Just checking in

I often wonder how I'm doing.

Sure, I live in my own skin and brain and carry both about with me as the hours tick by--but sometimes I doubt that I'm doing as well as I think I am. Or am I? I mostly have no idea, really.

I have moments that kind of feel like the moments I'm used to having in my life: laughing, enjoyment in people, feeling trust in the future, not so weary, knowledge that my life is good.

And then I have moments and I feel...scarred. Like the emotional baggage of the past six months has made things cloudy and heavy and hard and wounding.

So, I just don't know.

A conversation I had with T on Saturday has been echoing in my head all week. Over dinner we were talking about where we were at this time last year: We'd just gone to see Dr. EBFS about getting pregnant again and decided to wait until May when Ezra turned 1. I told T, "If I'd known in May that we'd get pregnant on our first try, I'd hyperstimulate to all of the drugs, feel miserable for months because of that, find out how extremely pregnant we turned out to be and wrestle with that emotionally and physically, travel two hours for multiple, very stressful appointments, end up in and out of the hospital three times, have my water break four months early, deliver three and a half months, lose a child and have one child remain in the hospital indefinitely--I'm not sure I'd choose that again. I would say 'No, thank you. One child is enough for me.' "

I was being honest and T didn't judge me. He said he would choose this because it gave us Iris.

I wouldn't trade her in, but I'd gladly swap the struggle for something less character-building.

Go figure

There are two themes to this post:

1) The game Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon has always intrigued me, and
2) I sometimes remember random things

While not very good at the aforementioned game, I am always mystified at all interconnected we all are. And by "we" I mean everyone on the Earth.

Story 1: There is a guy in the town where I live and work who I know only because he used to do some work for my dad. I see this guy everywhere. Everywhere, I tell you. Walking down the sidewalk. At the place where I like to get soup. At my place of work because his company supplied the chairs in the computer lab. Buying mulch one Saturday at the same exact place I was buying mulch. Buying pants at an outlet mall two hours away from where we live. At a triathlon one Saturday while Ezra and I took a walk in the park. I could go on and on. It's really kind of ridiculous. The thing is, I'm pretty sure he has no bloody idea who I am, however, I find it mystifying that I see him on the regular.

Story 2: I tend to leave the house at pretty much the same time each morning and in doing so, I have started seeing the same car about halfway through the trip. Accord. White. Bumper sticker. Dent.

Story 3: Through one of my classes in college, I met this guy. He was nice and funny and witty and good at being wry. As we chatted one day, he told me that his grandfather won an Oscar. An honest to goodness Oscar. Turns out his grandfather was a famous cinematographer and won an Oscar for his cinematography in West Side Story. Huh.

I was lying in bed and not really thinking of anything else in particular when I remembered this guy from college and his Oscar-winning grandfather.

Then I started thinking of other ways we're all connected and I just find it so neat.

Do you have any mysterious connections, purposeful sightings or other tidbits you remember randomly?

Ham Revolt

Dear Sandwich Place That Sounds Likes Schmimmy Schmon's:

I'm not sure what went wrong, but something did. And now I feel like our relationship is in question. And this hurts my heart.

Last week when my husband was out of town, I turned to you for my ham sandwich needs. You gladly added extra cheese and avocado. I gladly tipped 50% because your delivery was indeed freaky fast.

Last night I again called for a ham sandwich. Husband, while in town, was eating Indian and I just can't stomach Indian. Again delivered with lightening speed, I ate my ham sandwich and shuffled off to bed.

Mere minutes later, however, I was doubled-over in pain. The ham was staging a coup against my insides and my insides were losing.

The battle was waged for a good (no, bad!) two and half hours. My guts still gurgle now. Freaky, is right.

Now I doubt you. I don't want to, but I do. I just can't subject myself to that again anytime soon. Maybe when the pain is less new, less raw I will return.

In the meantime, I will be turning elsewhere for my ham needs.

Yours,

K

All clean

Yeah, nevermind all that

I am weary.

Yesterday Iris was set back to square one by being put back on her CPAP and with a fairly high setting. Her blood gas tests weren't looking good at all and they needed to give her lungs a break--they seemed to be working too hard. This is an issue totally related to being born three and a 1/2 months early. To only being 2/3 of the way done before coming into the world.

In the last conversation with the nurse practitioner yesterday evening, she said that Iris will probably be at the hospital at 40 weeks and probably even at 44 weeks.

That is six weeks from now. At best. I can't think about this without crying.

While there is a modicum of comfort in continuing on with what we know, I don't want this to be my lot.

I read once on a preemie message board that after all is said and done, and even after you get home with your baby--that it still feels like someone might change the plan; come to your house and tell you to take her back--that she's not quite ready to be yours alone.

I totally understand.

That's the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it

I am neurotic in lots of ways. Meticulous? Probably. But mostly just anal retentive.

1. My underwear usually matches. Bras to undies and vice versa.
2. Before I leave work each day, I clean up my desk.
3. I regularly clean out my email and don't hold onto anything I don't think I'll need.
4. When I buy a new piece of clothing, I usually tidy up and clean out my closet. Just always feels like new clothes should have a good place to live. This also goes for my makeup bag and the refrigerator.
5. The instant nail polish chips, I take it off.
6. I make the bed every day.
7. When something is cancelled on my calendar I cross it off in red pen.
8. I vaccuum and Swiffer a lot.
9. I'm pretty sure I could never have a dog due to the mess.
10. When T travels for work, I ask him to call me when he arrives at his desk otherwise I envision fiery infernos on the highway/landing strip.

The thing is, I try to keep a tight rein on the neuroses so that they don't impact other people--or give myself away as a wackadoodle--too much. Yeah, I hate toys scattered everywhere, but I try to not dwell on it too much with Ezra as I don't want to make him a weirdo who's uber tidy and can't find himself a wife. T's crumbies in the living room bother me, but I try not to hassle him and instead just vacuum them up. Did I tell you we got a new vacuum? It's an Oreck and I want to slip it the tongue I love it so much.

For validation's sake, please share with me the ways you are neurotic. It'll make me feel better.

Say what?

Today the doctor dropped the h-bomb: home. It is the first time that any of the neonatologists have talked about her coming home. I understand that they needed to be cautious, extremely so given Iris's instability, but...yeah. She's stable. She's not pulling any new shenanigans. She's doing okay. It's possible she'll be coming home before her due date. (knocking on wood)

A few things need to happen: Iris needs a bit of work on taking a bottle. Chances are she won't be able to bottle feed all of her feedings until after her heart surgery, or three months down the road. It's just too much for her to be able to do. It would like asking you to sprint a 5K and then chug a bottle of water--kind of hard to swallow and breathe at the same time.

At any rate, a few bottle feedings and a few gavage feedings and she can be out the door. It will be kind of not ideal to have to gavage feed at home, but whatevs. SHE'D BE AT HOME.

Oxygen-wise, well, that's up to the eye doctor. She needs oxygen now because the increased flow helps her retinas. She doesn't, however, need the oxygen for her lungs. If the ophthalmologist thinks her eyes are stable without the increased oxygen, then she'd be home without it. I would love to have no oxygen monitors/tanks/nonsense to deal with, but whatevs. SHE'D BE AT HOME.

And that's it folks. Those are the only two considerations keeping her at Chez Medical. Everything else can be handled on an outpatient basis.

What this means is that T and I need to get crack a lackin' at home and at work. I sorted and T washed all of the newborn clothes. One of which she is wearing today after having grown out of her preemie clothes. Due to the increased size of the outfit and the collar on it, she kind of ended up looking like a clown. Poor soul.

I also made a comprehensive list of Things to Do Before Iris Comes Home (don't judge the list, I had to put everything down for fear of forgetting something):

• Dentist appt. for me
• Dentist appt. for Ezra
• Vaccinations for Ezra (we space his out)
• Taxes
• Hair appt.
• Audi taken care of
• Garland taken down (yeah, it's still up from Christmas. am hillbilly.)
• Dishwasher? (is on fritz and I am soooo ready to bail on it)
• Put crib together

Then there is a list of Things to Buy for Iris Before Iris Comes Home:

• Cordless white noise machine
• Chair
• Mattress for crib
• Crib bumper
• Bottle warmer
• Sling
• Sleep positioner
• Rug
• Burp clothes
• Pacifiers

Speaking of which, I am struggling with the bottle warmer and sleep positioner. Logistics requires one and Iris's mild reflux the other, and while reviews on Amazon are fabulous--I'm not finding what I need. Has anyone used one of these items and found one they love or loathe? Feel free to weigh in on the debate.

So, that's where we are. I could write ad nausium about what nervous tummy of excitement/anxiety Iris coming home gives me. Or how I can't even fathom what it will be like to not figure out the logistics of our weekends with one parent at home and one parent at the hospital. Or how I worry a little bit about figuring out daycare once I do decide to go back to work. But, meh. This blog isn't going anywhere (lucky for you!--snort) and I'm sure that when I'm at home on maternity leave with Iris, sitting unshowered on a gray, March afternoon--perhaps I'll delve into those oh, so lively topics then. Try not to wait with baited breath.

Now, back to my list...

What your name is?

It may have been last week when a co-worker and I decided to put our names in Urban Dictionary to see what comes up. This activity timesuck came on the heels of a Very Serious Letter from the in-house legal counsel about some recent computer use of the dirty monkey-variety that some staff have been engaging in while at work. Heh.

Which begs the question: why are you looking at porn at work? Really? The porn? Is it that bad at home, buddy?

Anyway, back to Urban Dictionary. Mine came up as:

The most awesome tiger ever! She's a beast, a lady in the streets but a freak in the sheets. Cute white chick that tries to act black even though she lives in the richest white-est town in northern cali. Amazing gymnast! Funny, caring and beautiful. Very talkative!

I'm not sure I feel comfortable confirming that "freak" allegation nor do I live in Cali.

But I do like to talk and am okay with being considered an awesome tiger.

What does Urban Dictionary have to say about you?

Smelling salts

This weekend was nutty with a topcoat of nuts.

It was a flurry of errands and grocery shopping and birthday present shopping and new clothes for Ezra because he is a noodle and has grown out of everything and making birthday cakes and crockpotting dishes to pass and visiting Iris and organizing things in Ezra's new dresser and organizing things in Iris's room and doing scads of laundry.

It was so frenetic and it left me so tapped out that I cried a bit on Sunday afternoon.

But woe is me, right? Oh so sad for having a son to buy clothes for and a husband who loves lemon bundt cake (Williams Sonoma, ready mix, pricey but heavenly).

After a tear or two dropped into the stand mixer, I pulled it together, folded my whites and pressed on. As my good friend M's husband once told her when wrestling with seafood one nice dinner out, "Dip it in butter and press on."

I think what left me Weepy Willy is that I am continuously feeling stretched yet I am getting no more hours in the day and have been given no more energy. I just keep needing to Man Up and I get so very tired of it.

As it is, I very rarely see my friends. I have a list of people I think about incessantly and want to call but can't seem to find the time to do so. I am so very hairy and yet shaving my legs is time best spent doing something else--like, for instance, instead worrying about the hair growing on my upper lip. Because you can ignore leg hair, but no one thinks a librarian with a Stalin-esque 'stache is approachable.

All of this to say: Saturday and Sunday were busy. I am happy it is Monday.

Ezra, however, is happy to discover that the words he knew before can now be combined into sentences effective for bossing us around: "I have it?!" and "Sit sit down!" and "What a doin'?" It's nice to hear him express his need for help, a hug or chicken nuggets. To have him show us where his "owie" is. To ask him what he wants for dinner. To hear him shout "Hi, Iris!" as we drive by the hospital on our way home from school.

Yesterday we took him to see Iris and he was so excited he shrieked, squealed and did his signature move of simultaneously clenching his fists and body while also smiling weirdly. The minute we were at her bedside? He was all "Pffft." and wanted to run around the joint. And, gasp, sit on the floor--which, yuck. It was all I could do to keep from Purelling his pants before we got home. So, sisters: great in theory, boring in reality.

Word out on the street is that Iris is coughing after her feedings probably due to some reflux, might be moved out of the NICU and into the NIM since she's considered stable and is really only still at the hospital because of her feedings. Two of her nurses have said that once she's off compressed feedings (she gets her food dropped into her tummy over an hour and a half versus gavaging which takes 10 minutes), they might start talking h-o-m-e. She'll probably go home tethered to some things--a bit of oxygen, a tube to gavage, maybe an apnea monitor--but most babies shed those nuisances once they're 42-44 weeks. She is 37 weeks. She turned 3 months old last Thursday.

This gig is hard, yo

Ezra had his second pair of tubes put in yesterday. We had to be there at the ungodly hour of 6:30am and I felt bad about having to wake him up in the morning. Waking a sleeping toddler is perhaps the most unnatural thing In the Entire Universe. I have spent 20 months and some-odd-days treasuring his every sleeping moment, and so when I have to wake?him?up?, it feels like I'm trying to write with my left hand. Or eat broccoli. Or drive in the UK. Just ain't right.

Anyway, I had enough gray matter to pack every single one of his treasured lovies (blankie! paci! baby bear! books! juice! my cell phone!) to entertain him while we waited in the room. Thankfully I was able to schedule it at an outpatient surgical center a few minutes from our house rather than at the hospital downtown where Iris spends the bulk of her time.

Ezra colored, tried to put his finger in the electrical sockets, said "hi" to the anesthesiologist and soon we were heading into the operating room. I was allowed to hold him and he even had his paci and baby bear while they put him under.

10 minutes later the doctor came and let T and I know that everything went a-okay. Poor little buddy had two raging ear infections--and we had no idea.

From here everything goes dramatically better than it did the first time around. In July? Ezra was inconsolable and horribly disoriented coming out of the anesthesia. This time around--5 minutes of crying and lots of snuggling. In July? Ezra took a four hour nap right when we got home. This time around--he was running around the living room after an episode of Jack's Big Music Show. It was like any other morning and looking at him you'd have no idea that he had surgery a mere 45 minutes prior.

Seeing that all was well, I got ready for work and then headed to the hospital to hang out with Iris for a bit.

She is doing well, but it's clear that as she gets bigger her VSD is becoming more of an issue. She still doesn't have congestive heart failure, but the VSD is slowing down her weight gain and it's making the introduction of the bottle a slower process and it's putting some fluid around her lungs and it's just a big dark cloud of crap looming out there.

For the past few weeks Iris has been chugging right along with no little setbacks and now...the fluid. The doctor nuked it with some meds, but still. She's breathing a bit harder so having her back on the CPAP is not out of the question.

A week ago I could physically feel her momentum towards coming home. Today? It feels like she's going to be there for eternity; that this will have to be our new norm: Daughter at the hospital.

Yesterday and today I feel a manic. So, so happy that we did Ezra's procedure sooner rather than later, that it went exceedingly well and that he woke up this morning the happiest I've seen him in almost a week. But also so worried about Iris. Will she ever gain enough weight to make the doctors happy? Will she ever come home?

Blah.

I hate being wishy-washy but I am so there right now.

Share the love

I read two posts this morning on thankfulness and gratitude, and so I am compiling my own list of things I am thankful for and loving at this particular moment. Just love; no hate.

Love: This, these, this, this and oh, these from the Spring Boden catalog that arrived the other night. Want to order it all!

Love: My boss so called in to work. Woot!

Love: An afternoon conference call has been rescheduled! Double woot!

Love: Before leaving the house, I remembered that I put $20 and my credit card in my other coat this morning.

Love: Ezra is feeling up and at 'em and slept the entire night without a peep. I slept super hard and dreamt of casseroles. Both were rich with fabulousness.

Love: T is going to be home before Ezra and I arrive and promised to have the driveway snowblowed.

Love: I am rereading Little Men.

Love: The FiberOne toaster pastries are really tasty.

Love: T and I hung all of the prints in Iris's room this weekend. My dad cut them to size, I framed them, T was on measuring duty and Voila! they were up.

Love: Ezra is getting tubes put in his ears again tomorrow (one fell out, the other is looking slippery) and while this is not a love (nor is the 6:30am arrival time), I like knowing what to expect.

Love: My husband just called to tell me that he had a meeting with a guy wearing a toupee and he couldn't stop staring at it.

Love: I have lost a few pounds.

What are you loving? Remember: just love! no hate!

Random useless tidbits

It occurred to me this weekend that the regular "Random useless tidbits" could really be called "Things that are interesting to me but don't really warrant a blog post and may not be actually interesting to you."

****

The vending machine at work spits out the best French Vanilla Hot Chocolate drink. And it's only 75 cents! 75 cents, people! That's about $3.25 cheaper than what I usually buy at my regular coffee stop.

****

Ezra was sick this weekend. Coughing, runny nose, coughing then vomiting while in his highchair, even runnier nose, temp of 101. We were knee deep in snuggling. But the worst part of a sick toddler is when they're well enough to exert some will, but not well enough to use their normal voices. The whining that kicked in this morning still makes my hair curl. It was horrible. Here's hoping he leaves it at daycare.

****

I am making a mexican cheesy chicken casserole for dinner. It's a recipe from a co-worker and we refer to it simply as The Casserole. It's fabulousness in layers.

****

Iris had her weekly eye exam today. The doctor said things look steady and he expects her to avoid the laser surgery. Of course, he said that's what he hopes for. And, of course, I was all, "Listen, buddy, you're not the only one with hopes, don't you know."

****

I am back working full-time and there was much gnashing of teeth and spitting in the general direction of HR last week when this decision was made. While my boss and my boss-boss have made it clear that I can take any time off I need, at this point--having plowed through all of my paid time off--any time I'm not at work will be unpaid. So the maternity leave I'll take when Iris comes home will be unpaid. Meh. It blows and I've pretty much accepted it.

So I am working 8am-5pm and taking a two hour lunch to spend time at the hospital. I haul biscuits to the hospital, use the valet, launch myself out of the car and hustle to her bedside.

The good thing is that she is all but free roaming and I don't need a nurse's help to get her out of her bed. I grab a chair and get her out.

So...I guess this heading back to work comes at a good time. I have less time during the day, but my time at the hospital is maximized.

****

Now I know you've all been on tenterhooks as to what I'm going to do about pumping and, well, T and I have made a decision: I'm going to pull the plug once Iris comes home. I can't even fathom trying to feed a baby, pump for a baby and wrangle a toddler for all of that just reeks of potential pitfalls. And exhaustion. And toplessness.

Pretty much the only reason I want to keep pumping is that I dig a bigger bustline. "Breast is best" for the baby being catchy to say and whatnot, but mostly I'll be sad to see them go.

****

T called me a Taskmaster this weekend. I in turn told him to stop being a butthead.

Really. Really?!

Conversation, mostly one-sided, had at the mildly nice car wash this weekend.

Scene: Ezra is on my lap and we are snuggling and looking at the cars going down the conveyor belt.

Woman stranger: I am so glad this football is over with.

Me: Mmmhmmm.

Ezra: E-i-e-i-o

Woman stranger: During the football season where I work most of the men either come in drunk or not at all. Frankly, I'd rather have them there even if they are drunk.

Me: Ahhh.

Woman stranger: I have to ask you...

Me: (sigh, know what's coming)

Woman stranger (whispering): ...is he adopted or is he yours?

Me: Oh, he's mine. My husband, his father is African.

Ezra: (just staring, hairy eyeball perhaps)

Woman stranger: See! I love the black men too! I think they're just nicer! I've had better luck with them.

Me: Ahhhh.

Was there anything else even to say. It was just so ridiculous.

In the meantime, a woman comes in who is was insanely tan but...had white ears. Clearly, some self-tanner gone awry.

Just another Monday at the car wash.



*"Nice in that they have cushioned chairs, People magazines and bad coffee available while your car is being cleaned.

But they don't fall down

On Ezra's daily review sheet from daycare:

"Ezra 'read' books on his own and with teachers. He asked M for a story. He rode the trike and truck around the room. He was very upset when someone threw a Weeble and it hit his head. He repeatedly scolded, "No foe Weebo. Foe ball. No Weebo." Hopefully he remembers next time he's tempted to throw one."

Heh.

Go team!

Iris's eyeballs:

• She has had weekly appointments with the opthamologist since her eyes started to show some stages of ROP, specifically stage 2. The critical weeks are gestational age 34-37 (she'll be 36 weeks this Saturday) if something were to worsen. If we can get Little Girl to 37 weeks old without her ROP getting any worse, then by the time she's full term they will have self corrected and nothing more will need to be done.
• If the ROP worsens and shows signs of disease then she'll need laser surgery. Almost 70% of all micropreemies (those born before 26 weeks) need the surgery.

Iris's lungs:

• As of tonight, she is no longer on the CPAP. She has kicked it to the curb and given it the middle finger. Man, did it piss her off. She was always so snorty and snuffly on it as well as putting considerable effort into ripping it off.
• After almost a week of being on the trials of the nasal cannula of oxygen, the doctor wrote the order today for it to be used all the time. Already her nurse has said that Iris is more peaceful and not as restless.
• Some babies go home on oxygen, some don't. We're not ruling it out due to the state of her lungs and how immature they were.

Iris's guts:

• She is up to "full feeds" or 1 full ounce of milk, every three hours.
• Because she has had the ventilator and the CPAP occupying her face, the milk has been fed via a skinny tube going in her mouth, down to her stomach. The milk is poured into a syringe and then gravity takes over by sending it down the tube into her tummy. It's called gavage feeding.
• In order to take a bottle, Iris needed to be off the CPAP.
• What makes it more complicated is the hole in her heart, the VSD. With the extra blood pumping back and forth, Iris is burning more calories and having a hard time packing on the pounds. Her growth curve is okay, but the doctors would like her beefier. Her (my?) milk is supplemented with two packets of human milk fortifier and a dash of protein to help her bulk up.
• Bottle feeding wears preemies out and this will have her burning even more calories. So, bottle feeding is up in the air. Our understanding is that they will try giving her a bottle to see how she does. She shows all the appropriate sucking signs associated with hunger (sucking on her hands, wanting her paci, rooting around) and may take to the bottle like champ. Or she may not. We just don't know. This is probably the next biggest task facing her.
• The doctors won't keep Iris in the hospital because she can't take a bottle as we can gavage feed at home, but...I just would rather not.

Iris's ticker:

• Like I mentioned above, homegirl is burning a lot of calories due to that hole. We'll see how it impacts her bottlefeeding.
• As for weight gain, babies with moderate to large VSDs who then have surgery to close it tend to gain weight like machines afterwards; their bodies finally catching up and not working so hard on the pumping of blood.
• She still shows no signs of any heart failure.
• She's on a diuretic to keep fluid from accumulating around her heart (and lungs too). It just gets squirted into her milk cocktail once a day.
• There have been many a discussion as to the location of the surgery to repair or patch up her VSD. The hospital where Iris is currently does have a pediatric thoracic surgeon and he is familiar with Iris's wonky aorta that loops in the opposite direction. However, it is apparently his boss who decides what assignments he takes. Those his boss doesn't feel should be handled by him are referred to a hospital two hours away. This would be bad and disruptive and complicated and, again, bad. It would not only mean time away for the surgery but also weeks (!!) away for the recovery. Plus time spent traveling back and forth for the initial work-ups, MRIs and other groundwork before the surgery. Oooof.

Iris's kidneys:

• They're healing themselves!
• Her hydronephrosis once at grade 2-3 bilaterally, or in both, is now just a grade 1. By the time she's full-term, all should be taken care of.
• She won't need a VCUG and she's been taken off the antibiotic that was being given to prevent any potential urinary tract infections.

Iris's liver:

• Her PICC line is out!
• The TPN's damage to her liver is turning around. Her bilirubin levels were at their highest of 28.7. Last week it was 16.4. This week 11. Normal is 1 or 0. We're getting there.
• She still looks a little yellowish to me, but the doctors said that as her levels drop this will go away.

Iris's melon:

• Is covered with straight, black hair just like Ezra had when he was born.
• She'll receive an MRI once she is full term in order to get an in-depth look at her brain and to evaluate if any parts look smaller or troublesome as this can then be better examined should she have developmental delays beyond her prematurity.

So, yeah.

The biggies are: 1) Bottlefeeding: Yay or Nay; 2) Eyeballs vs. ROP; 3) VSD: Will It Mean Taking It To The Open Road?

But you know what? If you told me a month ago, the last time I posted a mega update, that Iris would be off the CPAP, without a PICC line and still making-do with her VSD, I would've said, "Shut up, you." And if you'd told me at the start of December that I'd be okay and Ezra would be okay and T would be okay and that we'd somehow make it to February, I would've called you a lying sack of youknowwhat.

It's been bleak. Shoot, it's been worse than bleak. And while I don't necessarily feel the fog lifting, it's certainly not as dense.

We may just make it yet.

In the A.M.

5:45am: My alarm goes off. I'm convinced that it's nighttime therefore sleepytime. I bring the clock into bed with me and hold onto it so that I can push the snooze button 5 times without moving a muscle.

6:05am: Turn on beside lamp, grab remote, turn on t.v., start pumping

6:15am: Pack up ridiculous amount of nonsense--bottles, parts, heinous pump--put it to the side and head into shower

6:25am: Poke head out of bathroom to see if either of the boys in the family are stirring. Hear Ezra singing "Ginkle, ginkle, little tar..." in his room. Hear T snoring.

6:40am: Finish hair, stare at squishy midsection, wish hair was growing faster than it currently is, chew on two gummy multi-vitamins, hear Ezra singing "Happy, happy, you YOUUU!" to the tune of "Happy Birthday to you," wake T up.

6:43am: Tell T to flush the freakin' toilet because thanks a lot it now smells in here and where the hell am I supposed to put on my makeup now that I can't breathe in my own bathroom.

6:55am: Wonder what the heck I'm going to wear that doesn't cause me to sweat at the hospital, freeze at work, can unbutton easily so that I can pump and looks moderately to not-so-heinous while on

7:10am: Get Ezra up and try to wrangle clothes on him while he's running around and asking for "Lotion! Lotion!"

7:30am: Head downstairs, collect things, stuff everyone into coats, keep Ezra from flinging open the pantry door and routing around for Kix

8:00am: Pull out of the driveway

Sigh.

Saturday night

I'd been wanting to do it for awhile but waiting for the right moment. The moment when I wasn't too sad or too happy; too tired or too chatty; too preoccupied or too focused. Wanting it to feel special but not fraught with sadness.

T left to have dinner with a friend and Ezra was in bed. The house was quiet and I thought it was time.

Matter of factly, I layed out the frame that I bought and went upstairs.

His keepsake boxes have been sitting next to my nightstand since I got home on November 15. I couldn't bring myself to put them anywhere else in the house. Putting them in a closet felt like I was shutting him away and yet putting them out on the living room felt just as wrong. Next to me each night, in the room I love the most, felt the most fitting.

I brought the keepsake boxes down to the dining room table and I really thought I was going to be okay. I felt peaceful. Until I opened one, and then I sobbed; feeling nothing but overwhelming sadness and struggle.

I put the print in the frame and tucked everything else back in the boxes.

When T came home, I showed him the frame; his happy face falling. We talked long ago about hanging it on the wall and talked that same week about the time feeling right. Yet I didn't want him to see it hanging without first being warned that it was there.

T sobbed and it brought back the awful sound of him crying on that day. That is a sound that I will never forget.

We hugged, wiped our tears and talked about his sister and her fight to thrive.

The next day I hung the frame on the wall.

Noah's footprints join all the other pictures that shows our family's path. T and I on our wedding day. The trip we took to Europe. Ezra as a baby. Our vacation this summer. He'll always be part of our family.

The Weekend: bullet style

• I taught my son to say "Target"
• I got together with my book club lady friends where we talked about The Power Hour (drinking game not Crystal Cathedral), blind dates, getting Botox, our love for America's Funniest Home Videos, free samples of makeup and boys
• My dad went to the hospital for kidney stones--making him the sixth person on that side of the family to get them. We are a cursed lot.
• I was notified via the Wii that my Fit Age is 47. I'm 34. I cried bullshit on that one.
• Ezra tried to pet the koi at a local mall
  

• Ezra now asks "What are you doing?" except it sounds more like "What you DOOOin'?"
• Iris is weaning off her CPAP like champ. A CHAMP, I tell you. She's off that bad boy 3 hours at a stretch, twice a day. During the the time she's off the CPAP she's on the next step down--the nasal cannula with a bit of oxygen piped in.
• T was able to hold her without the beastly CPAP getting in the way.

• We had a lovely Saturday morning playdate with CurlyGirl and her daughter, C. CurlyGirl and I talked about swaddling and work frustrations while C and E ran around the house and basically shrieked at a high pitch. It was fabulous.
• T informed me that he will be out of town the bulk of the week.
• I bought Ezra a keyboard. It's shaped like a cat and the best part is that in addition to having buttons for "piano" or "guitar" or "bells" to change the sounds it makes, it also has one called "cat." So then when you play the keys, it makes meowing sounds in the various pitches. It's awesome.

Mixin' the beats

• We got good news that Iris's hydronephrosis that was originally at grade 2-3 in both of her kidneys is now just a grade 1. This means that the issue is self-correcting and it's likely that there is no reflux of urine happening from her bladder into her kidneys. The doctor thinks that more than likely her kidneys were just a little larger than her ureters and then combined with the diuretics she's on, the increased urine output was causing some stress or bulging in the ureters. With her anatomy becoming larger, the ureters are growing to keep up with the volume of output from her kidneys.
• I bought this for Iris's room and hung it near the door.
• Laundry got done, but grocery shopping didn't.