Tootsie goes to a wonderful, loving, nurturing preschool, where relationships, responsibility, play, and imagination are emphasized--the same preschool her big sisters attended seemingly long ago.
The teachers listen carefully to the little people and the important (hilarious) things they say, often recording them for posterity.
We were treated to a Parents' Day celebration on Sunday, where we were presented with cards from our kiddos; here's Tootsie's take on her Mom and Dad:
Some points of confirmation and clarification:
I do work with my friends.
Husband does work at da yacht club.
Husband does NOT enjoy letting the dog out to pee.
Husband and I did not meet at school, though we did attend the same high school.
Husband does like syrup, not usually on meatballs.
We do love our children when they go to school. Apparently this is a likable trait.
Our Tootsie earned herself a new nickname last weekend, "Trauma, Eagle Ey."
Tootsie trained her Eagle Ey on a dog at Concert in the Park on Saturday, and when she reached out to pet him, he reacted with animal instincts. To make a long story short (and to avoid the accompanying "control your child vs. control your pet" debate), I'll simply share that Tootsie required some exploratory surgery to rule out vascular damage and to stitch up wounds on her head and neck. She has minor (unnoticeable to the untrained eye) nerve damage to her face, but she's otherwise fine, acting like a typical toddler, alternately charming and defiant to her doctors and nurses and Mom and Dad. We remain in the hospital only to get comfortable with the PICC line and antibiotic infusions we will take on after discharge.
Every event in the hospital leaves us bowing with gratitude for how fortunate we are: Only one more inch to the right, and then...only one centimeter deeper bite, and it could have been...
We are thankful.
We are scheduled to leave for Boston and Maine on July 14. Need I mention that Tootsie got close to hijacking another Boston/Maine trip? Geez! I should probably knock wood until we are on the flight there...and BACK, as planned.
So here I am again, rooming in the hospital under unusual circumstances with my third baby. This time, though, she's mobile. This time, I'm not allowed to leave the room unattended. Last time the two of us were confined to the hospital, she was a baby in a bassinet. I could leave her there for an hour in the care of her nurse and venture forth into the sunshine. This time, the one time I defied the nurse and went to the in-room bathroom without putting her bed's side rails up, she bailed out, stretching her IV cords to painful limits. Last time, each moment I breastfed her I was triumphant that my preemie was latching on and taking advantage of my rich bounty. This time, I'm wondering how we got to almost-two-years-old still breastfeeding. AFTER THIS, I swear, WE ARE WEANING!
Not unlike last time, I'm at peace with our present and future. Once the paramedics arrived at the park and assured me our baby would live, I figured we could handle the rest.
So our two greatest challenges on the current horizon appear to be: 1) helping her kick her popsicle habit (averaging upwards of four a day plus lollipops), and 2) reaching consensus on a hairdo strategy (she's currently rocking the Rihanna).
Meanwhile, in typical Tootsie fashion, she's commanding the attention of the floor by doing laps in a push tricycle while declaring, "Ooooh; I like this!" and showing off how she administers her own oral meds via syringe. She's also seizing the opportunity to potty train herself. Why not?
In the ER at Children's Hospital, before formal names are established, patients are given "trauma names," established by alphabet much like hurricanes. Our Tootsie is "Eagle Ey" on my bracelet and hers. Which is just a new moniker for the same indomitable spirit which inspires us.
Hearty thanks to all those community members, neighbors, and friends who came to Tootsie's aid at the concert and who have provided support for all of us since. And we send our healing energy to the dog's owners, who were devastated by the events, and as we can only imagine, feeling helpless and hoping for the best. We assure you we are well.
It's Sunday night, or Back-to-School-After-Thanksgiving-Break Eve, and I'm feeling grateful for the time off and the good times. I'm also noting that last year at this time I felt grateful, but walked on shaky legs, wondering how to cope with my life and my job and mostly just Being Myself. This year, I'm celebrating this one-year-sixteen-month-old and all the joy she has brought us.
I was explaining to my aunt, who was here visiting this week, that without Tootsie, it would be easy for us--with two daughters eight and eleven years old--to each go our own ways: someone reading here, another on a computer there, someone at a friend's house, on a bike ride...but instead Tootsie is her own nucleus for the family, our touchstone. Everyone gravitates to her in the mornings when she wakes. She's the first one we ask for upon arriving home. Her antics and tricks are the center of our attention. And as she's a toddler, we know where she is at all times, in her best interests and ours.
Last year she felt like a hurricane to me in terms of magnitude on our lives. This year I recognize her as the eye to the hurricane we are, swirling around her and magnetically drawn in, a beautiful antithesis to entropy.
We took her on a few hikes and walks this week. She's almost running and jumping now, loving to walk on different surfaces and stopping to run her hands in the dirt (and to eat a rock or two) and to smell every flower. She practices words and phrases and signs some too, and when she doesn't know what else to say, it's "bee-baaa" or "baaa-beee." She dances to Sesame Street and Katy Perry. She's empathetic and compassionate and caring, giving loves and hugs to her cousins and friends and siblings and often teary on our behalves.
She's been sick the past few days with a high fever, sleeping and cuddling and breastfeeding around the clock. Our initial panic at her high temperature reminded me that she has been remarkably healthy since her time in the hospital. Our hearty, heart-full, happy girl.
Our new baby cousins were born last week--beautiful, healthy baby girls and an uneventful labor and birth! Now we have Tootsie and her cousin, only two weeks younger than she, and the twins. It's going to be awesome to have two sets of kiddos at the same heights bumbling around. The two older toddlers are already great fun.
Slay me for this, but I wouldn't mind another baby. Husband said he wanted to throw up at the mere mention, and can rest assured that my tubes are tied. So I'm happy to have not one, but two new babies to satisfy my need for infant snuggle time. And when I watched my sister-in-law pumping yesterday, in an attempt to build a store for two babies (how do you do that?), I backed off my baby envy a little. I am still breasfteeding Tootsie. Which is not like breastfeeding an infant, by the way. More on that later.
Tootsie is completely smitten with the new babies. She was like a Love Bully, kissing the baby I was holding with aggressive passion, over and over, and insisting on feeding her her bottle. She must have said "baby" a hundred times or more. She was transformed into (by juxtaposition) a giant smothering affection monster, a manic crazy overwhelmed older cousin in love.
It was quite a sight to behold, and I used my left arm for defensive moves as she continually came in for head butts/kisses, as my sister-in-law observed with nervous laughter.
There's no absence of love, as well as little fingers and toes in our family. It's awesome.
I forgot that I promised myself I'd write every day in November, like I did a few years ago in an effort to force myself back into a discipline, which, like exercise, tends to make me feel better about myself. I just haven't been writing, and recognizing that is a reminder of how much my life--and I--have changed in the past year and a half. I'm determined to reacquaint with the Fer who writes regularly, the Fer who is excited to connect what happened today to some lingering thought that has been bouncing around in her mind.
But November 1 is almost over, and I only have scattered and disconnected updates:
Tootsie walks and talks and signs words like "please," "more," "dog," and "milk." But most importantly, she's learned very recently how to throw an epic tantrum, and has been practicing daily since. We've experienced our first Store Episode and Stiff-As-a-Board-Can't-Get-In-Carseat Antics. Thank goodness she's still cute and loving, and a dancer and snuggler. Her habits include placing everything from belts to dishcloths to pajamas around her neck and pretending to feed and walk her dolls and Elmo. And because of the number of hours she has spent since birth at the fields, she can kick a soccer ball.
At the Patty Griffin concert tonight, she covered a Jimmy Durante song:
"You've got to win a little, lose a little, yes, and always have the blues a little. That's the story of, that's the glory of life. That's the story of, that's the glory of life." I was struck by how true that analysis is, and what I'm still learning to accept--this notion of living with the blues a little. I'm trying to fight less, stop myself from a mantra of "I don't WANT to be this stressed/tired/frantic/overwhelmed," and instead figure out how to make life less so, in the face of things I can't or won't change in the short term: I'm a principal. I'm a mother of three. I'm busy. I have bills to pay. I have laundry to do.
And I was thinking earlier this week that there are seemingly a million little things people do for me and mine everyday to make life easier, better, more beautiful. The colleague who waters my plants; the friend who texts me a coffee icon and an invitation for a fresh cup; the friend who drops off lunch; the parents who offer advice, childcare, and meals; the neighbors who drive my kid to school; the babysitter who comes to me to pick up my baby and goes out of her way every day; the friends who reassure, advocate for, and believe in me; the husband who holds it all together, day in and day out.
Tootsie is on the cusp of turning one year old, on the cusp of walking and talking and ditching the breast and the bottle. She is on the cusp of beyond babyhood. I mused on her sweet uncalloused feet last night, respecting how little time of tenderness remains.
This month of her almost-oneness, the month when, a year ago, our lives went topsy turvy, has been emotional. I can easily recall planning for the upcoming year at work, packing for travel, unpacking at the new house, and enjoying pregnancy. Summer feels like Boston. It feels like the hospital. It feels like uncertainty and anything can happen. It also feels like family, like love, like hope and excitement.
Tootsie is busy, busy, busy. We took her on her first airplane ride since coming home from Boston, to Iowa to visit Husband's father. We spent much of the weekend in the hospice house with family, Tootsie providing distractions and entertainment, cruising from chair to coffee table, babbling and growling and cackling with laughter at her sisters. Life continues, we all nodded, as the seventeen-year cicadas swarming in the trees outside provided a fervent symphony.
She eats curried chicken salad, apples, diced grapes, and even Baked Lays potato chips (benefit of a trip to Subway with her babysitter) with her sharp little teeth, including new fangs on top. She loves swimming, soccer balls (gooooooaaaaaaaaallll!), toys with microphones, and rocks. She sings along. She makes noises like an elephant. She loves her baby cousins.
As always, she grins and smiles and laughs far more than she ever complains. She's been ours for almost a year. We can hardly remember life without her.
Tootsie turned ten months amid a very busy time at home and at school...soccer tournaments, preparations for 5th grade promotion (Big Sis's outfit and event planning...), sister and brother-in-law and baby cousin coming to town, end-of-year awards, campaigning and bond election, and graduation. Meanwhile, she was busy tackling more developmental stages, as well as remaining her cute and smiley self. I found myself having a good old cry at the passage of time (my baby growing less babyish inspiring tears on one hand; my spending time elsewhere as she keeps growing on the other). But I did some healthy reflecting on the nostalgia around our children's inevitable development, and allude to epiphanies below in my graduation speech.
Here's the big "step" Tootsie took last month:
And, of course, such strides result in frequent bangs into furniture and bonkings of her head. She otherwise crawls at warp speed toward the dog food, giggling mischievously en route, or finds tiny objects to put in her mouth to scare the bejeezus out of us.
Instead of the 'ooo' face of wonder she adopted as a tiny baby, she now makes a serious "ohhhhhh" sound and expression when she's truly captivated or curious about something--dogs, animals, and other babies in particular. She loves her cousins.
Her favorite song is Pharrell's "Happy," which Big Sis sang at her choir concert last month. Her favorite books are Hug, Hush Little Baby, and On the Night You Were Born (though she was born in the AM). She likes the Hairy Maclary book, but only until the page with the scary cat, Scarface Claw. Then she cries. She doesn't like the Elmo character at Sea World either.
When her sisters ask her questions like, "Do you want to help me with my homework?" she shakes her head vigorously with big grins. Her vocabulary includes "blah blah blah blah."
She loves to swim and take baths, and we've spent some good times with the cousins in Mammom's swimming pool.
As far as nursing goes, it's like breastfeeding an octopus or wrestler. And she uses her free hand to pound me on the chest.
But she made an apt subject for my first commencement address as a high school principal. Here are Tootsie's Tips:
Last summer I was a pregnant new principal who planned to start
the school year and then take a little time off when our baby was born in
September. But next thing I knew, I was having my baby early, in the
wrong state across the country, and we were in the hospital on your first day
of school. I wound up missing the fall semester of your senior year, and
you can go ahead and blame it on the baby, Faera, or as she became known to
many, Tootsie. As school has come to a close, I’ve been thinking about
some of the lessons Tootsie taught me this year, and I want to pass them along
to you.
First, accept
life’s vicissitudes.
There’s a tendency, a normal and natural and wise
tendency, to plan out your life. And I suggest you do. But this
year I’ve had to recognize what parts of life are in and out of my
control. Tootsie has helped me accept that life is messy, unpredictable,
scary, and mysterious, but also beautiful and surprising and serendipitous. You
may invest time, work, and hope, only to experience a disappointing
outcome. Practice facing the
circumstances before you and renouncing regret for what couldn’t or cannot
be. Tootsie would endorse what your classmate Ines Cruz wrote so aptly in
her Identity Project in art: “I want to fearlessly go, and see what
unfolds before me. If I mess up, I want to know it’s okay; it’s part of
the journey, part of the design of my life.”
Second:
Embrace the new and unfamiliar
During babies’ first months, every experience, every place is
brand new. I watch Tootsie wake up sometimes and I know she’s thinking where
the heck am I now? Here you sit before us, about to depart the
familiar—your daily routine at home and at CHS with the people you know—for an
adventure of the unexplored. You’re going to cry about it
sometimes—Tootsie does—but we don’t bail her out every time she wants to eject
from a seemingly scary place. Recognize that this is your mission:
to explore the new, and to exploit the opportunities that adventure brings. From
Ines Cruz: “I need to walk on warm sand,
not on hot concrete, under stars, not street lamps, over miles and miles of new
places with new people, not standing stagnant in place.”
Third: Make the
most of where you are:
Tootsie only recently started to crawl. She has spent most
of her short life stuck where we put her—in her carseat, stroller, crib, or
front pack. But from flat on her back or sitting up she finds the world
an amazing place and the people around her fascinating. Ever been stuck
in a long line and noticed the adults looking anywhere but at each other?
Babies seek out and gaze right at fellow humans with wonder. They grin,
coo, and engage with anyone who catches their eye, no matter who they are.
You, too, can make the most of where you are, and even make someone’s
day, on planes, in traffic, at jury duty, in your dorm with assigned
roommates: entertain yourself, enjoy the view, bring your best attitude.
Get to know the person next to you.
This one is for the
parents too: Accept your own and others’ evolutions
I always wanted a third baby. I love babies (almost as
much as I love teenagers). But a baby is a growing person, and however much we
want our babies to stay small and cute and cuddly, they grow and change.
Every day my Tootsie is a newer version of herself. And so are you.
You haven’t discovered all of your own strengths, skills, and
vulnerabilities. Future experiences and relationships will bring out new
facets of your self. You don’t have to be whom you have always been or expected
to be. By next summer you may have adopted different interests and
aspirations, hobbies and habits. Be prepared to find your high school
friends and family members have, too. Let yourself and others shed dead
skin and emerge anew. Graduates, parents, friends: pledge to
reacquaint yourself with your loved ones in their present.
Just a few more tidbits
from Tootsie:
Dance, sing, laugh, or act goofy. Every day.
When you perceive an injustice, holler about it.
And finally, Tootsie has this look she gets on her face when
she’s particularly proud of herself. It’s okay to think you’re hot stuff,
especially when you’re making a huge developmental leap. So, high five,
graduates; swagger on down that carpet. You did it. Congratulations.
She's officially been out of the womb longer than she was in. And this month, she's on the go, crawling across the floor as of Sunday morning. We need a gate on those stairs, stat!
When she's not bonking her head during one of her mobile adventures, Tootsie is blowing raspberries, showing off her two little razor-sharp teeth (and using them to gnaw on puffs, strawberries, Mum-Mums, her toes, and family members), lunging at her dog, practicing syllables (dadadada), and perfecting her role as soccer fan. At her developmental check she was deemed right on target. Go Tootsie!
But no, she doesn't sleep through the night. We call that a parenting fail. Okay, okay: One particular parent's fail.
One early morning this month before meeting her babysitter I brought our little rascal into the school library and asked our friend the librarian to hold her as I visited the restroom. I returned to find her being passed around among staff members and students, who were taking pictures with her on their phones and competing for her company. One of the older teenage boys was especially tender with her, resting his head on hers and breathing in her baby scent.
Her ready smiles and willingness to be held by strangers make her a great ambassador and her tagging along renders my work enterprises (cheering at lacrosse games, walking precincts for the bond election, attending superintendent's meetings) much more joyful. Sometimes where my Work Life and Mom Life intersect is stressful, and sometimes it helps me feel better about both. That morning, watching our baby connect with my students, I felt more connected to both them and her.
Her sisters still find that sun rises and sets on Tootsie; in fact, when there are occasions I whisk her off with me early in the morning and return with her late, they admittedly pine for her all day.
I think it's safe to say that I've been feeling out of control. Since, say, January 11 or so, perhaps. As a strategy to exert control over the things that seem to be spinning, I will make a tidy little controlled list of all the factors contributing to my feeling of general entropy:
1. New baby.
2. New baby, born far away and early, necessitating a six-week stay away from home in Boston.
3. A new home I moved back into a month ago, where un-unpacked boxes remained piled in many rooms upon my return.
4. A new job, which I haven't even tried out yet.
5. A new lifestyle and new roles and challenges at home.
6. New childcare arrangements to be made, new routines and logistics to figure out.
7. New bills: diapers, medical, daycare.
My brain wakes up at 5AM and starts cycling through things I feel I need to get ahead of...and I am awake, though my baby is sleeping and I don't need to practice getting up for work, making bottles and lunches, pumping, taking a shower, breastfeeding...yet.
So I should relax.
I started seeing a therapist/counselor/wise woman. For the first time. It's pretty great, though I do a lot of crying. I cry because I know I am going to talk about stuff. I cry out of relief.
I mean, if you know me at all, you know I cry. But the last couple of months have really exercised my tear ducts. I'm looking forward to a dry spell sometime soon, as long as it doesn't mean I'm not feeling anything.
This week my counselor suggested I take my list of things stressing me out and take care of the things I can control. Childcare arrangements, for example. It's such a simple strategy: list the stressors, start managing them. But I was busy wallowing in the stressors, letting them quicksand me into overwhelm.
Most of my anxiety is about going back to work. And most of my anxiety about going back to work has to do with the logistics of getting everyone where they need to be, on time, and doing it right (not driving a starving, sobbing baby and two sisters to piano practice in rush-hour traffic, for example). I worry about having enough time for everyone, and for my job and the people I serve in my job.
I worry a little about this job, of principal, which I haven't done yet. And it's not exactly waiting for me...wheels are turning, stories are unfolding, other people are capably leading, and decisions are being made. My first day of school as new principal will be a midstream day for others. I'll be behind. By the nature of my late start, I'll be a meddler; I'll fumble; I'll step on toes. I'll duplicate and omit and not know what others already know. I'll wonder if I'm being helpful. I'll hope I'm still worthy.
It's going to be interesting.
What is also going to be interesting is the journey of the next month, as I try to drown out the white noise of what I've convinced myself needs to be done, and focus on the essentials: my people. Myself. Things are already less fuzzy. My stomach hurts less. The nervous energy is dissipating. My appetite is returning.
Tootsie is helping by sleeping well at night, getting up only once in the middle of the last two nights. So I'm less tired too.
1. In terms of miles (of sleep) per gallon (of milk), our baby is more Hummer than Prius.
2. We need a device that helps our baby sleep in her bed, something that simulates being held and/or rocked. They don't manufacture faux warm arms, though, and I'm afraid to google the words that will help me find what I'm looking for..."soothing," "vibrate"...
3. We have a wee baby who makes gigantic growling and grunting sounds.
4. There's nothing graceful about pumping breastmilk.
5. When our baby cries or gets ready to, her eyes look just like the emoticon of scrunchy eyes and waily mouth. Kind of cracks me up.
6. Tootsie still has "preemie head": long from nose to back of head and narrow from the front, because of sleeping on her side. They told me in the NICU to round it out by placing her on her back to sleep (of course), but she turns her head to the side. She is going to need to spend a lot more time in her carseat to round things out.
7. She's growing out of newborn clothes! But not newborn behaviors.
8. I predicted when she reached her due date she would start crying more...I was right. She's debuting as a regular baby.
9. So much about parenting has to do with surrender.
10. "It's my last baby" is my hidden, guilty excuse...
It was a long shot (ha!) from the start: scheduling a family photo shoot the day after first soccer games and a sleepover at our house, during a heat wave and amidst our Adjustment Time. Husband was all in, though: he wanted a family photo to use for cards for the countless thank yous we will write to our dear friends who have been feeding us, gifting us, cheering us. Meanwhile the girls scowled at the long-sleeved black shirts and jeans I set aside for them. They scowled in general. It had been a rough morning of sibling rivalry and poor attitudes.
Except not really that rough, unless you acknowledge that sleepovers turn children into ugly, whiny, irrational shells of their former selves. Big Sis was in full throes of Sleepover Detox: Crying, bemoaning her pitiful self. I had little sympathy, having endorsed her sleepover and next-morning pedicures and endured little sleep, myself.
We adopted the Get With the Program approach: You will go, and you will smile and you will Do This because we are asking you to and it's about Family and Knock It Off, for the love of all things holy. She and her red-rimmed eyes trudged into the car, and we apologetically showed up on our photographer/friend's doorstep. She was glad to see we were not perfect, after all, as our marketing director suggests. The girls commenced having trouble sharing the same space right away, what with one of them touching the other accidentally. I could tell by Husband's frozen jawline it would be a long afternoon.
Tootsie took stage first, though, and was marginally cooperative herself, squirming and hiding her eyes behind her little hands, versus curling up in sweet sleep like the babies in the pictures adorning the walls of the studio. She paused for one bottle and a breastfeeding top-off as well as some gnawings on her binky before our photographer could cajole her into some relaxed positions.
Next came the photos with the girls. There were some dorky grins and fake smiles, but the magic came when Tootsie was in the arms of a sister and they were directed to look at her. No more fighting and dirty looks, just pure love and adoration. Thankfully caught on film. Husband and I joined them and we pulled off some Wholesome Family Togetherness too.
It's the whole Facebook thing, right? The images we project can be deceiving. Our photos are lovely and capture our love for one another and our closeness. But in any family, and certainly in ours lately, there's exhaustion, frustrations, emotions across the spectrum burbling underneath. So I'm capturing the outtakes.
We survived intact, and Big Sis was even inching toward her cheerier self by the time we left. Until she bonked her head on the car door...
Today was my first day in sunlight! Because I woke up this morning, and check out my Goal for the Day:
Guess what, I met my goal (sorta--I'm going to hang out in Boston for a while until I head to my Main Crib). But first, I had to accomplish a few things.
Like meet my Mammom, who flew out here from San Diego to get acquainted with me and help bring me home. I am her tenth grandchild! She's a complete pro at being a grandmother, and pretty much a celebrity in my family.
And I had to pass a Car Seat Test. It turns out that the angle of car seats can make it hard for some small people like me to breathe, so we have to show that we are safe sitting in our seats for an extended period of time before we leave the NICU. I took a nice long nap in my seat yesterday. No big deal. Oh, and check out my glow foot--is that awesome or what? Definitely the coolest of my monitor probes.
My nurse gave me a warm bath this morning. After wondering initially what the heck was going on, and then thinking, hey, this kind of reminds me of a warm dark time inside...I relaxed and enjoyed the rubdown. Of course, right after that I made a blowout diaper and my mom had to change my outfit, haha.
Meanwhile Mom had to pack up all our stuff, watch a video on infant CPR, learn how to make my fortified bottles, and sign some paperwork.
The hardest part was I had so many loving people to say goodbye to. I enjoyed some final snuggles with my nurses. So many nurses came by yesterday and had long conversations with my mom. She is going to miss all the friends she made here.
After Mom fed me one more time, nurse Ellen came in to take off my leads to the monitor. No more lines, no more beeping. I was tucked into my carseat and snapped into the stroller, and we rolled out of room 1080. We had a final goodbye at our neighbor's room--she's a preemie too, and her mom and mine made friends upstairs while they were waiting. I'm sending all my strength and growth her way, because she's just begun her journey in the NICU, but she's going to do great. My mom and hers cried and hugged and made the nurses cry too. They gave each other a ton of support. Who doesn't need that in this life?
And then we were leaving Blake 10 and the hospital and moving on. My mom looked a little wide eyed, but I mostly just slept through the journey out and the car ride to my aunt and uncle's apartment at Harvard. I'm ready for the next thing. The Big Wide World and I have lots to do, and I've been working all month long to get started.
Friends, thank you for sticking with us on this adventure, and cheering us on with your notes and gifts and kindnesses. We'll need your love and understanding when we get home too. I can't wait to meet all of you, but I have to hang out in Boston for a bit and then bond with my dad and sisters first. Mom might be a little distracted from the blog because first, she's going to watch me breathe All The Time, and this week we have to check in with doctors to make sure I'm doing okay without my friends at Mass General Hospital, and then ride on the airplane, and get used to being home... She's happy and relieved but a little tired, too. She says six weeks feels a little like it was only a few days, but then, it's almost September and the last time you saw her it was July.
After my sister traveled from the Pacific Northwest to visit me and our baby, I wrote her to say how much I loved all our conversations while she was here. She wrote back, "Me too. Grateful for the one-on-one time. It's rare...a sweet gift from Tootsie."
I had the epiphany then that my sister recognized something important about this six-week experience I've had with my new daughter: it has strengthened relationships, given me time with people who are very very important to me, given my daughters time with people who are important to us, and facilitated some chance encounters with local friends with whom I wouldn't have otherwise caught up.
A dear friend and colleague wrote me an email suggesting that our journey (as chronicled here) may have influenced others as well. "Pound for pound," he wrote, "Tootsie is having quite an impact."
We haven't endured a tragedy; I would not characterize our baby as a "miracle" unless we all are miracles in some form; the magic is in the reaching out and creating community, which she has encouraged me to do.
Tootsie has offered other gifts as well:
1. Boston: I thought, before we arrived in July, that I was more familiar with Boston. It turns out that attending the Harvard-Yale game in 1990 (I mostly remember a discotheque called "Spaghetti," the tailgate area at the stadium, and the rocket MIT pranksters launched from a field goal post during the third quarter) and running the marathon in 1996 did not afford me many memories of the city itself. My recent time here has, though, and I've joked that the little girl who brought us to Boston is still the only family member who hasn't gotten out and about in the city yet. Massachusetts General Hospital is conveniently located within walking distance of just about everything. While visitors were here, we used time between every-three-hour feedings to make field trips to the Inner Harbor, North End, Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market, the Esplanade, downtown, Long Wharf, Beacon Hill, and Back Bay. The other day I even gave directions to a tourist on the street. I loved the city from the start, with its parks, family-friendliness, safety, incredible infrastructure, history, and warm people. We will return here someday as a family to visit Tootsie's birthplace and all it has to offer.
2. Empathy: When Big Sis had surgery for kidney reflux six years ago, I wrote on this blog that one generally comes away from hospital visits feeling grateful and fortunate. This experience is no different. Though we endured a scary time early on when Tootsie's meningitis was raging, she began showing remarkable signs of recovery and strength very soon, and continued her upward trajectory fairly consistently. We are surrounded in the NICU by more sober stories--babies born earlier and with more complications. I met two mothers during dinner in the lounge last night, both of whom gave birth to babies under one-and-a-half pounds at birth. Both babies have serious lung complications and tracheotomies. Both parents have already endured months in the NICU. Both expressed empathy for me when I explained that we were from California. There's no competition among difficult experiences, only empathy and understanding. There's struggle, hardship, endurance, and hope. We all feel it, and living with Tootsie here on the NICU has deepened my sense of empathy for all of us on our journeys, wherever we are.
3. Patience: While I've felt anxiety and stress and the desire to get home, I've practiced patience in new ways during the past six weeks. My initial hospital bedrest foisted patience upon me: there was nothing to do but wait and accept my circumstances. And because I was no longer in control, I was able to do so. No amount of yearning to be home with my children and husband made me want to accelerate our baby's exit from the NICU against better judgment. She's been the captain of our ship, and I've been the patient first mate. I feel a remarkable inner calm and lack of urgency now. We will get home. The next chapters of our life will unfold. I am not pushing.
4. My Littlest Sister: After living on the east coast for seven years after college and teaching abroad in Kenya for a year, I made the decision to return to California and my family. My youngest brother and sister were still in middle and high school--I'd left home when they were eight and five. I have always been glad I made the choice to come home; I credit that decision for my close relationships with those two siblings (now my brother's wife is even my colleague!). The plan for this trip was that the girls and I would spend time with my sister and her husband before and after a week in Maine. Instead, my sister spent nights with me in the hospital and was by my side at Tootsie's birth, and I've shared weeks of meals and conversations with her and her husband. I'm able to more closely admire the life they've built together, their marriage, and their generosity. And this week I'm here for my sister as she copes with unexpected bad news. I wouldn't have been otherwise.
5. Letting Go of Control: I'm a planner and organizer (though my home and desk don't suggest so) and like to have a firm sense of what's coming. 2013 has been a year of unexpected events: pregnancy (though wished for, not counted upon), a new house, and a new job. I must be honest and admit that I've wondered if I could manage it all. I planned to open the school year with enthusiasm and a little trepidation. I hoped I'd resume parenting an infant with relative ease. But I wasn't sure. To cope with some anxiety and insecurity, I began carefully planning, mapping out the six weeks I'd be back to work in August and September pre-baby with to-do lists and calendars. And then Tootsie disrupted my scheme--and my worries about "the other stuff." I wasn't at work in July and August to hire new staff, to set things up and train folks. I'm not there now to set tone, model, and represent our high school as its leader. Because I'm not in control, I can only worry so much. Instead, I focus on the tasks I can actually accomplish from afar, the ways I can help, the reassurances I can give, the questions I can ask on behalf of others, and the decisions I can make. I feel trust in the team. I feel confidence in our community. I know that if I were there--if this hadn't happened--I'd be running on a few more cylinders, spinning out a little, perhaps. And maybe that spinning is why our top landed here, idle for the moment. I suspect returning to my job later this fall will be easier with my new perspective and acceptance of the unexpected. We will see. But I am grateful to Tootsie for helping me let go and be right where I am.
6. Time: Between the waiting upstairs and the pockets of time between infant care and long snuggles now, I've had time to read books, write, and think. No house to clean, meals to prepare, others to care for except sweet baby girl. Time, even alone with one's thoughts, but particularly with an infant, is a luxury indeed.
7. Bonding: I fell in love with our baby the moment she raised her arm high in birth and made the reassuring squawks announcing her debut. I felt I could pick her out of a lineup after a few hours. I believe I know her and her little personality--as tenderly developed as it is thus far--intimately well. She takes long to awaken, grunting, stretching, wagging her head back and forth, sometimes for half an hour. She rarely cries, but when she does, it's a sweet "ewww WAH" followed by a longer "WAAAAAH." When she starts to breastfeed, she often stops to take in the view and contemplate her surroundings and task. She stops everything when I sing to her, save for furious chomping on her pacifier. She is "stingy with her burps," according to the nurses, but noisy when one is on its way. She's alert and watchful and remarkably calm. She can raise her torso by planting her feet on her bed and pushing upward. She's learning to put her fingers to her mouth. She makes the "ooh" face for which her older sister was known. We've had precious bonding time--almost as if we were relegated to a cave together. And because I don't live in the Boston area, I've had nowhere else to be and a laser focus on nurturing Tootsie's growth here in our NICU "home." I suspect we'll long reap the benefits of this unique time together.
8. Gratitude: I've always preferred giving to getting, more comfortable offering others assistance than receiving it. But circumstances sometimes dictate being open to the love and warmth of others without guilt, obligation, or anything but deep gratitude. The doctors, nurses, therapists, and support staff have offered us such personalized, tender care. I have been overwhelmed by the unwavering love and generosity of my family members, willing to fly far to be with me and our daughters. Anything I've needed has appeared, or been offered or procured without question. Friends and colleagues have sent messages of love and encouragement and thoughtful gifts, and cared for our daughters. I've been particularly moved by those who've shared their stories of childbearing and parenting with me, memories and anecdotes unearthed through our own storytelling. We feel so incredibly blessed, nestled in a nurturing cradle of community.
9. Tootsie, Herself: She's a caboose of a kiddo, with siblings seven and ten years older than she, but I can feel already the joy she's bringing into our lives. I look forward to discovering all the other ways she will influence and enrich us.
Thank you for the gift of your presence, sweet baby girl.
Thank you for my gifts, sweet friends--I'm still a Cali Girl!
Today is a big day for our girl. She is three weeks old--and believe it or not, time has sort of flown in that respect here in our little manse in the NICU! Funny to think she is still not "due" yet, though, for another month.
Nurses will insert another peripheral IV for her today in preparation for her MRI. She needs it for the contrast aspect of the procedure.
Last night our proactive nurse began implementing a bottle/breastfeed plan which went well. Tootsie took three bottles, breastfed once (soon I will be limited to only a few times a day so she gets all her calories), and slept through only one feed. She sucks her bottles down in no time whatsoever, despite the slow-flow nipple; there's no doubt she has a healthy appetite. We will keep moving her forward and hopefully away from her NG tube. Things look promising.
Tomorrow is Day 21 of her antibiotics, which means her PICC line will come out as soon as we're confident she won't need it (pending lab results). And then she will have fewer lines--fewer ties binding her, shall we say, to the NICU.
I've had some sweet visits in the past few days. A couple whose children were my students, and who share time between Boston and the west coast, came to say hello, and it was wonderful to see familiar faces and catch up. Yesterday a former student who attends Berklee School of Music came to the hospital to meet our baby and then we went for a long walk through the Public Gardens and down Newbury and Commonwealth Streets (what a gorgeous city this is). I was buoyed by the excitement of my college-age friend, her exuberance for the life she's living and generosity of time with me.
And also, we had ice cream at J.P. Licks. White coffee chocolate chunk...yum.
Here I am in Boston, a city with which we all felt some affinity after the marathon bombings, as its citizens bonded together under the declaration "Boston Strong" and we all felt buoyed by their optimism, fortitude, and generosity to one another. Boston Strong tee shirts are ubiquitous here among residents--I see several on my daily meanderings.
And in the situation and setting I am in, there are many references to and I think a lot about strength.
I mentioned to my sister yesterday that I feel this dichotomy inside. On the one hand, I am someone others consider strong enough to lead a high school. On the other hand, this experience with a sick baby and living far away from family has exposed my greatest vulnerability. I've been weepy, unsure, insecure, worried, anxious, and fearful, even when all signs point in positive directions. Am I these two personae--both capable and fragile?
My sister lives with a son who is in a consistently delicate medical state with his central line. She and her husband count on semi-monthly emergency room visits when my nephew is ill or there are problems with the line or tube sites. We are all in awe of her pragmatism and positivity. On our walk to the harbor yesterday, though, she described having some of the very same irrational thoughts (overwhelming fear of mortality and worries about her children swimming, riding in cars, getting hurt in general) I have found invade my mind and threaten to affect my general outlook.
I go through the mental exercise of counting my blessings and imagining and appreciating those who are experiencing different, more life-threatening hardships. I wonder what it means to be "strong." I wonder about that oft-heard saying that God gives you what you can handle--a suggestion that some of us are built for--and then somehow deserving--of tougher times? I don't subscribe to that philosophy. Instead, I search for the learning in the journey (and as my sister eloquently articulated it as she described a particularly difficult time in their family, "we looked for the message"). What do I know about myself now? What do I better understand about the people around me, about what others are experiencing and what others give and say and use to cope? What do I know about life that I didn't see or imagine before?
Tootsie is tough, I've felt, since her birth when she emerged squawking and alert, to her relatively quick recovery from her serious infection. But the babies here who succumb, are they less strong, less determined? Big Sis is still struggling to understand why our cat couldn't recover from her injuries to live, and in turn I struggle to explain why she would leave us. Why it might appear our kitty couldn't fight anymore. I want my daughter to see the strength in knowing that it's time. There's no rubric for strength applicable to all scenarios which doesn't suggest a kind of comparison, a hierarchy of fortitude.
At home our niece, my daughters' cousin, is caring for her mother, Husband's sister, as she suffers from brain cancer. Our niece has lost her father already, and in her tender twenties and as an only child, she prepares to say goodbye to her mother, too. This beloved and admirable niece is the same one who managed Husband's mother's hospice care two Christmases ago. She is a hero in our family. And not only for what she's endured--for who she is.
I think of her as having indomitable strength, but with that characterization comes the subtle pressure that suggests she shouldn't waver from her resolute and realistic care and decision-making on behalf of her mother. That she can't break down and feel helpless and wonder why why why. I'm thinking differently about strength, now. I'm thinking it's the staying of the course, the resigned travel down the path which includes breakdowns and meltdowns and steps backward and forward. The genuine acknowledgement that there are surges of hope and depths of despair. We are all strong for facing our challenges, then.
I want to share part of our niece's story with you, in her own words.
What do you know about strength, from yourself and others? When have you faced your most vulnerable self?
My sister from Oregon is here, and brought bows and flowers and outfits to dress up our little girl:
There's no denying she's cute.
She was also present to see Tootsie top the scales at 5lbs. 1oz. last night!
My sister has experienced a range of medical issues and challenges with her three sons, including a NICU stay with her eldest, and motility issues with both her first and second sons (which I've written about here). Right now there's a kinship between our cousin on a feeding tube and our own baby with her NG tube, too. We've bonded as I listen to my sister recall her own NICU saga and provide updates on the status of my nephews' health. My sisters--one a nurse, the other with so much experience in the hospital--have been ideal companions through this journey.
We're trying to figure out how much breastmilk Tootsie is getting during a feeding, so at some point during the day we weigh her before and after a feed. It's an inexact measurement because she has lines dangling, but last night it looked like she took 26 milliliters. The nurse subtracted that much milk (the most we've ever measured) from her fortified tube feed. Well, about an hour later, she started squawking. She was still hungry. She is interacting more and more with regard to her feeding, which is a great sign. We'll expect her to be more in charge of when she feeds when she goes home. The current plan, to help support her growth and weight gain, is for us to feed her by (supplemented) bottle of breastmilk most times, and feed by breast alone three times a day or so. As she shows continual weight gain, we'll add more breastfeeding.
My sister and I wandered to Boston's North End for dinner last night, the Italian section of town. It was hopping on a Saturday night, with a feast celebration running down several blocks and lines for every restaurant. We were fortunate to secure a table quickly in a great trattoria and had a lovely dinner. We returned to find our night nurse is a North End resident.
My sister leaves today, and my Cambridge sister returns tomorrow. I'm hoping my next family visitor is my mother, who will come help us transition out of the NICU, onto an airplane, and home to our family. Wednesday is Day 21 of the antibiotics regimen, so we're hopeful we will know more then...
Tootsie news yesterday by statistics: It's Friday, so she's 35 weeks. And she is on the ounce-a-day gain train, now only two ounces shy of a nice round five pounds! She passed her hearing test (which I anticipated, because she reacts so strongly when I sing to her. Ahem. No comments, please) and I got to wash her hair.
Her biggest obstacle to surmount before she is sprung from the NICU is taking all her feedings by mouth. She needs to be alert at each three-hour feeding first, and she still sleeps through several a day (which means they hook up her milk by tube).
I've found myself having to avoid reading too much news, as there is too much depressing coverage, with crashing planes, kidnappings, protesters dead, babies abandoned. As a friend wrote on Facebook, "I wish I could unread that Hannah Anderson article..."
We are also at a place in the NICU where Tootsie is stable and basically what they call a "Feeder/Grower." Yet we are surrounded by very sick babies, and I pass by their rooms with hope and reverence, mindful of where their parents are on their journeys with their newborns.
My family--determined to have someone here to support me at all times--provides uplift and distractions and opportunities for fresh air. And the internet comes through with some sources of inspiration.
Here's a video about a teacher, dad, and human being determined to enrich others' lives:
And here's a mother panda reunited with her baby (I can so relate to this one!)
Note, however: syrup or honey or whatever they used to distract Mom while they sneaked her baby away wouldn't work on me...but the promise of sleep, maybe, would...
Premature babies are often referred to as "disorganized" by nurses, doctors, occupational and physical therapists, lactation consultants, and their own parents when they're eight years old and up (I can just see the excuse from Tootsie now: "But Mom, I've been disorganized since birth! I was born this way!").
What the professionals are referring to is the babies' tendency to flail arms and legs around, crane neck from side to side, and generally exhibit entropy from their core. Unlike full-term babies, they don't have the motor skills and neuro pathways developed enough to keep things centered and calm. If you watch Tootsie, she's still trying to figure out her hands as they're related to her mouth (and her arms!).
It all makes sense if you consider that at almost 35 weeks gestation, our baby girl should still be in the womb for a month more, curled in a ball, organized. Almost everything they do here in the NICU is meant to replicate that experience (lots of sleep, quiet, swaddling) so that her brain and body can continue to develop, as was her only job inside of me. Now, though, she is charged with learning to eat from the breast and bottle, too, and fatten herself up so she can regulate her own temperature outside the consistently warm environment in utero. It's quite a transition, and she has a lot of work to do that would normally be accomplished by amniotic fluid and the umbilical cord.
Since she can't only focus on the skills that will bring her home--feeding and fattening--and since brain development is so crucial too, her Care Team restricts the number of time she breastfeeds (and bottle feeds) for now, ensuring that she not only gets enough extra calories through her tube feeds, but that she also has plenty of opportunities to sleep. The process of getting her home is slow and steady, and the discharge date on her board still reads "TBD" as I suspect it will for some time.
Yesterday's leap was, after recording weight gain to 4lbs. 12 oz., lifting the pop top of her isolette and having her sleep in room-temperature air. Last night's nurse bundled her up and watched her temp closely, and so far so good. She may even graduate to a big-girl crib soon!
In the meantime, we're keeping her organized: Legs tucked, arms and elbows oriented to her midline.
It will be interesting to see what her backpack looks like in middle school...
Organized baby: swaddled, tucked in, binky deployed, and doll from the USVI providing support
Let's begin with a goofy picture of Punk Rock Baby Tootsie.
Her hair and the shadows of the blanket beneath her head conspire to make it appear she has quite the mohawk. In fact, she has a surprising amount of corn-silky-soft black hair in a pixie 'do.
Baby had a great night last night. She had only one apneic episode; she tolerated her feeds well and appears ready for an increase in volume; she began sucking on a binky.
When swaddled and snuggled in for the night, she was so calm and expressive with her eyes (so very cute, our nurse told us), that the nurse beckoned others to come admire her, too. We're totally biased, of course, but Tootsie is clearly building a dedicated fan club.
Last night's nurse let us know that she was requesting to be part of Tootsie's Team. I'd forgotten that my sister (and mother of a preemie cousin who is now a healthy five years old) shared that our baby would have a core care team of nurses. Because we know that she will be in the hospital for at least 21 days to run her courses of antibiotics, they're beginning to assemble Tootsie's Team. She's taking letters of interest and applications and clearly showing off to win over the pool of qualified potential draftees. Tootsie's Team and her room will be our home away from home, and we will all become familiar with one another as we collaborate on her care and the nurses train us to take over delicate aspects of protecting a preemie baby.
We were present for a consult and examination by the Occupational Therapist. She checked reflexes and observed her movements and alertness. We all noted her rooting behavior, one of the signs she is preparing herself to suckle a bottle or breast. Her rooting and sucking makes her eligible for daily scoring on a feeding readiness scale, and we will get to present her with an empty breast soon for her to practice licking and tasting. I'm very excited about this step and motivated to breastfeed, not only for the health and convenience benefits, but because it's a most awesome bonding experience for mother and baby. I've cherished it each time, and am more determined than ever to breastfeed our last little one. I'm pumping every three hours around the clock to stimulate my production and generate milk for her feeds.
This afternoon was our Family Meeting. When I told my brother in the USVI that we had a Family Meeting planned for later in the week, he responded, "Hmmm. So you and Husband and Tootsie will get together and talk things out...?" Haha.
The Family Meeting comprised Husband and I, two of her nurses, the social worker, a hospital administrator, a neonatology intern and the neonatology fellow, who ran the meeting.
We expected to discuss growth and development goals, thresholds for stepping down to the Special Care Nursery, and plans for family accommodations after my discharge from the hospital tomorrow.
But the meeting began on a very serious note, with a review of the events around her infection and its severity, and how The Team would continue to address potential ramifications.
Honestly, once we'd gotten through Wednesday and marked two clear blood cultures and Tootsie's promising recovery, The Infection moved to a more distant and less significant part of my hard drive. But the doctor dragged it right back onto the desktop, reviewing mortality rates and statistics related to defects and brain damage. Tootsie would have another spinal tap, soon, the doctor reminded us, to rule out lingering bacteria in the meninges and fluid. And close to the end of her 21-day courses of antibiotics, Tootsie will have an MRI so we could see effects on the brain of the infection, if any. Statistics are around 50% likeliness that she will have some neurological effects (developmental delays, cerebral palsy, seizure disorder, among other possibilities). While we're fortunate that infection was expected and antibiotics started right away, she still grew cultures from her first lumbar puncture, and we don't know how long she was suffering from infection in utero.
We moved on to discuss her recent notable developments, alertness, and activity levels, and goals for her feeding. Much more fun topics! We closed the meeting by talking about my discharge and options for sleeping on the couch in Tootsie's room, temporarily occupying a family dorm room in the hospital, and making use of hospital-provided taxi vouchers to shuttle me to and from my sister's apartment while I am still healing from the c-section. We toured the dorm rooms (not unlike the closet-bedrooms I slept in in college), and they showed us the microwave and fridge and stash of saltines and peanut butter and jelly packets for parental snacking under duress.
And then we went back to see Toots, who was bright-eyed and adorable as usual, enduring a diaper change and looking, really, quite normal.
It turns out it's hard to look into those eyes and worry. She's a pretty reassuring bug.
In the conference room, the specter of having a child with neurological challenges felt scary, disappointing, mysterious. But with our baby in front of us, progressing as a child her gestational age would and should, the fear is unsteady on its feet. If this little girl, with a tight grip on our fingers and eyes that respond to our voices, has developmental problems, we will certainly learn about them and grow up with them together. Right now, she's exactly what we signed up for--a baby (and she has already far exceeded our expectations). No diagnosis or knowledge revealed by testing will change how she presents to us at this moment, and what we see: a nearly perfect baby human (and a darned cute one at that!). Of course, not all is as it initially seems sometimes--a mohawk might just be a halo, or a crown, or an illusion. But the magic of parenting is how your children are immediately yours, no matter what. Oh how I feel that today.
We're bound to find out lots of things along her way--quite possibly that she's disorganized, impulsive, maybe weepy under duress like her mother, or a little grumpy like her dad. She may have a thing for numbers and not for spelling. She could have two left feet. She might sing off key. Nevertheless, hers is exactly the model we've fallen in love with and are taking home, and we accept all her features and those which will reveal themselves to us as she gradually reveals herself to the world.
It's such an exciting prospect, that we're only on day four of this unfolding saga, the discovery of our new family member. It's worthy of a daily celebration.
Yesterday afternoon, my sister-in-law sent a video of Little Sis taking a horseback riding lesson at a race horse sanctuary on St. Thomas. As Little Sis and her horse walked laps in the paddock, I could hear the gent giving her the lesson reminding her to "Breathe! Breathe!" Because you know, of all the fundamentals required for horseback riding, breathing is pretty much...essential.
I used deep breathing--counting deep breaths--as a strategy for getting through painful contractions last week.
And it's hard not to admonish from the sidelines, "C'mon, Tootsie! Breathe!" when she "forgets" during an apneic episode.
We've been all alternately holding breaths and panting. When we are deep in intense or stressful moments, we paralyze our breathing without recognizing we are doing so. That's why we hear so often as part of singing, dancing, playing musical instruments, swimming, lifting, concentrating. stretching, meditating, enduring transitions, preparing for pain: Don't forget to breathe. Take slow, deep breaths. Inhale through the nose; exhale through the mouth.
Because deep breaths are calming. And I have extra time for them right now. Baby is practicing regular breathing. It's a habit she will have to show she has mastered before we go home.
Yesterday morning my goal was to take a shower and wash my hair, the same goal I had on Tootsie's birthday. It was the first, but it won't be the last time she foils my plans for basic hygiene. Yesterday, though, I triumphantly showered and shampooed. I applied deodorant and lotion and I put Real Clothes on. I felt like a million bucks as I scoffed at the wheelchair and told the nurses I would walk to the NICU.
We'd already heard the first good news of the day from the NICU: Tootsie's blood culture came back negative, a sign she was defeating her infection (she needs at least two more negative cultures to confirm a fully treated infection).
We arrived to find her a reassuring rosy-pink color and wiggly: stretching, grimacing, kicking, raising her arms overhead.
The nurse declared her ready for her first feed: 5 cc of breastmilk via her tube. I got to administer my magic milk, gently pulsing a syringe over five minutes. I also swabbed her mouth and lips with a breastmilk-soaked q-tip.
She'd been too weak to feed only yesterday, but today was looking auspicious already.
Casual leg=vacation mode
The nurse told us this would be the first in a cycle of three-hour feedings, with the next one at 2 PM.
We went back to the room for lunch, a nap, and a surprise visit from the sister of a dear friend of ours. She brought chocolate, a hand-crocheted hat for Toots, and a book set in Maine (since I missed my time there).
Husband returned to the NICU for her next feeding, and got to change a diaper too. He reported that they'd begun swaddling to help calm her and maintain her regular breathing patterns.
I went down for her 5 o'clock feeding with one of our dedicated nurses in tow who was determined to catch a glimpse of our girl. Evelyn was there for the next round of good news: the umbilical line monitoring her blood pressure wasn't working, and because they knew her pressure was stable, they took it out.
That was the line that precluded us from holding her. And I would get to hold her, for the first time, if I wanted. I resisted jumping up and down and clapping.
I settled into a comfy recliner, pulled my top down, and snuggled my baby right up on my chest, skin to skin. It was her first time lying on her tummy, and she looked and felt content. My whole body, heart, and soul absorbed her in that two-hour snuggle worth waiting for. I put the Patty Griffin Pandora station on so I could sing to her. We dozed. Then I FaceTimed with my mom and the girls so they could see her and me, together.
Biology and bonding did its work. Soon I felt the twinges of my uterus contracting down and my breasts leaking milk, even though she hadn't even suckled. Pumping was working to stimulate my production, but being around my baby brought my milk in.
My view of our little nugget:
Finally it was time to return her to her giraffe. We started with a diaper change. Tootsie had missed her 5 o'clock feeding because it appeared she hadn't fully digested her last round of milk. She'd have to digest and poop, probably, to be ready for more.
But inside her nappy was the next surprise. The nurse caught a glimpse of dark meconium and declared herself in love with our baby. Tootsie artfully dodged a suppository with that brilliant maneuver. Apparently she's Harvard material in bowel movements, too.
We changed her diaper, and our nurse swaddled her and propped her on her side. Baby popped her eyes open for a prolonged period of quiet watchfulness, comforted by her warm cocoon, anticipating her next round of breast milk. It was hard for me to leave, with her eyes locked with mine and responding to my voice. These are the mystical moments when one believes an infant to be an old soul. It doesn't matter if she's not; staring into each other's eyes becomes part of her development of emotional intelligence, of understanding what it is to be human. Of becoming responsive and connected and attached.
Soon, though, her eyelids were drooping, and I was feeling hungry. The nurse sent me back to my room with a few Tootsie-scent-drenched blankets to snuggle in my sleep tonight.
What a beautiful day. We acknowledge that this journey is potentially rife with twists and turns, but yesterday was about strength and health and connections--all pluses to carry into today, another bright day, I'm betting. At 2PM we'll have a "Family Meeting," in which the nurses, doctors, and social worker will meet with us in one big huddle to answer questions and chart a tentative course for the future.
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