Baker the Brave | Before Open Heart Surgery

You knew it was coming, right? The post where I write a letter to Baker and pound out all my feelings about my baby having open heart surgery?

Open. Heart. Surgery.

Like, his heart will be stopped and he'll be kept alive by machines while a surgeon operates on his tiny little heart, an organ no bigger than his baby fist. And then, when the surgery is done, the machines will stop and if all goes according to plan, that little tiny baby fist-heart of his will start beating on it's own. Baker will wake up and get the breathing tube removed and he'll smile at us and after spending a few days in the hospital we'll bring him home as good as new. Sounds easy enough, right? Just take it one step at a time.

Except none of this is easy. It's fucking OPEN HEART SURGERY and even though we've had some time to prepare for this moment I still feel like this isn't our life at times. Surely there's no way that our family - my baby - is going through this! It feels surreal and half the time I'm just going through the motions, not really stopping to think about what it all means. Processing this news has been the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

Until Monday morning, that is. Come Monday morning, I will literally hand over a part of my soul to these doctors hoping and praying with ever fiber of my being that they bring my baby back to me. I will spend the hours in the waiting room pacing and willing the surgeon to have a steady hand and willing myself to stay calm and positive all the while knowing the risks and, albeit rare, the possibility of complications.

(I'm thankful Justin will be by my side - he's proven to be quite the rock during this journey so far, always steadfast that things will be okay. Baker, too. He's all like, "Nah, mom. I got this...")

I will hug and possibly kiss in a super-awkward manner whichever nurse they send out to give us updates, informing us that Baker is a freaking rockstar and is sailing through with flying colors. I will most likely weep (read: ugly-cry) when I see my sweet boy with wires and tubes coming out of his little body and count down the hours until I get to hold him again. I'll pump breastmilk for days to make sure I maintain my supply so I'm ready for him when he decides he's strong enough to eat again.

Even though I know this needs to happen, I would trade places with Baker in a heartbeat (cue "heart" puns..) if it meant I could take away the pain I know he'll endure. Since I can't trade places with him, I'll suck it up, put on my brave face, thank modern medicine and do everything I can to make sure he's comfortable and that he knows we'll be advocating for him every step of the way.

At the beginning of November, there was talk that Baker's surgery could potentially happen before Thanksgiving. I came home after that cardiology appointment and began to frantically order things from Amazon that I thought Baker needed should we be leaving for surgery so soon.

He needed a lovey - something that brought him comfort and smelled like home. I found a lion blankie and thought it looked nice and soft. He took to it almost immediately, clutching it during nursing sessions and holding onto it until I lay him down at night. I got the softest lion wubbanub for good measure, too.

I decided he needed this puppy to help him stay calm. All the other heart mommies said it brought their warriors comfort the days after surgery so Baker obviously needed it, too. We've been playing with it during the day so he knows the heart puppy is his friend.

Our sweet neighbor had this "Baker the Brave" onesie made and it couldn't be more perfect. He'll wear it into the hospital on Monday so the doctors and nurses know what's up - this boy will crush it.

I'm so not looking forward to tomorrow morning but I can't wait to see how Baker thrives after this is all said and done. He's a warrior and tougher than I'll ever be, that's for sure. We're also still so, so thankful that his heart can be fixed and that we're not dealing with a defect that's more serious or requires multiple surgeries. We met with the surgeon and anesthesiologist to go over the procedure and got a feel for how the day will go, which made me feel way better about things. It still won't be easy but I know we'll make it through.

Oh, my sweet Bubba. I could type all the words in the world and I still wouldn't be able to adequately express how much you've changed me so far during your four short months of life. I strive to know better, do better and be better because of you. Your dad and your sisters are better people because of you. You've made an impact on those you've met and those you haven't and you're just getting started.

I'm so sorry you have to go through something like this but we know the doctors and nurses will take great care of you. Mommy and daddy will be waiting for you. You are the strongest, bravest boy and I love you more than you know.

Baker has some little friends who have gone through surgery this week or will be undergoing their own operations in the very near future. If you're the praying kind or wish to send some good vibes into the universe for these little warriors, we'd really appreciate it... Mila, Miriam, Charlotte, Ana, Vera, Mary Jo, Oliver and Rishi (and more that I know I'm missing!) - these incredible babies amaze me! Their moms and I are all part of the same Facebook group and these babes were all born with Down syndrome and are close to Baker's age. We're so thankful we get to support each other as we walk this path.

We'll be sure to keep everyone updated on Baker's progress tomorrow, most likely via Instagram and the blog's Facebook page so make sure you're following along! Some photos I share may be hard to look at (I promise I won't post anything graphic or too intense) but I want to document this for Baker to show him one day. I also remember searching hashtags and trying to find other people's stories as we were awaiting Baker's surgery date. It helped me learn what to expect and how to prepare for the hospital stay so if there is potential for Baker's story to help another mama just like me, I want to pay it forward. Knowing you're not alone is a powerful thing when facing something that feels so scary at times.

Thank you, again, to our friends and family for lifting us up during this time. We feel the love and support and we're so grateful to have you rooting for our son.