Exhausted bliss

A few hours ago, I held my daughter. The doorbell rang. I stood up, cradled her in my arms, walked 10 feet and answered it.

Mundane? Sure. Amazing? Quite.

It happens every day, but it's profound beyond words. Our baby is home.

For the first time in 16 days, Hope Beatrice isn't connected to four sticky wires. There are no screens to monitor her heartbeat, respirations and oxygen levels. We have no tests tomorrow. There are no nurses telling us when we can bathe or weigh our child. We can pick her up and move beyond the five feet of wire that anchored Hope to her crib.

The moment Mo has prayed for since Memorial Day came about 3:15 p.m. There were no grand pronouncements, parades or quizzes. The doctors wished us well, gave us Hope's discharge papers and sent us on our worried ride home.

It's bliss, absolutely and truly, and moving in ways that I'm sure I'll be better able to capture tomorrow. Now, words fail me. We're humbled, awed, terrified, overjoyed, thrilled, and quite exhausted.

Mo is in the nursery, trying to soothe her baby. I'm on the couch envying my dog, who is asleep under the coffee table, no doubt dreaming about eating toilet paper. My brother and sister, Steve and Beth, are in from the East Coast, droopy-eyed settled comfortably in their happy pants.

It's been a long, nerve-wracking, rewarding and blessed day, and I'm sure a long night will follow. We're on our own now. Our baby is home. We can barely put one foot in front of another.

I'm in no shape for profundities, but I wanted to post because an update because I know a lot of you are curious and knocked on wood when a dork on the Internet asked you to. We're truly thankful for this amazing network of love, support, good will and prayers that extends from Singapore (Hi Pam!) to Maine.

Hopefully, this is the end of a crisis and start of a journey. Things won't be easy, but now, they're exactly as they should be. We couldn't be happier. Or sleepier.