I have a big, long (and probably boring) entry all typed up about my first month at home with the girls, but that will have to wait until tomorrow.  I'm sitting here in the house alone, since Steve has taken the girls to the store to give me a few moments of quiet.  As I was sitting here, I was thinking about where I was this time last year.  It was right about this time on September 14th of last year that I FINALLY got to see Abbie for the first time.  She was born at 5:25 on the 13th, but I had to wait more than 27 hours to finally see her.  I had to wait until my blood pressure stabilized enough to stop the magnesium sulfate and then I had to get transferred to a regular room and then I had a fever and they had to go back and forth about whether or not I could go to the NICU with a fever (the compromise was a face mask).  Finally, finally, Steve wheeled me up to her little isolette and I saw that sweet, sweet face for the very first time and she grabbed my finger with her tiny, tiny hand and I melted.  When the nurse asked if I wanted to hold her, at first, I declined.  I was scared that my fever would put her at risk.  The nurse said the mask would protect her (and I had washed my hands until they were raw when we entered the double doors into the NICU) and that the best thing for Abbie would be to be in her Mommy's arms.  No one but the nurses had held her yet.  As they placed her in my arms and she looked up at me, all the tears I'd held in for the last twenty-seven hours came tumbling out in a rush of pure emotional joy.

Here's a picture of her from earlier that day - she was about 15 hours old here and already off of the hood oxygen and breathing room air.



And here she is yesterday, chilling on the couch:



And eating her cupcake (or at least the frosting off of it) last night:


I'd say that she was worth the wait to meet her, wouldn't you?