Sorry to be all preemie all the time lately. I don't know why, but sometimes the experience haunts me more than others.
Today I was in a local outlet-ish mall, and I saw a woman with a double snap'n'go, walking with a friend who had a single version. All 3 babies were peacefully asleep in their carseats, looking as angelic and wonderful and healthy as could be. I asked how old they were and the twin mom said hers were 5 weeks.
Five weeks. She was in the mall with her peacefully-sleeping twins at 5 weeks. Where was I at 5 weeks? We had just been moved out of nursery A" - the highest level of care. The girls had been co-bedded for about a week. They were both still on a pretty decent dose of oxygen via nasal cannula, and both had NG tubes. We were able to hold them, but we had to check with a nurse first, tangle with the monitors and the tubes, and endure the stares of the nurses when they felt the babies needed to go back into their isolettes.
They were awfully cute, though.
(That's Lilly yawning)
Still, seeing her threw me into a weird place. No matter how good life is and how healthy and delightful the girls are (and boy are they ever!) I'm never really going to fully get "over" this, am I?