10 Weeks Old!

Today Carter is 10 weeks old! We have now spent almost half of his life in the hospital--1 week at the beginning, 2 days for biopsy, and 3 weeks, 4 days this round--34 days in the hospital, 36 days out. Cruddy way to start a life, but just think of the story he'll have to tell when he's older! This is what I keep telling myself, anyways.
I think all the fluid in his belly must really be causing him discomfort and pain. He certainly doesn't sit and scream all day, but that just wouldn't be his style. He's more of a quiet guy. Most of today he was groggy and sort of out of it. He'd lie really still for awhile, eyes mostly closed. Then suddenly let out a cry and squirm a bit. It is the saddest cry you've ever heard--not a loud, angry cry, but more of a startled and sad cry. He ate well today, though, taking nearly all of each feed by mouth. He gets to a point where it just hurts him to take any more.
Carter's fever is better, and his heartrate has gone down a bit, although it is still high. He got his 2 month shots today, which he dealt with "like a champ"--he hardly cried!
I find myself wanting so badly to make it all better--so much so that my heart aches. Then, when I realize I cannot do anything, I sort of disconnect. I'm angry at myself for this response, because I want more than anything to comfort him. Yet, on these days when he feels so bad, I seem to focus less on him and more on his chart or my Su Doku book or magazine. Why is this? Why do I shy away from my motherly duties at the very moment when my little boy needs me the most? I hate seeing him hurting. I hate feeling helpless. I hate waiting. I hate the hospital. I hate hoping and wondering. I hate that so many others have perfectly healthy babies that they get to bring home and enjoy regular daily things with, and I'm stuck in a stark, stuffy room clinging to the hope of one smile a day or a good report from the lab. He just seems to be getting sicker. I know that it is due to the pain from the fluid, and once that gets better, he will, too. But what if it doesn't? What if he just gets worse? He is basically the same weight as when he was born (up to 8 lbs. 4 oz this morning, although that's mostly fluid). Other people's babies are growing and thriving, and mine is struggling. I long to see his big, beautiful brown eyes--bright and clear--taking in the sights and sounds of summer. I need to take him for a walk, wake up in the middle of the night to find him cooing in his bed, and take him to family dinners and church.
But for now I will settle with that which has become the norm. I will go to see him each day, sit and hold him in a borrowed rocker, and turn him over to the care of all those amazing women in the NICU each night.