Home!!

It felt like it had been just about forever since I'd slept in my own bed. I was so thankful to be going home with my whole family. I really almost had to adjust to being in my own home again, isn't that kinda weird? Well this is where the fun begins...

Our first week at home really wasn't that much at home, we had a doctors appointment everyday during that first week...but we did get to sleep in our own beds at night!

When we were at home I was a mess...I was still getting comfortable having a special needs child, pumping breastmilk every 3 hours around the clock, feeding Obadiah every 3 hours around the clock, ( it took me about 30 minutes to pump and clean that stuff and it took an hour to put the breast milk through Obadiah's feeding tube and then I still had to clean that equiptment ) and some how still taking care of the other 6 kids. During those first few weeks I felt like all I was doing was hooking someone up to a pump or cleaning one :) I wish I knew how many times I hooked Obadiah up to the feeding pump and started the feeding only to come back an hour later to find the plug had popped out of his feeding tube and his whole feeding just went all over his bed. Grrrr....

Then there was the breathing treatments, which weren't too bad. And his oral meds, which had to be given through his tube, ended up on his clothes, carseat, or my lap too many times to count. I thought my other babies generated a lot of laundry, nothing compared to this kid :)

But we survived! We somehow, by the gace of God alone, made it through those first weeks. I'm not sure who fed my crew those first couple of weeks, sure hope they ate :) JK. We did have meals brought in by our church family and there's always frozen lasagna in the freezer. The kids and my husband did most of the house work. Mostly because I was so busy with darn pumps.



I realized just how wonderful my kids were through all of this. Not that I didn't know, I was just reminded I guess. Having gone through all of this they didn't complain, fuss, or get angry once.

And they had plenty of reasons to do so. They really gave up so much during those six weeks, we were supposed to be at home enjoying summer break, hanging out with friends, swimming, and playing outside. Not only this but there were days at a time that they would see us for literally 30 minutes in the morning before we went to the hospital. And of course looming above there heads was the fear that they might loose this baby brother that they hadn't even gotten to meet. My older children have since told me that they were afraid every time we came back from the hospital that we were going to tell them that he had passed away.



Sometimes I find myself thinking that it's not fair what my kids have gone through. What other 8 year old knows what a "flush" for a feeding tube is? How many 6 year olds say " mom, is his tube tucked " before picking their brother/sister up? Are there many 9 year olds that worry about their siblings SATS? But then I also realize my kids are stronger because of this, they are closer because of this, and they are more compassionate because of this. Would I change this if I could? Not in a million years....



We are, in part, who we are because of this!