When Blake was in the NICU, I desperately wanted her to come home. Life at the hospital was filled with worry and unease, and I was eager to develop a relationship with my baby and establish a routine with some semblance of normalcy. I promised the Gods above that I would embrace every newborn-period-inspired struggle if we could just make it out of the hospital alive. I wanted to change diapers. I wanted to wake up to feed in the middle of the night. I wanted to rock her gently whilst she cried for no apparent reason.
I wanted to huff glue, evidently, because that’s the only thing that would make any of the foregoing make sense.
Or maybe it was the painkillers that I was still enjoying in the wake of surgery; either way, I was clearly a few cards short of a deck.