87 days early

As I gradually started to wake up from the anesthesia, I saw the first person with a pair of scrubs on and asked, "How is the baby?" "She is beautiful, with a full head of blonde hair," was the response I received. I soon learned Rob was able to see Hailey and cut the cord after she was stabilized. For the next few hours I was in a dazed coma from the medicine. With every visitor, my question remained the same, "How is the baby?"During this time Hailey received a swarm of tests, IVs, tubes, pokes, a hand stitched hat, and a diaper no bigger than a credit card. Finally, after a thorough 5 minute hand scrub and a yellow sterile gown, the proud Grandparents and a very elated Rob were able to visit Hailey. She laid in her own tiny isolette which regulated her body temperature. She grabbed Grandma's hand but was unable to wrap her tiny translucent hand around one single finger. Still too young to know how to breathe, she was placed on a ventilator. Alarms were sounding all around as she was thrown into this world 87 days earlier than her expected arrival.

To be continued.

12 month old

Something happened recently and I still have not wrapped my brain around it. I have a one year old. 1! I can no longer respond in months, I must simply say, "One. My child is one." I find myself starring at her as if she is an alien trying to figure out how she grew so unbelievably big in one year. (Or 12 months as I like to refer to it!)

Last year I was woken in the middle of the night with the most horrific pain I have ever experienced and within a few short hours I was no longer 7 months pregnant, I was the mother to a very tiny 1 pound 10 ounce baby girl. It was like one of those horrible nightmares where all you want is for your alarm clock to start beeping and send your heart into a beating panic and after a few minutes you have calmed down and can be rest assure that it was only a dream. But the alarm clock never went off and the beeping I would hear would simply be the constant sounds of my baby needing more assitance breathing after being born 3 months early.

2 weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night to my little girl jumping in her bed and crying, "mama". My heart melted.

Bloggers block gives you dog stories

There are days were I wake with words, sentences and paragraphs twirling around my brain to make fantastic blog postings. I will write them in my head in hopes of remembering them by the time I log on to the computer. These amazing stories come to me while I am driving, in the shower, working out at the gym, anywhere but right here. I have a block and so I am defaulting to a mellow blog about my dogs. Sorry, that is the best I can come up with tonight.

The dogs are out to get me. The constantly run circles around my chair tapping their tiny paws on the wood floors just to see me look down and acknowledge their annoyance.

Those precious tiny paws who refuse to step in a puddle. They are currently sitting there with their legs crossed refusing and I mean refusing to go outside to use the bathroom because a drop of rain hit the ground.

This will in turn lead to them having an on-purpose accident. They know what they are doing. They are out to get me.

When I walk in the door carrying groceries, a screaming baby in a heavy car seat, the mail, the keys and the diaper bag they play bongos on the back of my knees to make me trip. I am now immune to anything hitting the back of my knees when I walk. Try it, I dare you.

I know I could sit here and tell a million stories about my dogs but that is all you get for one day. Maybe tomorrow I will carry a pad of paper to write down the splendor of my mind when it happens. Maybe.

It's the game we play and I hate that game...

I believe showers are God's gift to me for not strangling little Susie's parents when they complain she didn't get enough playing time on the soccer field. (Susie's real name has been changed to protect her guilty parents.) Showers are my 'me' time. I don't want to be bothered as it is a sacred time of day. Lately that sacred time has been interrupted by a beautiful princess. She plans it perfectly so as soon as the scorching hot water hits my hair, she screams murder. It is a game we play and I should add I hate that game. Today was a rainy day filled with pajamas, cuddling, cleaning and like all other days- being covered in bodily fluids from an infant. So when the darling Husband walked in offering to cook dinner I was thrilled. Hailey was asleep in her pack and play and Husband started dinner. I ran off to God's gift- the shower and that is where it all started...

I turned the water to the normal level of burn the hell out of your skin. As I stood there washing my hair I realized I had just done something tragic. I left the Husband to cook dinner AND take care of Hailey. As my mind started to wander I felt the water getting cooler than burning hell, this seemed to take the back burner as I pictured Husband trying to deal with both things. He is an absolute wonderful Dad but I wasn't sure he could multi-task yet. What would happen if the baby started to cry and he held her while he was cooking? Wow, the water is getting colder. Would he dare try and hold her while handling boiling hot water? I started washing my hair faster. What about the dogs? What if they ran out and he was cooking and the baby was crying? Good gracious why is the water getting colder?! I am shaving my legs faster than ever. As blood is pouring down from the rapid shaving and I am screaming at the decreasing temperature of the water I started thinking what if there was a grease fire and Hailey was crying?! Damn it, this water is freezing! Why on earth would I decide to shower and leave my husband to all that responsibility? I barely finished washing the conditioner out of my hair when I slammed off the freezing water and ran out of the bathroom barely dry enough to not bust my butt on the hardwood floors only to find my lovely husband with dinner on the table and the baby still fast asleep. There was no grease fire, no cooking disasters, no runaway dogs, and most importantly no crying baby.

A joy in cleaning lost cookies

After my post yesterday I decided it was time to write about the delivery and the 89 day NICU stay. Do you like how I continue to remind you it was 89 days? 89 days, 89 days! That is 3 months. That is 1/4 of a year. It is the amount of time it takes marijuana to stop showing in your hair. A rabbit can have 3 separate pregnancies. 3 months is a very, very long time. I digress. So I was going to write about the delivery and NICU stay and all day I planned how I would sit at the computer and be brave. I finally settled down with a cup of roasted almonds, iced tea and the trusty computer...and then...I heard that awful noise that makes everyone cringe...Hailey 'lost her cookies' to say it politely. Thus began an evening of scrubbing the sofa, mopping the freshly cleaned wood floors and calming a now screaming baby. And you know what? I can honestly say I loved every moment of the scrubbing because I was able to be the one who helped my baby. I soothed her. I cleaned her mess. And I didn't have to ask if I can wipe my baby's mouth, change her spoiled clothes, or rock her to calm the tears. I was able to be a mother and not a bystander. It was 3 days before I was able to see my baby. It was 7 days before I was able to hold my baby. It was 89 days before she would come home. It was 135 days before I held my baby without being tied down to a beeping monitor. These numbers make me proud to care for my baby when she is not feeling well. After all, she is my baby.

My Fat Bottomed Girl has her ears pierced

As soon as I found out I was having a girl, I knew I would pierce her ears. I pictured her learning to walk with little pink diamond studs.When the pediatrician said she would pierce Hailey's ears once she had her second set of shots I was thrilled. When the big day finally came I was not nearly as confident. The thought of torturing my little princess for earrings, was I crazy? Well before I could blink it was over. Hailey was more traumatized that we held her down than the actual piercing itself. Although I am sure she screamed a few curse words at me, she is now quietly singing to herself as she sleeps. She is one amazingly tough little girl.

In honor of her hitting double digits in her weight we should all sing a line from Queen, "Fat bottomed girls".

10 pounds 8 ounces!

Real Fears

There are times when I miss her monitor. The times when I am leaping out of bed in the middle of the night just to check on her breathing. The times when she is taking a nap and I am trying to sweep the floors but I cannot take my eyes off of her. When we are driving down the road and I stare at the mirror facing her car seat trying to see if she is ok. Then there are times when I want to put her in a bubble and protect her from the world. I run into Walgreens to pick up diapers and as I stand in line I fear the person behind me has RSV and my little princess will catch it. I go to the doctor and feel the germs floating through the air chasing after me as I just try and protect her until we get called back. My hands and arms are cracking from the hand washing and sanitizer. I am constantly looking at her making sure she is not desatting. I fear SIDS, A's, B's, and D's, RSV, the flu, the common cold, germs in general, cigarette smoke, strong scents, the thought of going back in the hospital, or just failing. Failing from keeping her safe from this big germy unpredictable world.

I recently made the mistake of reading the blog of a mother who had a daughter in the NICU. Although every NICU story is different, the babies tend to all follow the same obstacles. This baby was no exception to the rule. I was reading the blog in reverse chronological order, which means I knew the outcome far before I read the journey. After the little girl was about a year old, the child caught a severe respiratory infection and passed suddenly. The mother also blogged about another NICU graduate who died unexpectedly in the car seat while heading to the doctor.

I already had the fears of these things happening, but knowing they happened to real babies and to real parents is truly terrifying. I thought I had insomnia before, have you seen the bags under my eyes lately? They are like a monster taking over my face.

The hungry, pooping, teething girl is awake and is demanding the hunger feeling be fixed. Immediately.