Benjamin is four days old today. (As days go, it's a good one so far. He's slept. He's eaten. He's "played" with me. Hopefully tonight will be a good night, too. Last night wasn't much fun, he was colicky.)

The past three days have been a total blur. Which I always assumed they would be, but in this case, they've not just been a blur of new baby, but a blur of doctor visits and near-hospital admittance.

Benjamin has blood group incompatibility jaundice.

I'm blood type O+. Benjamin is type A. We're not compatible. I have produced antibodies that are inside of his little body, attacking his red blood cells.

I did not mean to do this.

He's being treated here at home with a "biliblanket," a light-emitting device that he wears on his back constantly. The day before yesterday his levels had increased by nearly 5 points. Between Saturday and Sunday they'd only increased by one point. We have to go have his blood drawn daily to determine how things are going. I'm hoping that they tell me today it's going down. But I don't want to get my hopes up too high. While he is eating frequently and is well-lighted, he's just not eliminating waste as he should be. He hasn't had a dirty diaper in over 24 hours. And last night he obviously had tummy troubles, as he was a very colicky baby there for a few hours.

So now I'm worried about the inner workings of his little abdomen.

Worry, worry, worry. That seems to be my new M.O.

That's the other thing. . .I'm so hormonal and weepy. I'm sick with worry--about the baby, of course, but also about just anything and everything, too, it seems.

There hasn't been one day since his birth that I haven't broken down in tears. And I'm not weepy over the whole jaundice/poop issue--which if I'm going to cry you'd think that would be enough to keep me busy--I'm all emotional over things that I can't control at all.

For instance, this a.m. in the shower I started crying because William is going to visit UNC-W this weekend. That means he's going to be leaving soon. That means I'm losing a child. That means that Lizzie is growing up. She's nearly 13. She'll soon be changing, becoming a teenager. Leaving me. This means that Donald is getting older. He's 62 already. We've been together for 10 years and they've gone by in a flash. What's going to happen in another 10 years? I'm going to blink and he'll be 72. What will he be like then? What biologically does he have festering under the surface that I can't see that might take him away from me? From Benjamin? I don't want him to leave me. Leave us. And I know, I know, I know. I can't stop time. And worrying about all the things to come and the what ifs means that I'm not engaging and enjoying in the here and now. I know all this. And still I cry.

God, I'm a mess.