week than on weekends. I knew I would look forward to the weekends the most—Ed and Abby would spend the days with me.
“I already miss my sweet girl.” I was thinking it, and the words just slipped out.
“It’ll go quickly. You’ll see.”
“Easy for you to say. You won’t be on lockdown. I feel like Piper from Orange is the New Black.”
Chapter 7
Leaving One Child to Save Others
On the day I was scheduled to check-in to the hospital, I woke moments before my alarm was set to go off. I felt large and swollen, but snug, under my soft jersey cotton sheets and fluffy down comforter. Maybe, I thought, if I hide under the covers, no one will find me, and I won’t have to go. Too bad my gigantic baby bump made me like a hippo in hiding.
I felt Ed gently pat me on the arm.
“Just think,” he said, “the next time you’ll be back here, we will have two new babies.”
If everything goes well, I thought. I smiled and nodded in agreement, but I was terrified of the possibility of returning home empty handed.
I savored every minute of my goddess shower that morning. That‘s what I called the glorious showers during which I actually got to wash and condition my hair. I shaved the top and the bottom of my legs. These were luxuries mothers of small children didn’t usually get. When I returned, I’d be a mommy-of-three: two preemie newborns and a toddler. I might never have a shower longer than two minutes ever again. Well, until they all went to college.
I stepped out of the shower and onto the bath mat, the bathroom nice and steamy. I quickly blow-dried my hair and applied some body lotion, powder and lip-gloss. Mascara was a bad idea that morning, I decided. The goodbye was going to be brutal. I threw on one of my favorite pink shirts—a solid maternity keeper. It had carried me through my pregnancy with Abby, even at the end when I was feeling like a miserable beached whale plopped on the living room couch. I grabbed a pair of black yoga pants out of my drawers, slipped on some flip-flops and threw my hair in a ponytail.
From my bedroom, I saw someone standing in the doorway out of the corner of my eye. It was Abby, dressed in her pink unicorn pajamas, clutching her Snoopy dog.
Every morning she woke calling out, “Mommy, come get me,” and then asked for milky. She was almost two. We had stopped nursing shortly after her first birthday, but she still found comfort in the cold milk that she drank from her sippy cup. Every day, without fail, the same two things: mom and milk—that was pretty much her whole world.
Leaving Abby was both nauseating and heart-wrenching. Even though it would only be for a few months’ time, and she would visit with Ed some evenings and weekends, it was still incredibly painful. I had never been apart from Abby for more than a few days at a time. Our Paris getaway was the longest by far, and by the end of the trip, I was so ready to come back because I missed her so much. We had a strong connection—an immediate bond. The idea of leaving her for an extended period of time was like leaving a part of myself behind.
“Good morning, my love,” I said to her.
“Mama,” Abby said, extending her arms above her head for me to carry her.
I waddled over and scooped her into my arms. I kissed her cheeks and breathed her in; she had the scent of sweet baby lotion. Her skin felt so soft against my cheek. I stroked her hair and twirled her baby ringlets around my fingers. I had been dreading this moment for the past week and a half. How was I going to get through this? How could I say goodbye to my little Abby? I had tried, in the days leading up to my departure, to break it down in a way she would understand. But all she retained was that I was leaving. She was still just a baby—well a toddler—but my baby, and the reason didn’t matter. She just didn’t want to me go. I choked back tears.
I heard knocking, and then a few seconds later, the front door opened. It would be my parents arriving to take me to the hospital. Ed and my folks appeared in the bedroom doorway. I was on my knees, holding Abby so tight.
“Mama, come play,” she pulled my arm.
“I can’t play right now, sweetie. Remember Mommy told you, I have to go bye-bye for a little while.” I began to cry.
“No, I don’t want you to go bye-bye, Mommy” Abby yelled back, her eyes widened with urgency.
I glanced down, biting my lip so hard it bled a little. “You’re going to stay here with Papa.”
“Crys, aren’t we all taking you today?” mom said.
“No,” I sniffed. My dad handed me a tissue. “I was thinking registration and check-in might take a little while.” I paused to catch my breath. “It might be easier for Abby to say goodbye here and not in a strange place.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” My mom nodded. “Dad can stay with her here.”
“Are you ready to go?” Ed asked.
“What do you think?” I snapped and burst into tears again. “I don’t want to do this!” I yelled. I don’t want to leave my little Abby. I don’t want to leave home. And I don’t even know how long I’ll be gone. That‘s the worst part. Hell, I don’t know if that‘s the worst part. It‘s all bad.”
“Crys, she‘s going to be fine. We will take great care of her. Just keep reminding yourself that you’re doing what‘s best for you and the babies. And even for Abby. Soon she’ll have sisters. What‘sbetter than that?” mom said as she bent down and hugged me.
Ed came over and rubbed my back. “The monitoring will be so reassuring. Imagine if you were at home—with no monitors, undetected—if something went wrong. We could lose them in an instant.” He paused, helped me up off the floor and then held me. He whispered, “We have come so far. I know we are going to get through this last part.”
I knew he was right. I knew they were both right. I knew the monitoring of the babies’ heart rates every few hours—in the hospital—would alert us if any serious complications arose. Their umbilical cords were already tangled since they were swimming in such close quarters; we just needed to make sure they didn’t cut off their blood supply, which was what the machines would detect. I couldn’t bear to think about losing my babies. I was frightened for their health. It made me terrified of saying goodbye to Abby too. I had so much guilt—leaving one child to care for another one, or in my case, another two. The guilt was all-consuming, like a parasite growing inside me. Would Abby feel abandoned? Would she remember I left her?
I didn’t know the answers to these questions. I only knew that, as parents, we are often faced with extraordinarily tough decisions. How do we balance one child‘s needs against another‘s? When they are mutually exclusive? In my case it was obvious. Yes, it was going to be difficult, but I needed to be strong and acknowledge that other people—our family, friends, our support network—would be able to help care for Abby. Our family was expanding, and it wasn’t just Abby I had to worry about anymore. I was the only one who could take care of these precious unborn babies.
I bent my knees in an attempt to get down to Abby‘s level, but I was too big to keep my balance. I was afraid I would topple over.
“Nope, that‘s not going to work,” I said.
“Here.
