Page 139 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

I smile as I watch my…boyfriend?... race out of the room.

And for the first time, I honestly feel like all this might turn out exactly as he has planned.

Chapter Forty-seven

Regan

“Are you really sure he’s ready?”

Christa is helping me bundle Mitchell up in his go-home outfit. There are no more tubes. No wires. And I’ve been nursing him for the past five days. Over the past two weeks, he’s gained more weight than even the doctors anticipated. He only had one more A&B episode, and slowly, he was weaned off the oxygen and other therapeutics. He finally looks like a healthy baby. Still only five and a half pounds, but healthy.

He’s healthy,I think again as I pull a tiny arm through his long-sleeved bodysuit.

I look back at Sam and Kendall—the couple we’ve become close with over the past three weeks—and feel a pang of guilt that we’re leaving with Mitchell and they have such a long journey ahead. Other parents and babies have come and gone, most only staying a day or two. The teenage mom, Tarryn, went home with her baby just a few days ago. I remember how envious of her I was.

Now, it’s our turn. And although part of me is nervous that we’re going to have to do this ourselves, without the twenty-four-hour care and help from the NICU, I’m relieved that Mitchell gets to come home with both of his parents.

We pull on his tiny socks and cute little preemie pants with teddy bears on them. It’s much different from the going-home outfit I bought for him months ago. It seems like another life when I went into the city and got him a newborn jumpsuit with giraffes on it. Eventually, the newborn clothes will fit him, but he’ll be swimming in them for a while. I want his going-homepictures to show how I see him: a perfectly sized amazing little version of Lucas.

We have plenty of photographic evidence of how tiny he is. Lucas has captured everything on his phone, snapping pictures and taking videos of Mitchell at every turn. From day one, something I didn’t know about until yesterday, he’s been snapping photos of our son next to common household items so we won’t forget how small he was. There are pictures of Mitchell next to a water bottle. A cell phone. Even a banana.

It’s incredible how Lucas has literally thought of everything.

When Mitchell is dressed and I pick him up, still amazed at the feel of holding him in my arms without any tubes and wires, I turn around to see a small crowd gathered in the washroom just outside the inner doors of the NICU. Dr. Russo is there. Dr. Ford is there, too. As are several other nurses, doctors, and techs who were either at the delivery or have had a hand in caring for Mitchell.

I smile as my eyes fill with tears. I knew it would happen. Any time a baby stays more than just a day or two for observation, they get a ‘graduation’ sendoff.

“First things first,” Lucas says, bringing over the car seat.

He sets it on the floor and holds out his arms.

Some dads would have no idea how to put a newborn in a car seat. Not Lucas. He seems to be an expert at it.Has he been practicing?I’m not even sure I’d know how to do it. Any knowledge I have comes from watching Maddie and Amber with their babies, not from firsthand experience.

As I watch him get our son settled and snug, I once again thank my lucky stars that we’re doing this together. I don’t even have Mitchell home yet, but I still have a newfound admiration for single parents who have to do all of this alone. I make a promise to myself to reach out to Tarryn who, as far as I know, only has her aunt helping her. She never spoke about friends,her parents, or even her baby’s father. She’s got a long and bumpy road ahead of her, I’m sure.

Lucas proudly picks up the car seat. He exhales and closes his eyes at the weight of it. I know what he’s thinking. He’s happy this day is here. He’s grateful we get to take home a healthy child. He’s beyond words at the thought of our son being carried out through the doors of the NICU and into the beginning of the rest of his life.

He opens his eyes and holds out his hand. I take it, and we walk toward the exit.

Those who aren’t leaving with us—other nurses, a few parents—clap as we pass.

I stop and give hugs to the Willises. “Your day will come,” I whisper to Kendall. “I know it will.”

When it does, I plan to be one of the people waiting on the other side of that door.

As we step through the inner doors, I look back, giving one last glance to Mitchell’s first home. And I hope with all my heart that this is the last time he’ll ever be in a hospital.

In the washroom area, there is a chalkboard with Mitchell’s name on it, how many days he stayed here, his birth date and weight, today’s date and weight, and, of course, his nickname: The Comeback Kid.

I smile, just knowing it’s how Christa, Kayla, and all the other nurses in the NICU will forever know him.

There’s a pink and blue balloon arch—the same one they use for all the ‘graduations’—and a large banner for us to stand next to and have our pictures taken with all the people who have helped get us to this moment.

There are many tears, mostly mine. Lots of hugs. And a few laughs. Then Rondell, an orderly we’ve gotten to know over the past few weeks, comes out with a cart loaded with the things we’ve accumulated here over the past weeks. A throw blanket.Some reading material. A pair of slippers. And the typical hospital sendoff gift including various baby items, postpartum things, nursing aids, and informational packets.

Flowers, gifts, balloons, and teddy bears were all taken home long ago as those aren’t allowed in the NICU.

After we say our goodbyes, Dr. Russo escorts us to the elevator. “Well, you did it,” she says, putting a motherly arm around my shoulder. “And just look at you now. You’re quite the family.”

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