago I walked the usual walk from the car park to the hospital entrance.
Two years ago I looked up from the ground floor to the first and gazed at the window where the blue lights were on.
I hoped you were OK. I hoped nothing unexpected had happened overnight.
Two years ago Sissyboo held my hand just a little bit tighter.
My other hand was weighed down with things I hadn’t had to carry for a long time: a change bag and a car seat.
Two years ago we hit that bloody buzzer again. For the last time.
Two years ago you looked so big, though still so small.
Two years ago I crossed my fingers for the three hours it took for us to get the word.
That felt like ages, but we had waited so long already. Six whole weeks that felt like six long years. Because two years ago we learned that time can slow down to the point you feel it will never get moving again.
And then, two years ago and three hours later we finally got the nod.
As we walked to the door I kept waiting for someone to tell us it was a mistake. That they had changed their mind.
But they didn’t.
Two years ago you weighed the magic five pounds and had reached the equally magic 35 weeks gestation.
So two years ago our life was rebooted.
Two years ago we became the family of four we had longed to be.
Two years ago, Boo, you came home. Happy homecoming, gorgeous boy. We are so pleased you made it back to us. We will never be separated again.