I'm not sure it's possible to be in a pediatric ward hearing a child cry and not have your heart feel like it is going to leap through your throat.
I've prayed a lot today for parents of super sick kids because, damn.
We've spent most of the day and now the night with Firefly at the hospital. She's okay, or rather she will be okay. Because if we were at okay already, we'd be home. But it's nothing too serious and she'll be better tomorrow. (Of course this morning they said she'd be better by tonight and obviously that didn't go so well.) My little girl is usually a blur of motion and coos and it is hard to see her so still and quiet.
When we found out she was going to be admitted, we debated for about one minute whether or not to call Ms B before deciding we would. We thought our stay would only be for the afternoon, but I still couldn't imagine telling her after the fact, "Oh, by the way, Firefly was in the hospital the other day." I would want to know if I were in her shoes.
It is hard to share news like this with first family, to hear the voice crack on the other end of the line and recognize their tears as the ones you would have if you heard your daughter was sick and knew you couldn't be there with her.
Ms B got some loving from her social worker at the agency (post-adoption support!) and checked in with us again this evening and was in a strong place. My mind has been focused on tending to Firefly and Puppy today, but right now in the darkened hospital room as Firefly sleeps it's poking at what it means to be entrusted with a child, to be caring for a life that was deliberately turned over to you, and whether there is extra responsibility there.