You are three months old today, and it's been as many months since I last wrote to you. I've been, and am still struggling to find the words to adequately describe the time since you were born. Most importantly, I want to tell you that I love you. You are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me, and I treasure you more than I could have ever imagined. Feeling so strongly for you makes living our day to day even more difficult. Because, baby bird, things are really hard right now. I hate watching you struggle, and I hate that I can do nothing to help you. It makes just existing painful. Today we have the nurse that we had your very first night in the CICU. I wasn't allowed to hold you yet, but he encouraged me to lean down over your crib and talk or sing to you - I will never forget that. But I haven't yet found the strength to sing to you without crying, and so many songs I hear make me burst into tears now. I didn't want any of this for you. I just wish that God would heal your tiny body, so that we can leave this hospital with you and never come back.
It has been amazing watching you grow and change over the last three months. After working so hard, you have now surpassed ten pounds and have grown out of your newborn clothes and diapers. You love to kick your legs and take walks down the hallway, but still hate sponge baths. We get to see a little bit more of your personality each day, and I am so proud of you and all of the strides you've made. You truly are miraculous.
We are getting ready for an extremely busy couple of weeks right now. This week, the doctors will look at your heart and lungs to determine whether or not there's anything we can do to be helping you more. Next week you will be having your second official surgery. I wish that I could stand next to you through everything and hold your hand, I wish you could know how fervently we'll be praying for you. Between your procedures we will be moving to a new house closer to the hospital. I didn't think I would care about leaving our current house until I sat in your room yesterday. The room your daddy and I spent so much time making perfect in anticipation of your arrival. The room I'd hoped you'd be spending lots of time in, laughing, smiling, and growing. The room that you've barely even seen. I know that we'll recreate your room in the new house, but something about it just won't be the same. I hope that someday you'll recognize that space as your home, instead of this hospital room.
Though so many things about these last three months have been utterly heart-breaking, there is nothing in the world that makes me happier than seeing you smile. It helps me to believe that not everything you are experiencing is negative, that between all of the struggles, you still feel loved and cherished. I pray that you do.
I love you so much, Aberdeen. You are my heart.