But he desired to leave, surely.
It's scary to have a preemie.
It makes my eyes steamy.
Health problems come and go.
For two double surgeries, the healing is slow.
Sitting in the hospital, waiting.
My son's pain, I'm always hating.
He couldn't eat and I couldn't feed.
On and off, my husband and I are worried.
Son-bun's face is endlessly dry, cracked, itchy, and red.
He's always had a very large head.
He is forever prodded and poked.
I grabbed his tiny hand and kissed and stroked.
They try and try, but there is still no vein.
He cries and cries with no escape from pain.
There is nothing I can do but watch,
And hope it ends quickly and there is nothing to botch.
When it's done, I give my son kisses and I hold him tight.
I try my best to quell his fright.
I tell him that everything will be okay,
That things will be better someday.
Though he's tall and slim,
I think we will keep him.
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