Last week was a roller coaster.
My first grandchild-a boy-was born prematurely on Saturday after several days of heart stopping, breath robbing drama as his mama went back and forth to the hospital three times in as many days.
My son, his father, is deployed overseas and paddling as fast as he can to get home.
I am twelve hours away and leaving early this morning to go down and do whatever I can to help. My daughter-in-law’s mother is there and I’m not offended to believe she will be better suited to help her daughter than I am.
But I’ll stay for a bit just to be an extra pair of hands.
I’m sure anyone who gets the news that mama and baby are in trouble is frightened. It doesn’t take much for a heart to fear the worst.
But for someone who knows exactly what the worst feels like, there’s a whole other level to this terror.
Fear of what you don’t know can’t hold a candle to fear of what you know by experience.
I spent Saturday in anxious prayer, begging God for grace and mercy. I had no idea how much it took out of me until after I heard baby and mama were doing well and the sun went down. Exhaustion swept over me like a heavy blanket and it was all I could do to make it upstairs and crawl in bed.
I am beyond thankful that this story has a hopeful ending. The little tyke only weighs two pounds but appears to be a fighter.
It will be a long, hard climb for him to mature enough to leave the hospital. There will be challenges along the way.
But his mama is on the road to recovery and his daddy is on the road (flight!) home.
I’ll spend some of the time driving down finishing the baby blanket I was making before he made his early appearance.
Every stitch is a prayer.
I don’t know what tomorrow holds.
But I’m thankful today is a good day.
I’m a grandma! ❤