The Sheet Drawer

I go into Ruby's room everyday. I open her blinds in the morning, and close them, and turn on a light at night. I don't always spent a lot of time in there, and in the past couple of months, hardly any time at all.
Today I rocked in her chair. I went through her clothes, and headbands, and stuffed animals. I hugged her blankets, and sobbed into her burp cloths. I was needing to feel a physical connection to my baby, so I touched and smelled, and looked at her things.
I opened her bottom dresser drawer, which I had not done yet. That was the extra sheets and blanket drawer. Looking at her extra sheets brought back memories that I had forgotten about. I remember going into Pottery Barn with her, and picking out some extra sheets, because she was constantly spitting up her orange vitamins on them, or throwing up.
It reminded of so many long and hard nights that Matt, Ruby and I went through together. Ruby would cry, and we would both shoot about of bed, and immediately, almost like a robot, begin to work. It was really hard having a sick baby, but at the time, we didn't realize that. We just knew what needed to be done, and we would do it.
If she had thrown up, it was probably about an hour process before we could get her back into her bed again. One of us would pick her up, and the other would grab her TPN pump then we would start sterilizing her line. Matt would be handing me alcohol swabs, and then get the saline flush all ready. I would grab the saline and flush her line, as he would remind me to close the clamp. A perfect team. Then as I would take off her yucky jammies, and clean her up, take her temp, Matt would strip the bed, stain-treat the sheets before he would put them into the washer. Then we would usually need to give her a little milk which needed to be warmed, and then have oil added, and a few meds mixed in. Matt would return upstairs with milk, more medical supplies, and we would begin to get her hooked back up. Sterilizing her line, connecting her PICC to the tubing, and then resetting the pump. We would put the tubing inside her shirt sleeve and down her bottoms, securing the line in the velcory part of her diaper, and out the bottom of her pants. This way she would not be able to grab it, and it would stay away from her neck. As Matt would feed her the bottle, I would remake her crib. As he laid her down, I held the pump, and we would get her all situated and comfy, kiss her and tell her we loved her, and turn off the light. We would then need to write down the meds she took, how much milk she drank, how much fluid she threw up, and if she had a wet/poopy diaper.
Sometimes, this would happen 2 or 3 times a night. It wasn't just a quick diaper change by the light of the night light. All the lights would be on, upstairs and down. The washer would be running, Matt going up and down the stairs, the microwave beeping, and us yelling back and forth between upstairs and down. I never remember us complaining to each other though. It was just want we had to do, so we did it. In a way, I think doing all of that stuff made us feel good about our roles as her parents. There was not much we could do to make her better, so we took care of her in the best way we knew how, and I think we took pride in that.
Opening that drawer today, did not bring back painful memories, but sweet memories of me and my sweet husband serving our daughter. We were such a good team, and we worked so hard and so long trying to make those 7 months, and one week, the most comfortably for Ruby, and also for Kate. It was all we were; parents. Our girls were our only care, our only focus. They were all that mattered. Were they happy? Where they comfortable? Do they feel loved? One of us, alone, could have never parented our girls in that time, with out the other.
Those sheets remind me about what parenthood is. Teamwork, service, and love.