Two months: letter #1

In honor of Heather Armstrong at dooce.com I'm writing letters to my son. I've adored her for years for her letters to her daughter, Leta. Now, I finally get to do it, too.

Dear TK,

It's been two months since you arrived, oh so small and early. You looked like a cross between a beet and a miniature old man. At first, all I wanted in life was to put you back in - I missed having you close to me so badly. You kicked every day for 9 weeks before you were born, starting on Super Bowl Sunday. I'd like to think the game inspired you. It was more than 12 hours between the time we were separated and the time I saw you again, and I felt like a body part had been ripped off. They say that the birth of your child is the best day of your life, but yours was not. I've never seen your Daddy cry like that - he could have lost us both. The first time I got to hold you, three days later - that was the best day of my life (so far). For the first time in days, I felt peaceful again.

It's true what they say, you know - every mother thinks her child is the most beautiful. I do, too, but I think you really must be the most beautiful baby on Earth. You have such perfect little lips, and gorgeous big eyes, and a perfect little button nose.

Leaving you in hospital was really hard. It had it's good points - we got to get used to how you ate, and how to change you, etc, before you came home, and we got to sleep while doing so. We got to meet you just a little earlier, which means we get to have you as a baby just a little longer than everyone else.

However. Leaving you every day was heartbreaking. It hurt me so much to let the nurses give you the care that I should have been giving you. I went home and cried the first time I saw a nurse change your diaper, because that was my job, and I couldn't do it. I felt like I wasn't Mommy, I was just some lady who visited you. After that, I took over. I made certain I was the one who gave you your first bottle, and no one changed you or bathed you but me when I could be there to do so.

You are sleeping in a bassinet next to me and your Daddy right now, on his first Father's Day. You are our Sleepy Bean. You give Daddy trouble feeding you at night. I think it's because you're tired and not as hungry. Sometimes to sputter on your bottles, and then cry, but you do not cry much at all. It's amazing - I always thought you'd be really high strung, like me, but you are like me in that you don't stay angry for long. You cried loudly all the way home from your first pediatrician's appointment, but it only took ten seconds to calm you. Then you curled up on my chest and made me the happiest Mommy.

The doctor is amazed at how few problems you have, and I'm so proud of you. You are stronger than anyone in the NICU thought you'd ever be, and you've proven that you're no "Wimpy White boy", although both the second adjective and noun do apply.

I get to be home with you for a month. I wish it were longer, but one takes what one can. I love curling up on the couch with you in my arms, and I wish I had an amazing camera to take pictures of your face.

Even the dog, Popcorn, loves you. (I know, he loves everyone, but he REALLY loves you.) Every time I let him get close enough, he has to give you a lick. It's fun to watch him jump up beside your bassinet to look at you. He always has to check if you cry.

Best of all, all of our best friends have babies just about your age. You are the smallest, but you were supposed to be the youngest, so that's alright. I can't wait to watch you run around and play with them. I hope you love them as much as we love their parents.

I know I've never been so happy. I've wanted you for so very long, but you were worth the wait. Although I'm going to be sad to see this beautiful baby go, I know watching you grow up will be amazing.

Love,
Mamma

Home at last!

After 62 days in the hospital NICU, my baby is home.

I can't express my feelings. The drive home was a nightmare, because the nurses realized as we were putting him in the car seat that the belts weren't nearly tight enough. Um...so doesn't that mean the car seat test that he supposedly passed (to make sure he could withstand the pressure of the belts) doesn't count?

Naturally, I watched TK like a hawk all the way home. We live all of eight miles from the hospital, but I swear, it was like we were driving a horse and buggy for all the time it took. Naturally, we had to stop and get food (because we RUSHED to the hospital - he got discharged early! Yay!!) and that, of course, took 4 million years.

He hated it - all the fussing over the belts and such made for a frustrated baby, and he shook his teeny fists at us and screamed.

We made it home alive, finally. We even managed to make it before TK grew up. It took hours to calm him down, but once he did, he's been relatively happy.

...I know I ought to be in Heaven, but I'm just tired, and pretty emotional. He's so beautiful, though, and he's actually mine. It crossed my mind this morning to wonder when they expect me to bring him back. Surely they won't be letting me keep him!

Ha! No tubes! For a minute.

I got into the hospital today, and TK had his feeding tube out! WOAH - he gets that out and has 48 hours of not needing it (meaning taking bottles) he can COME HOME. After 8 LOOOOONG weeks.

But no. Right away the nurse (whom I have nicknamed Nurse Bug Eyes, for self explanatory reasons) says, "Oh, he hasn't been doing well, I'm going to be putting it back in." Humph. Then she insisted that she was going to tube feed him his next feed, when I was right there to feed him. Um, no. I know my son, and he's wide awake, I at least want to try. If he doesn't do well, I won't push him too hard - that might cause him to backslide into his old non-eating ways - but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try.

So, she put the tube in. I'm not going to argue, because TK would get seriously upset if he had eaten half a bottle or so and then gets tubed, too. I've upset him after he's eaten, and very little is less fun than having milk spit up and coming out your baby's nose. He doesn't much care for it, either.

Then I fed him. He ate the whole bottle in less than 10 minutes, with no problems. WHO'S THE MOMMA?! I must gloat.

Fortunately, his primary nurse, who is a goddess, is working tonight. I know I can count on her to listen.


Seven weeks old, and already a ham:

Bathing.

It's amazing how huge a milestone can be when your child is in the hospital.

For example, the other day, I got to bathe my baby for the first time. He weighs nearly 5 pounds, which is more than double what he weighed at birth, and he's seven weeks old. How did I go this long and not get to bathe my own son? I just never ended up in the NICU when they bathed him, and I was so dazed by such a tiny baby, that I didn't know to ask. It didn't occur to me.

With much laughter, giggling, and sliding around, I bathed my little boy. He looked...confused, or at least very concerned with the bathing process. He didn't hate it, but he sure looked at me as if to say, "Mom. What the HELL?" He threw his arms up in the air and then just relaxed into it, but still with that confused little face.

How I adore that little face.

Arrival.

This was written a couple of days after the arrival of our baby boy. It's been seven weeks, and no, he's still not home.

On Sunday morning, I had a little cramping below my breasts, but in the area that counts as the top of my belly. It seemed minor, so I ate breakfast, fiddled around, and put away laundry.

The pain wasn't getting better, so I took some Tums, thinking maybe I had actual heartburn (I never did during pregnancy). This did not help, either. I ate a sandwich, and drank some water, and laid down, thinking maybe I was having Braxton Hicks contractions.

After an hour or so, I didn't feel better. I figured I'd better just ask M (TK's Daddy, my husband, a Registered Nurse). I woke M up at 4pm. At this point, I hurt pretty badly, and it was getting hard to breathe. I've felt far far worse pain, but I was nervous. M then told me to call the doc's office, and he'd get in the shower just in case. I called the doc's office, and they said I should go to Labor and Delivery (L&D) at the hospital to get checked out.

While we drove to L&D, M started "timing" my pains at roughly a minute apart, so I was convinced I was having contractions, and they'd stop them and TK might be early or troublesome, but any labor could be stopped.

After two hours or so of monitoring, we were told:
1- TK looked great, his heartbeat was great, he was moving all over, but that
2 - my labs did not come back well. My blood platelets were low, and my blood pressure was pretty high (which was a first - I'd never in my life had high blood pressure).

The nurse said we were probably going to deliver him withint 24-48 hours and they would give me something for pain. My brain must've been off at that point. I cried a little, but I didn't *believe* they were going to deliver the baby yet. At least not for 48 hours! My pregnancy was perfect: surely this would go at least as close to how it should as possible. After all, the doctor had told me only a few weeks before that was "very low risk" based on two extensive and expensive ultrasounds.

Less than eight hours after I arrived at the hospital, they wheeled me into the room to deliver. M was not allowed in, because my blood platelets were so low I couldn't even be conscious myself for the c-section. Actually, when I was in there and conscious, they put some oxygen on me, and reassured me they were going to put me to sleep and I was so SCARED that they were going to cut me while I was awake. I was so scared about that, but now I wish I had been. After, I had had a surgery, they took the baby, but since neither M nor I were "there", it didn't seem real to me at all. I was pregnant one minute, the next I was not.

M got to go see him pretty quickly afterward. He was amazing from the beginning - for the first time, he started trying to breathe on his own when he heard M's voice (he knows his daddy!) and started kicking and moving like he's been doing to me since 20 weeks. It was several hours before I got to see him - apparently my blood work labs accidentally got cancelled, but my nurse really fought for me and got that fixed. I thought I was going to go see him at 10, but I misunderstood - it was "after my 10am labs", which didn't come in until well after 2pm. I was getting mad by then, because they took my baby from me, and I couldn't even go see him!

I did, finally, get to see him. He held my finger. His hair is so dark! He's moving around so much, and making me proud. They keep calling him a "feisty one". The day after he was delivered, he was off the ventilator. A week later, he's still off the vent, and just has a nasal canula. My amazing little boy has some jaundice, but aside from being wee little, he's perfectly healthy.

He will be in the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) for some time - most likely at least 8 weeks. In the mean time, we're with him every day in the hospital, as much as possible.

Totally unrelated

For some reason, I can never seem to remember how many ounces are in a cup, cups are in a pint, quart, gallon, and so on. So I'm going to write them down here, secure in the knowledge that I can always search my own damned web site next time I need them.

3 teaspoons is 1 tablespoon
8 ounces is 1 cup
16 ounces is 2 cups which is 1 pint
32 ounces is 4 cups which is 2 pints which is 1 quart
128 ounces is 16 cups which is 8 pints which is 4 quarts which is 1 gallon


**stolen in its entirety from http://jeremy.zawodny.com/blog/archives/006141.html
Even though it's stolen, it's proven true for me, as well.

Polyps!

So, polyp #2 will be removed the day after tomorrow.

What's funny about this month (and I'm going to get specific, so if you can't handle it, RUN) is how odd it has been.

First, I spotted for a solid week. On day seven, I called the doctor and told him. "Oh, hai, I've been spotting for seven days, am I broken?" and the doctor was all, "Hrm. Well, no, but we probably should schedule your surgery STAT."

Then, the next morning (when the nurse called back to schedule the surgery) I was forced to inform her that, in fact, the real bleeding and cramping had started that morning. Yeah. I get to have a period all over again. Yay! She said, "no biggie, you're actually late in your cycle now, so we'll go ahead and do this on Monday".

Monday comes. I call again. "Are you suuuuure? I don't think the doctor wants to be all up in my bleeding hoo-ha, especially since he'll have trouble seeing around in my uterus with all the goo." And the doctor's office agreed. Of course, I have to tell them this while I'm in my office at work, which I share with several other people. There is no place for privacy on a school campus.

I called them again, four days later, when Aunt Flo decided to move on. We rescheduled for this coming week.

Since the last time hurt like...well, like they're sticking big metal spiky things in my vag, I'm not particularly looking forward to this. Except, of course, that once it's out we'll be able to try again (Round 3!!) for a baby. *sparkles and ribbons wands out, people*