Babies are like dogs (but dogs aren't like babies)

I have now been a parent for almost 10 months (10 MONTHS WHY GOD WHYYYY), and while I am still relatively new to the child-raising game, I have garnered a lot of wisdom in my short tenure. For example, don't get attached to your baby's socks. The cuter they are, the faster they disappear in the Great Sock Void, where socks are drawn in by a guy selling candy and are never seen again. Another fun fact is that toots are deceptive. What you are smelling is probably just a toot, but since you have to make sure and unbutton those stupid PJs, look in the diaper, and stop your baby from wriggling out of his pajamas so he can finally be free like he's always wanted, it winds up being just as much work as if the smell was actually poop.

But the most startling discovery, the most shocking, wild, unexpected bit of information I have learned this year is this: Babies and dogs have a lot in common. 

Let me clarify: Owning a dog does not equal raising a baby. I know that your precious Fifi is a lot of work and the other night you had to stay up with her because she was sick and it was very sad and that you might think it's the same as having a baby. Stop that. Dogs are a lot of work, but at least they take their poop outside (most of the time). And dogs become self-entertaining - that tail is easy to chase pretty early on. But, in spite of the many difference, there are also a lot of similarities. Maybe the better way to say it is that I approach raising my child much like the way I approach owning a dog. Wait. That doesn't sound right. Just keep reading. 

This is my dog: 

Ignore the terrifying eyes. He isn't a robot. 

This is my baby:

Cute, right?? I know. 

At first glance, you might wonder what these two have in common, besides the fact that in each picture they are drooling on something. But while you're looking for the drool in both of these pictures, consider the following list of things I say to my dog and my child on a daily basis:

- "What is in your mouth??"

- "Don't lick that."

- "There is no need to make that noise."

- "Tell me what you want... you're looking toward the kitchen... food? Is it food? It's food!!!"

- "Is this dirt or poop?" (It's poop. It's always poop.)

- "This <insert gross thing> sounds like a job for Daddy... Oh, Daniel!!"

So you can see that the similarities are already building. Both my dog and child would like to chew on every electrical cord available. They enjoy rolling things into small, hard to reach places and then they enjoy crying until I find a way to reach it. They both want something that is totally, completely unreasonable all of the time: The dog would like to be a lap dog and curl up on us in spite of the fact that he is fifty pounds. The baby would like to both turn his head away from his bottle and drink from his bottle at the same time. They both have a knack for ignoring the safe, happy toys right in front of them and instead presenting me with random pieces of trash, in spite of the fact that I just vacuumed and picked up all trash in sight. 

And my baby can't even crawl yet. I have a feeling it's only going to get worse. 

So, other moms - tell me, am I right? Do my infant and my pooch bear a resemblance to each other? Or am I just a really terrible person who compares her sweet baby to her dog?

Save the Ta Tas

When I was in high school, my health teacher had all the girls separate into smaller groups. She told us to look around at each of our group members one by one. She then told us that according to current statistics, one person in each group would develop breast cancer in their lifetime. At the time I didn't think much of it. Bad things didn't happen to me or my family (note from the future: LOL) and I wasn't concerned.

Then, in 2009, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 48. Suddenly breast cancer was all too real. It was threatening and dangerous. And I could no longer look at the pink ribbons or the ads for the Susan G. Komen race without understanding how short life really is.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Over the last few years, it's been the theme to raise awareness for breast cancer by using a lot of pink and making silly shirts that say "Save the Ta Tas" or "Save Second Base." People run races with their bras on the outside of their shirt. Mysterious Facebook statuses go up that say "I like it on the stairs" as a secret message to supposedly raise awareness. And, to be honest, all of that stuff really annoys me. I understand what it's trying to do - make people understand how prevalent breast cancer is and how much research is needed to combat it.

But all it really does is make it funny. And breast cancer isn't funny.

It's my humble opinion that the main reason people try to make it funny is that it's a taboo subject and everyone thinks boobies are funny. It's uncomfortable to talk about so they go out of their way to make it comfortable. They giggle and laugh and come up with clever nicknames for breasts and then put it on a t-shirt so everyone can join in on the fun. And it makes people who don't know the statistics think that breast cancer is no big deal and could possibly be hilarious. I don't think that is the intention of the funny shirts at all. It just happens to be the result. I have had multiple people tell me they're tired of seeing pink ribbons everywhere and how it's annoying that breast cancer gets so much attention when other cancers don't.

Do you want to know the real reason that it gets more attention? It's because 1 in 8 women in the US alone will be diagnosed with invasive breast cancer in their lives. It's because it is the number two cause of death for women, after lung cancer. It's because if you get breast cancer, the odds are high that you will have to have part of your breast removed or, for some people, your breasts removed completely.

Is it funny now?

I don't want sit up here on my high horse and judge someone for raising awareness with a funny t-shirt. I get the idea. I think raising awareness is awesome. I know that other cancers are just as important and deadly as breast cancer is. But I also know that breast cancer is a serious thing. It deserves respect. Raising awareness isn't about saving ta tas or second base or boobies. It's about saving lives. So break out your pink shirts, get your mammograms, and understand that while breasts make us giggle, cancer never should.

Terrible Life Lessons from Twilight

Twilight is over. Finally. We learned a lot from Twilight: Male vampires look a little girly. Female vampires look a little stripper-y. And all vampires have confusing hair.

I have read all four of the books, and heaven help me, I have seen all five of the movies. I don't want to talk about it, okay? But I did learn something from reading Twilight. And that is that teenage girls should never read these books. If you are a teenage girl and you are reading this book, don't be sad. Just put the book down and read this post instead, m'kay?

So, here we go - the Top 3 Terrible Life Lessons From Twilight.

Lesson # 1: Only boys matter. Nothing else. Boys boys boys. Boyssssssssssss.

This might come across as a little... I'm scared to say it... feminist. I am not the girl you see in photographs burning her bra and refusing to walk through doors opened by a man. But I am a fan of women having... what's the word I'm looking for... a brain. Yes, brains are the best and every girl should acquire at least one. Unfortunately, the main character in this series, Bella Swan, does not have one. What's even more unfortunate is that she is the one who narrates the entire series so it boils down to listening to a really dull love story as told by the best and brightest from the Daisy Elementary kindergarten class.

Bella has absolutely no identity outside of her boyfriend. Truly. She is the one TELLING us the story and I know exactly three things about her: 1) She likes depressing novels. 2) She thinks pale is the new tan. 3) She has a terrible mother. Other than that, nada. Homegirl doesn't even have a middle name until the last book. I like to picture her as a Muppet, bopping along until her boyfriend gently redirects her to the mall. A friend-less, family-less, extremely dull Muppet.

Lesson # 2:  Do not fret over challenges of any kind - they will be solved for you. 

Look, I like getting help as much as the next gal. When my husband comes home and insists on cleaning the kitchen for me, I don't fight too hard before sitting on the couch with my Dr. Quinn reruns. But Twilight takes it to a whole new level. Need a bajillion dollars? These people have endless amounts of money. At one point Bella takes about fifty thousand dollars - from what appears to literally be a pile of money in a closet - and no one notices. Or, hey, wouldn't it be convenient if one of the characters could read minds? Ooh, what if one could see the future? Twilight leaves no inconvenience unconquered.

The problem with this is that it's... well, it's annoying. Every time Stephenie Meyer remembers to write a conflict, she gets too excited and writes a resolution about two paragraphs later. There is no suspense. There is no OMG NO WAY. There is just happy, happy rich vampires. Even when ~~SPOILERRRR~~ Bella becomes a vampire, there is no adjustment for her. She is instantly the most terrificest vampire to ever haunt the earth.

Lesson # 3: Eating people is totally cool. Just, you know, try to stop.

So in the books - and I hate myself for knowing this - the main vampire family only eats animals. But at some point, every one of them has snacked on a bus driver or nun or neighbor. Bella, the eternal genius, makes her peace with this in about twelve seconds. I am still creeped out by it. You have a family who has openly admitted to eating, not one, but several people, and you're going to marry into it? On purpose? Without coercion or threats? You crazy.

But it's okay. It's all in the past. Eating people was soooo last century and now the vampires vow to never harm humans again.

You know, until they eat all the buffalo in the area and get hungry again.

Really, vicious murders aside, they're terrific people.

Apples, lies, and French fries

I started writing this post a while ago and forgot about it. I have rediscovered it and it's just too sad and pathetic to keep from you.

A few months ago, Daniel and I had an argument about walnuts.

Yes, walnuts. Specifically the early stages of walnuts and what they look like. He told me the brown spiky ball things that live in your backyard were really walnuts.

He knows things. And I believed him. And casually mentioned this amazing new fact at work the next day, and my coworkers quickly proved that fact to be nothing more than a LIE. Which sparked the following text conversation:

Note my sure-fire debating skills

Turns out it is chestnuts. But they are a different spiky ball than the ones in the yard. 

In Daniel's defense, they do look similar. Also in his defense, I will believe pretty much anything. Seriously. Try it out some time. My friends love it. I am pretty good about not believing obvious stuff, like that soap can talk (unless you know otherwise). But Daniel has a lot of general knowledge about life things and walnuts and so I usually believe what he tells me. 

So after this happened, I jokingly asked him what else he's lied about. He looked kind of uncomfortable, like when you really need to let out some steam, so to speak, but you're in church so you can't and you have to just hope it doesn't escape on its own during a prayer. Then he told me something that I have never let go to this day: 

"Well... you ask me a lot of questions. And you think I know the answers. And you look so eager when you ask them that I can't stand to disappoint you, so... if I don't know the answer, sometimes I make it up."

Hold. The. Phone. 

"You make it up?" I repeated. "What else have you made up so far?"

But he couldn't remember. So I was left to wrack my brains, wondering what other lies I had told my friends and coworkers - or worse, what I had told them that they knew wasn't true but, like Daniel, didn't want to break the bad news to me. 

Now that I was on to his scheme, I vowed to never let Daniel trick me into believing one of his "facts" again without verifying them. That lasted for about two days before I realized that was a lot of work. Daniel said he would try to keep the lies to a minimum and all was well. 

Until the other day, when I pulled out a weird kitchen appliance thingy and asked Daniel what it was for. It was this bad boy right here:

"Oh, that? It's for slicing apples." 

Neat. I hate slicing apples and this thing would definitely make it easier. So I got an apple from the fridge and started slicing. It sliced like a centimeter in and then stopped. I tried everything - a different angle, putting all my weight on it, working it back and forth like a saw. Daniel was watching me do all of this and offered to help, but I was determined. 

But the thing was about to break from the pressure and I was no closer to apple slices. I gave up and got a knife and swore to get revenge on the apple slicer for being so useless. 

I decided to look it up to see how other people did it. That was when I began to understand...I had been a victim of another of Daniel's "facts." Danggggitttttt. 

"Uh, Daniel?" I said. "This says that the apple slicer is meant to make french fries, not apple slices. You use it with potatoes."

"Ohhhhh, yeahhhhh, it's potatoes! That explains why the apple was so hard to cut. Oh, well."

So now I have to go back to Googling everything. Which is fine; it's probably best that I do some research to defend against my gullibility so if I'm ever kidnapped by someone I won't think they're the President of the galaxy. 

And now you can be prepared. If you see Daniel and he gives you a fact, just smile politely. Then Google that business the minute you get home. 

(This post was written with Daniel's approval and permission. I got a kiss for it. Yay!)

Motherhood Haikus

As requested by my friend Heather McAwesome, I have compiled some deep haikus about motherhood and the lessons learned there. Enjoy.

Baby Joshua
Don't you want to go to sleep?
Mommy needs a drink
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spit up everywhere
Is no place sacred to you?
You have a dark gift
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hear you crying
I am pretty sure it's fake
Nice try, buddy boy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Poop is in your hair
How can that be possible?
You are so crafty
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Beep beep beep beep beep
Beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
Beep beep beep beep beep
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do I see a smile? 
What is that unearthly smell?
Oh, you got me good


Thank you.

The Question Game

As you have heard before, I went to the illustrious Berry College (LETS GO VIKES) for two years. Since there isn't much to do at Berry besides count deer and go to church, we had to find other ways to entertain ourselves. So my friends Marcy Jo and BFF Jen invented a game for us to play. I actually can't remember who came up with the game but it definitely wasn't me so it's gotta be one of those two.

We called our game the Question Game. It's exactly what it sounds like: One of us asks a question and we all answer. Not complicated. It's like a really tame version of Truth or Dare without the dare. We played it pretty much every time we went out to dinner. Marcy Jo always had awesome, deep questions that made us search our souls. Jen's questions were always exciting and fun. My questions were along the lines of, "If you could be a cloud, would you be a fluffy cloud or a REALLY fluffy cloud?" Real thought-provoking stuff. But it was fun and we enjoyed our game so much that we still play it when we get together (hint hint, Marcy Jo!). We even have a book that has questions in it for when we get lazy. We are SERIOUS about our fun.

It had been a while since the last time I got to play the question game, so a couple of weeks ago I explained it to Daniel and asked if he wanted to play. It was easy for me - I cheated and used the questions I'd been asking Marcy Jo and BFF Jen for the last eight years. Daniel played very well in spite of the many physics questions he asked me before realizing that was a dead end.

Then one of us - I can't remember who - asked what was by far the most interesting question of the night: If we could change what had happened over the last few months, would we?

I thought I knew the answer to that one. I was ready to say yes, absolutely, of course I would change it, no question about it.

But as I thought about it more, I realized that wasn't true. I wouldn't change it. I hated it. But I wouldn't change it.

I believe God has a plan. I have always believed that. But over these last few months, I started to wonder how this could be part of any plan. Why did it happen to us? Why did we have to stay for so long? Why did God allow our baby to go through so much?

I still don't know the complete answers to any of those questions. But I still believe things happen for a reason. I believe in God's plan and while I might never understand why things happened the way they did, I know it was part of a purpose. Jeremiah 29:11 says, "'For I know the plans I have for you,' says the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans for a hope and a future.'" Hebrews 11:1 says, "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."

Those two verses really say it all. God has a plan. I have faith in His plans. That doesn't mean I can comprehend them or that I even like them. I wanted to make the plans myself; I wanted to tell God how things would go and then let Him make it so. But faith doesn't work that way. True faith is understanding that you probably won't ever understand, but the only things you have to know are that Jesus died on the cross for you and God has a plan for a hope and a future for you.

The funny thing about this whole experience is that I never thought Joshua would die. It crossed my mind and it freaked me out, but at the end of the day I knew he would live. I realize now that that is how I kept my faith. Even when I couldn't pray, even when I thought God had abandoned us, He was still giving me peace and comfort without me knowing it. He was faithful to us. Joshua is home. He took a long and winding road to get there but he made it. And I can't look back on this experience and think it was coincidence or bad luck or anything other than God's sovereignty being shown through these struggles.

And now, I wait. I have waited a lot for the last few months but this time it's different. Now I am waiting to see how God uses what happened to us to reach other people, to show that He is still God even when things are bad.

So here's the deal: Jesus died on the cross for you and for me. God sent His son to take sin from us so we could worship with Him forever. If you don't know that Jesus is your Savior, don't wait any longer. Talk to a pastor, talk to a friend, talk to me if you want. God has incredible plans in store for you - don't miss out on them.

Babies Are The Enemy

I hereby dedicate this post to Dawn W, who has requested some entertainment while feeding her twins at 4 am. She is so needy.


I've learned a lot about babies since Josh came home. I mean, I knew some stuff, but I had been concentrating on which bottles are best and when to let your baby try solid food. You know, the stuff that everyone tells you about. I didn't know that I should have been researching ways to combat the sinister tactics of the micro-preemie terrorist and their extensive array of weaponry. I should have been studying their tactics and battle plans, their offensive strategies and impeccable timing. It's too late for me. But it might not be for you. This knowledge is my gift to you. Read it and use it well.

We all know babies are cute and cuddly, right? Wrong. Babies just want you to think they are cute and cuddly. They grab your finger and coo and bat their teeny tiny eyelashes at you and you just know you've found love. Do not fall for this trap. This is merely one of the many ways they are trying to get you closer to them. The object of this exercise is to get your face close enough to vomit on - or, heaven help you, your mouth close enough to vomit in. Once you are drawn to their web, they will re-gift their lunch to you in a spectacular fashion reminiscent of a Fourth of July fireworks celebration. Sometimes they act pitiful after they spit up. This is another trap. They are asking for more cuddles so they can restart this vicious cycle.

Another lie babies love to tell you is that farting is adorable. Babies are so tiny that pretty much everything they do appears adorable to the untrained adult. This includes farting, otherwise known as tooting, princess air, passing gas, and in the Flerl family, sitting on a frog. Babies give a little toot and you giggle, delighting over how hilarious flatulence is when it comes from such a tiny little bottom. This is yet another attempt to get you to let your guard down. The end goal for these babies is to present you with a surprise dirty diaper at 3:45 in the morning. See, if you get used to the little farts, you start to automatically assume that each time a smell wafts your direction, your perfect little cutie has just tooted again and you laaaaugh and laugh. Then, when you're the absolute sleepiest and must go back to bed before you fall over dead, they fill up that diaper and trick you into thinking it's only a little gas, thus ensuring the diaper will overfill and spill onto their clothes, the changing table, and basically everything you own.

The final and perhaps most terrifying way babies trick you is to pretend to be asleep and then scream at the most inopportune time possible. For instance, the other day my sweet baby was sleeping in his Rock N Play and and I was napping on the couch. He woke up and cried. It was a little early for his bottle but I thought maybe he was hungry. I got up to check on him. He was sound asleep. Hmmm. I went back to the couch and was juuuuuust about to fall asleep when he cried again. I waited to see if this one was fake, too. He kept crying so I got up. I looked at him and he was asleep again. I turned around and had literally just pulled the covers on me when he cried again. I went to him and - sing it if you know it - he was asleep. So I stood over him for a few minutes, thinking he would wake up again and I could give him his bottle. Nope. He slept with me standing over him for a solid five minutes. I walked over to the couch and had barely touched the cushion before he opened his eyes wide and screamed. Then I saw it. It was barely noticeable but it was there. A tiny, evil smile in the corner of his mouth. He knew what he was doing. And he was enjoying it.

So what can you do about these terrorist babies and their lies, tricks, and gas? Nothing. They are too crafty. As soon as you figure out their plan, they develop a new plan. If you try to prevent their evil ways, they just use other evil ways to thwart you. They. Can. Not. Be. Stopped. But you can prepare. Do your research. Know your baby. Exercise. And, for the love of humanity, buy a gas mask. That stuff is foul.

The Post That Almost Was

Ever since I started writing this blog, I have been trying to think of interesting and/or hilarious things to write about. It isn't easy, you know. I have to work really hard not to do any laundry or dishes so I can concentrate on being funny for you people. It's my sacrifice for you.

Inevitably, the best ideas for blog posts come when I am either in the shower or about to fall asleep. When I'm in the shower, I usually just give it up. I don't have any paper. Daniel gets mad when I write in Sharpie on the walls. If I write it in soap it washes away and I get sad. So those have to go. I just convince myself that whatever idea I have isn't funny. 

If I think of something to write about as I'm falling asleep, I desperately try to remember it. I'll even write the post out in my head in an attempt to remember it. I will stay awake for an hour trying to think of as many details as possible so I don't forget my idea. 

You'd think I would use all that time to go get a pen and write it down. But my bed is really comfy. 

A lot of times I remember the ideas I have right before I go to bed. Unfortunately, I am not the most coherent person when I am sleepy. I can't even say words correctly. Ask BFF Jen. When I get tired I make as much sense as a drunken ferret with marbles in its mouth. So a lot of my ideas aren't exactly blog-worthy. 

Last night's idea was no exception. I am still wondering why I thought this was going to be a good idea - and a really good idea, at that. I was really excited. Way too excited. Wanna hear? Sure you do. 

I was going to write a post about my eyebrows. 

Yes. 

These bad boys right here:

See, I am very particular about my eyebrows. Actually, I am very particular about everyone's eyebrows. I don't really keep mine groomed in any special way. But I can. not. stand it. when eyebrow hair is brushed the wrong way. Or whatever you do to eyebrows to make them do this:

I can't take it, people. Daniel - who, by the way, has magnificent eyebrows - likes to make his eyebrows look all crazy and follow me around until I am forced to fix them. We have a weird relationship. 

Anyway, as I was lying in bed last night, I turned my head to get more comfy and I felt an eyebrow hair pop out of place. Just one. It sprang out of line like it had been waiting for me to make just such a move so it could finally free itself from the oppressive regime of my forehead. I stand for no such mutiny and immediately smoothed it back in place. Better luck next time, eyebrow hair. 

And it was then that I thought, this would make an awesome blog post. 

I know. I'm just as confused as you are. Why on earth would that make a good post? What else was there to tell? That was literally the whole story, in that tiny paragraph above. Not a lot of plot points left. 

I guess I could have embellished a little. Like if a giant grizzly bear came and messed up my eyebrows and then,  when I woke up, tried to eat me. That would make a good post. Or if someone moved just one eyebrow hair to taunt me and left a note threatening to come back and do it again if I didn't leave $1,000,000,000 in unmarked bills at the QT in 12 hours. That would also make a good post. Although if that happened, I assume one of the conditions would be that I couldn't tell anyone about it so I couldn't write the post at all. 

But none of those things happened. My eyebrow got fresh with me. I nipped that business in the bud. And then I spent the next half hour mentally writing a hilarious post about unruly eyebrows. 

I think the NICU broke me. But I like it. And so does my unicorn. He also has nice eyebrows. 

Mother's Day

When I first heard that Joshua's due date was May 30th, I immediately ran through how old he would be for major holidays - seven months old at Christmas, six at Thanksgiving. He would probably even be in time for Father's Day if he wasn't very late. I had a gift for Daniel all planned. A small one, one that wouldn't take a lot of time, because we'd be so busy with the new baby.

Funny how things change.

When I starting seeing the commercials for Mother's Day gift ideas and saw all the special cards start to appear at the grocery store, I didn't think twice about it. I knew my siblings and I would get together to figure out a gift for our mom (and by "siblings" and "get together," I mean that my brother and I both assume our sister will take care of it and we'll pay her back. Don't worry; she likes it.) and we would have dinner together and probably play a game or something. It never occurred to me that I would be celebrating my first Mother's Day, too.

One of the NICU nurses asked what our plans were to celebrate. It took me a second to figure out what she meant and when I did, I just kind of shrugged and said we didn't have any plans for me. The nurse seemed surprised, but I was equally surprised that she would think we were celebrating. Technically, yes, I am a mother, but it's not like I really take care of my child. The nurses do that and always have.

But as went through the week, it seemed that God was sending me sign after to sign to show me that I am, in fact, a mother, even if my baby isn't at home with me. When Josh screams as loud as he can, he usually wants his pacifier. I know that by the sound of the cry. I also know that I can only let him have the pacifier until he falls asleep, because he'll forget to breathe if he falls asleep with it in his mouth. I know that in a few more minutes he'll wake up again, search for the pacifier, and cry again until I give it to him and he falls asleep. Every afternoon from 4:00 to 5:00, that's what happens. He's really cute so I don't mind.

When he doesn't want his pacifier, he probably needs a diaper change. Or sometimes his little hands get stuck inside his sleeves and he can't get them out. Sometimes he hears Daniel's voice and wants desperately to see his daddy, but he's facing the wrong way and can't turn over. Sometimes he just wants attention, like a finger to hold or a little kiss on the cheek. But I always figure it out.

I know that he wants to lay flat on his back when I hold him but he isn't supposed to because of his acid reflux, so until he falls asleep I move him around every couple of minutes so he won't get upset. I know that once he falls asleep, I cannot. move. a muscle. or he will immediately open his eyes and we'll have to start all over again. I know that he doesn't like his hands to be under his blanket, and if someone does cover his hands with his blanket, he will wiggle them free in about two seconds. I know that he doesn't want you to touch his feet or ears under any circumstances whatsoever. Seriously. He'll cut you.

I know all of these things because I am his mother. I have always been his mother. No one knows him like I do. Even if he lives at the hospital. Even if I'm not the one changing his diapers. Even if I don't get to see him for a whole day. I am his mother and he is my baby.

So for the mothers who have big, healthy kids,

For the mothers who are waiting to meet their little one,

For the mothers whose children have moved away,

For the mothers who wish their kids would move away,

For the mothers whose babies are growing faster and faster each year,

For the mothers who have never lost hope for their child,

For the mothers who have seven kids and for the mothers who have one,

For the mothers who know what it is to fear for your baby,

For the mothers who don't understand what to do next,

For the mothers whose greatest joy comes from watching your baby accomplish a goal,

For the mothers who only want the best lives for their children,

For the mothers who pray for their children each day,

For the mothers who are celebrating their first Mother's Day and for the mothers who are celebrating their fortieth,

This is for you.

And to my fellow NICU moms - Julia, Mari, Dawn, Erica, Erica, Rosalie, Malika, Meredith, and Tanya - this is especially for you:

Happy Mother's Day.

The In Between

I'm stuck.

Not literally; don't worry. I stopped trying to hide from thunderstorms under the couch last year so I haven't been stuck like that in a while.

This is a different kind of stuck. The kind where you're happy and sad at the same time, anxious and excited all day, tired and energized for hours.

Ever since Joshua was born, I had been waiting for May 1st. I wanted to be able to say that we were finally in the month where I could take him home. But he most likely won't be home until June now. Which is fine. I mean, I'd prefer he be home right now, but June is okay.

But I've been waiting for May 1st for months. And it came and went and nothing changed. I was kind of disappointed but I also saw it coming.

Now I'm kind of at a loss as to what to look forward to. Not that there isn't anything to look forward to. I just spent so much time waiting for May 1st. Now everything seems more uncertain. I don't have a plan or goal in mind because I really don't know when Josh will come home.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not upset. I mean, these days I'm always upset about something, but this news doesn't especially depress me. It's just like if you were waiting to receive a package in the mail, and it was supposed to arrive on March 8th, and on March 8th you sat next to your mailbox and waited for the post man, but when he got to your house he told you he had no packages for you. You know the package is on its way. It should be there any day. But you're kind of stuck. Do you wait by the mailbox every day? Do you go to the mall to pass the time? Do you just try to enjoy your regular life in the mean time until your package arrives? Any of those answers could work, depending on who you are.

So I guess I just have to change my approach. Instead of setting a long-term goal, I need to go back to short-term ones. Josh has to grow. He has to breathe better. He has to start eating and battle acid reflux. These are things that could take days or weeks or months - there's no way to know for sure. That's the difficult part. For all I know I'll arrive at his room today to see him breathing on his own and taking a bottle. Or he could need more breathing help than he did yesterday.

It's a weird place to be. I'm excited for each step that he takes but I also know better than to get too attached to any progress because he could take steps backward anytime. I know that sounds pessimistic but it's just the way life in the NICU goes. So I just wait. I wait for the doctors to tell me what the plan is. I wait for Joshua to get bigger and stronger. I wait for another goal to work for. And until then, I just kind of hang out in between.

And read lots and lots of books.

Wow

I hadn't checked my email in a few days. Sometimes I'm too busy...playing games and checking Facebook. At any rate, when I checked my email this morning, I received a pleasant surprise: several people had shared and commented on Joshua's story. Complete strangers have passed it on and they have reached out to me and it's awesome.

To those bloggers, moms, and fellow NICU veterans, thank you. Today I was feeling sorry for myself because I am so tired, and then I was reminded how many people are praying for Josh and want him to grow.

And to those who I've gotten to know through this, or who I knew before, or who have known me since I was a baby - thank you, too. We could not have made it this far without you.

And to the inventor of Diet Coke - I love you most of all.

The NICU

Yesterday I met the grandmother of another baby in the NICU. We talked for a little while and she told me she couldn't even imagine what it was like to be here so much. I gave my standard answer: it's hard but we manage.

But her question made me think...how would I describe the NICU to someone if I really thought about it? There's so much to say that it's hard to sum up. I wanted to write it here so I won't forget.

The NICU is the place that holds you and your emotions prisoner. It can make you the happiest you've ever been and then devastate you in the same moment.

The NICU is the place where you make friends without ever saying a word to someone. A smile in the hallway, a look exchanged when you're waiting for the receptionist, a neighbor in the same pod as you. You have to stick together. These people get it. They're in the same club as you.

The NICU is the place where you're so tired but you're too awake to sleep. Your eyes are burning with exhaustion but the moment you think about sleep an alarm goes off somewhere. It might not be yours but you have to check.

The NICU is the place where you learn to be a nurse and parent at the same time. You know at a moment's glance that your child's heart rate is too low or too high or just right. You memorize how much oxygen he needs, what his blood pressure is, how often he stops breathing.

The NICU is the place where you memorize the sounds of the rocking chairs as you sit every day, rocking back and forth, back and forth. After a while, the creak, creak, creak is more comforting than anything. It, at least, never changes.

The NICU is the place where your head aches from turning back and forth to read the monitor so often. You could move your chair but then you wouldn't be able to see your baby.

The NICU is the place where you ask "Why?" so many times you lose count. You don't even expect an answer after a while. Even if you got one, it wouldn't be good enough. But you still wonder and so you still ask.

The NICU is the place where you wait. Wait for the doctors, for the nurses, wait for visitors, wait for the days to pass.

The NICU is the place where you celebrate milestones like two pounds, and then wonder if you would have ever thought two pounds was a milestone before this happened.

The NICU is the place where you can be surrounded by dozens of people but still feel all alone.

The NICU is the place where God works miracles.

That's what the NICU is like.

The Blame Game

What is the first question you ask when someone tells you they were in a car accident?

Fine, you probably ask if they're okay. That's the polite thing to do.

But the first thing you think, and probably the second thing you ask, is whose fault it was. It's okay. I do it, too. I mean, if you're texting me about your accident I assume you're fine. I need details, people.

Seriously, though, why is that? Why is it so important to know who's to blame? We always want to know whose fault it was and we want to know how the person at fault will pay for their crime. It doesn't just apply to car accidents.

Like farting. Or princess air, if you like. No one made it through elementary school without hearing "He who denied it supplied it" or "He who smelt it dealt it" at least once. Is smelt a word? I feel like it was just made up for a hilarious farting rhyme. At any rate, we as a society are determined to place blame - or in some cases, blame the dog - for any and every bad thing that happens.

I think I know why. I'm no psychologist. But I think we immediately find out who's to blame because it makes us feel better. If we can assign fault to someone or something, it helps us take control over the bad thing that has happened. We can take steps to make sure it never happens again. If someone gets hit by a drunk driver, the answer is easy - make drunk driving illegal. Done. If someone takes the life of his coworker, lock him in jail. Simple enough.

When I found out Joshua would be born 14 weeks early, I wanted something to blame. The doctors for not catching it earlier. Daniel for not helping me see it sooner. The nurse-midwife for not fixing it right away. Myself for not realizing something was wrong with my baby. God for letting it happen at all.

At first I thought it was because I was so angry about what happened. I thought I could take all my anger out on someone and it would make everything better. I tried it. I didn't feel better. Joshua was still in the NICU. Nothing had changed except I just felt worse. But I still looked for someone, something, anything to blame. It was irrational and illogical and I knew that but I kept searching.

And after a while I had an epiphany. Not the cool kind. I didn't suddenly figure out how to make millions of dollars from home or how to really win the Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes. No, this epiphany was kind of depressing, actually.

I wanted it to be my fault.

I wanted to be responsible for Joshua coming so early. I wanted the doctor to open his chart, point at a number, and tell me I should have kept it lower or higher or anything. I wanted the nurse to say that I shouldn't have eaten peanut butter or go hiking that one time or stay up so late at night. I wanted them to tell me that the next time I have a child, I need to make sure I avoid certain chemicals and places and habits, because those things were responsible for his early arrival.

I wanted it to be my fault because I'm scared.

People have asked us how many kids we're going to have after this. On February 21st, I would have answered at least two, but who knows? Maybe more! Now, though, that question terrifies me. How can I do this again? How can we knowingly set ourselves up for this horrible, draining, ridiculous experience even one more time?

See, if I had something to blame, I could fix it. If they said caffeine caused this I would never drink a drop of caffeine again. If they said I could take a pill or eat special food or take a class, I would do it. I would do it all.

But nothing caused it. It was no one's fault. Pre-eclampsia just happens. Sometimes it causes the blood flow to the baby to reverse. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes women with pre-e are fine and don't even need bedrest. Sometimes they do.

It just happens.

I wish it wasn't true. But it is. There are laws against drunk driving but it still kills people. Murderers are put in jail but people still kill. I'm not saying there's no hope or that we're all doomed. But as much as we want to place blame and point fingers so that we can reassure ourselves we're safe from ever having to go through a terrible experience again, it won't help. Blame won't make us feel better. We think it will but at the end of the day it only fuels our anger and makes us sadder. Because as much as we think laying blame will fix the problem, it won't. It can't. Only God can.

And sometimes things just happen.

5 weeks, 1 day

Yes, I have resorted to naming my posts based on how much time we've spent in the NICU. I'm sleepy and have no creativity left. But my socks are neon pink and orange with stripes so think about those if you need any excitement in your life.

My last update was kind of a bummer. Joshua had had a really rough week. This week he is doing much better - he even got off the vent! He is now on a fancy new machine, the NIPPV. We call it the Nip-Vee because it sounds funnier that way but you're supposed to say each of the letters. Anyway, the Nip-Vee is the step between the CPAP and ventilator - the Switzerland of the group, if you will. It gives Joshua a specific number of breaths but he has to do most of the work on his own if he wants candy. He's tolerating it very well and looks like a stormtrooper again with his mask over his face.

But, Kristen, you're probably thinking, What about you?

Oh, thank you for asking. You're too kind.

I'm doing okay. When I last wrote, I told you how I was feeling numb to everything and how it was kind of a relief. I've stopped doing that now. Well, it kind of comes and goes. Some days I feel numb. Some days I feel like I could win an Oscar for the amount of emotion I display. It's very weird. I never know what will make me cry. The other day I cried over the color yellow. Yellow, people. It's an emotionally abusive color.

So I guess it's kind of a lateral move, but it's a move at any rate. And speaking of moving, we did that this weekend, too. I am listening to a bunch of guys make construction jokes as they hang up cabinets in our new kitchen.

I think that is what has been hardest this week. 6 weeks ago we had just celebrated Valentine's Day. I was worrying about where to put the crib in the baby's room but I knew I had plenty of time to figure it out. I was planning a weekend trip to celebrate our anniversary and figuring out if I needed to get just one or two more maternity tops for the hotter months.

And in an hour, that all changed. Every single bit of it. Our lives did a complete 180 the moment I was sent to the hospital Friday morning.

We keep hearing how lucky we are to meet our son so early and how wonderful it is that he's doing so well. People encourage us to look at the silver lining. I want to see the silver lining. I really do. And there have been a lot of blessings through this and everyone has been so supportive. But I feel abandoned by God.

I hate that because it feels so incredibly selfish, especially on Easter weekend when we're celebrating Jesus' ultimate sacrifice for us. I know everything belongs to God and that He is good no matter what the circumstances are. But these days I feel so far from Him. I have been praying for other people but God and I both know I'm keeping everything at the least personal level I can. I want to stop that because I know it isn't right. Life isn't fair and that has always been true.

I just want things to be the way they were, when our baby was healthy and our lives made more sense. I want to go back to worrying about whether the doctors on Grey's Anatomy are really going to buy the hospital and how many newborn outfits Josh will really need because he might grow out of them too fast. This just wasn't the plan.

I know I can't go back. Only forward. My sister-in-law wisely pointed out that looking back only turns you into a pillar of salt. Soon this plan will make sense. Someday I will understand. And until then I'll just keep a lot of tissues nearby and eat Easter candy.

By the way, the doctors on Grey's Anatomy DID buy the hospital. I didn't want to leave you hanging.

Life in the NICU

Have you ever watched your baby stop breathing and seen him turn purple? I have. But, oddly, it wasn't scary. It wasn't anything. At first I wanted to run from the room and never come back but after a few minutes I calmed down. And then I wasn't scared. I wasn't sad. I wasn't mad or glad or plaid. I was just numb.

Ever since Josh stopped breathing - twice - and they had to work to bring him back - twice - I have felt nothing. Seriously. Nothing. I have gone through the motions of some stuff - being excited when something goes well; looking concerned when they tell us he might have a new issue. But I really just don't feel anything. 

At first I thought it was a defense mechanism. I thought Cowboy Debbie was riding strong. But I don't think that's it. Honestly, my first reaction yesterday was to cry. But my eyes are tired of crying. I think I heard one of my tear ducts sigh when I started to well up. So I stopped. And went to feeling numb. It was just easier. 

A family member messaged me on FB and told me of his experience in the NICU when his daughter was born and had to stay in the NICU for a few months. He said a lot of really helpful things, but one thing really struck a chord with me: He was afraid to get attached to his little girl because it felt like at any moment she could be taken away. 

As I read that, I realized that is the only thing I do feel these days: Fear. I am afraid to get attached to Joshua. I love him with all of my heart. But I am afraid to lose him and so I am numb. It seems like all it would take is one alarm, one infection, one bad x-ray and he'd be gone forever. I hate that. I hate it so much but I don't know what to do about it. Yesterday I noticed that his little upper lip has a very unique shape to it. It was so cute. But I hate that I noticed it because if the worst does happen, it would be just one more thing I would miss. 

We have no reason to believe that Josh won't make it through all of this and come home with us at the end of May. He's had a lot of setbacks this week but he is still doing pretty well overall. He's just so fragile. And I am fragile. And it's too hard to be attached to him. 

I don't know what that says about me. I'm sure the local PTA is on its way to my house to present my Mother of the Year award. I don't feel gloomy or down or sad or stressed. I can't. It's kind of a relief, even though I know that isn't the best thing for me or for Josh. But that's where I am. That's life in the NICU. 

Sorry, Mom. This one was a bummer. Have a picture of Josh to make up for it. 

And then there were three

A month ago at this time I was recovering from the emergency C-section that brought Joshua into the world. They told me I couldn't see him until the next day. We still hadn't heard from the doctor. All we knew was that Joshua was here and he was very sick. I was begging the nurse to let me see him right then but I had to wait until my blood pressure came down. Good times.

I have been thinking about that day a lot recently. I never really had the chance to process everything. At the time it was also such a shock and felt so unreal. Then we were just watching and waiting and praying Josh would make it for the first few hours. And I just never thought about it. So I decided to write it down, to help me remember in the future and maybe help me process it. I have been having a lot of nightmares about the whole experience lately and I think this will help with that, too.

On Friday, February 22nd, I had my monthly check-up at my OB's office. I was aggravated that I had to go because I would be late for work and I was trying to save up my extra hours for when the baby came. Although to be fair, I guess I did use those hours for the baby, after all. When I got to my OB's office, the nurse took my blood pressure. I was already on meds for high blood pressure, which had only become an issue since I had gotten pregnant. The meds had been helping but I guess they weren't helping anymore because my blood pressure was high. That combined with the swelling in my feet and legs, massive headache, and pain in my right side led the nurse-midwife to believe that I had developed pre-eclampsia. She didn't want to wait for me to do my labs on Monday, so she said I had to go to Gwinnett Medical, where I was supposed to have Josh, for them to do tests.

I was even more annoyed then. I was going to miss a whole day of work. I texted Daniel and called my mom. I was fine for most of the drive to the hospital. Then when I called my sister-in-law to let her know what was going on, I started to cry. I felt like I had endangered Joshua with my high blood pressure and that broke my heart.

At Gwinnett Medical, Daniel and my mom both arrived just before they took me to a room. The nurse didn't think they would even want to keep me overnight but they wanted to wait for an ultrasound before they let me leave. They did the ultrasound and noticed Josh wasn't moving very much. He had a low heartbeat and nothing they did made him wake up. I realized then that I hadn't felt him moving very much in the last few days. I hadn't thought anything of it at the time. But that combined with his low activity level meant something wasn't right.

The doctor came in and said we were to head to Northside Hospital immediately. There was a perinatalogist (which is fancy talk for a doctor that specializes in babies who are still cooking) that they wanted me to see. He was going to come to Gwinnett but he could get to Northside faster.

When we got to Northside, it finally dawned on me how sick Josh was when the doctor told me the perinatalogist was on his way from Monroe and was driving as fast as he could to get to the hospital. Until then I kind of thought they were overreacting. But the doctors and nurses were very concerned. There was a machine to monitor Josh's heart rate and the nurse said it was the flattest strip she had ever seen, meaning his heart was barely beating.

The specialist arrived and did a special ultrasound. He said he was looking for how much Josh was moving, how fast his heartbeat was, and if he was getting enough nutrition from the placenta.

We were 0 for 3. He wasn't moving, his heartbeat was slow, and he was only getting intermittent blood flow from the placenta, meaning he wasn't getting enough nutrition. The specialist told me at the very least they would try to wait to deliver Joshua for a few more days. The only reason they would have to deliver him that night was if the blood flow from the placenta reversed, which would mean he was getting no nutrition.

I was trying to read the scan and I noticed there were some spots that were brighter than others. I asked if that was significant. He said he would explain it to me, and then, as he pointed to the screen, we all saw it. The blood flow had just reversed. If the doctor hadn't been late, we wouldn't have seen that happen. They told me later Joshua would have died by the next day.

The doctor told me we would be having the baby that night. He said it in the same tone you would use to order pizza. I guess he was trying to keep me calm. But I started to cry. I didn't stop crying until we were in the operating room.

Daniel left for a minute to update everyone. My in-laws had already started the drive from Florida. Almost my entire family was there and I saw them a few minutes before they took me to the operating room.

The operating room was scary. Surgery didn't scare me. But the idea that in about twenty minutes we would be parents was surreal and overwhelming. They told us at 6 that we would be having the baby. He was born at 7:08. That isn't a lot of time to adjust.

Daniel was with me, dressed like a doctor and holding my hand. I was telling him knock-knock jokes and asking him to tell me stories. The nurses were talking to us, too. I think the doctor was telling a joke but I can't remember for sure.

And then Joshua was there. They took him to go help him breathe and see how bad he was. He was in shock when he was born and his heart had almost stopped completely. When they brought him to me, all I could think was that he was the tiniest baby I had ever seen. I still couldn't believe he was there. The doctor said I could give him a kiss, so I did. And then they took him upstairs.

The C-section was traumatic. I don't want to be dramatic but the idea that they could just decide to take my baby from me while I could do absolutely nothing about it was terrifying. It was a nightmare. I hated it. It was like my mind thought that if I could just wait it all out, it would turn out to be a cruel joke. I would still be pregnant. My baby wouldn't be in the NICU. But as hard as I wished for that to be true, it wasn't. I was trapped. Our lives had done a complete 180 in fewer than 12 hours.

I felt so guilty. Everyone told me it wasn't my fault. But it was. It was my pre-eclampsia that had caused the blood flow to reverse. Logically I know that isn't true. But it felt true. It felt really true as the doctor explained to us that there was a 35% chance that Joshua would die. It felt even more true when she listed out all of the obstacles he had to overcome. It was hell.

You know the rest of the story. Joshua had some ups and downs but they saved him. And he's doing well now.

So that, as they say, is that.

One Month

Tomorrow it will be Joshua's one month birthday. Hold. The. Phone. How is that even possible? Have we really been doing this for a month?

Yes. Yes, we have. Some days it feels much longer. Some days it feels impossible that so much time has already gone by. Some days I still expect to wake up and find out this has all been a dream of the Wizard of Oz variety. And some days I feel a little lost on how to feel.

Today is one of those days. This week was a tough one - we dealt with the aspiration episode and then the infection and all sorts of fun stuff. Seriously, you should get one of these NICU babies. They're a riot. But even with everything that's happened, I'm not sad. I'm not scared. I was only upset for a few minutes when the doctor called to tell me that Josh had choked on his formula.

Normally this kind of event would mean I am sitting in my pajamas, scaring my mother with my sad, dark blog and eating cookie dough in the dark. But while I am in my pajamas (and they are CUTE), it's really just because it's nighttime and not because I'm all depressed. This blog isn't scary (yet, muahahaaa), and I just remembered I have cookie dough in the fridge...hmmm...

What was I saying?

Oh, right. Feelings.

I've always been a bit of a Debbie Downer (wah, wah, wahhhhh). I can get a gnarly 'tude and be a little bit defeatist in times like these. In general I am not a glass half full kind of gal, despite my super-duper cheerful appearance. But for the first time ever, being Debbie is helping me. I am able to manage my expectations by remembering how far we have to go. Any progress Josh makes is fantastic and I am thrilled to pieces over it. But I can't go up and down and up and down and reverse and sideways and up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, etc. It's too much. So instead I'm staying as neutral as I can. I don't know how else to do it. And so far it's helping.

Wanna know what has inspired my newfound perspective? Oh, come on, you do.

It's the X-Files.

Do not adjust your monitor. The X-Files is the key to NICU life.

There is an episode of X-Files called X Cops where the show COPS follows Mulder and Scully around as they try to solve the case of a monster in a small city. The monster feeds off fear and at the end (spoiler alert... from 2002), the sheriff's deputy is trapped with the monster and starts to flip out. Mulder finds him and says the following inspirational words:

"You're a sheriff's deputy! And you're on national television so cowboy up!!!"

Cowboy up. Is that not the most amazing way to say "put your big girl panties on and deal with it"? I think it's magical. It sounds cool AND you immediately get the mental image of a cowboy (or girl, if you like) saddling up on his horse and riding into battle. Or wherever cowboys go.

There will be days where I will be extra sad. There will be days where I will be extra happy. But regardless of the day, I will cowboy up and deal with it. And since I also called myself Debbie Downer earlier, I hereby christen myself Cowboy Debbie.

All hail.

Baby Cowboy Debbie

Moving On Up!

Fine, we're moving down the hall a little. But it's still cool. They're moving Josh to a new pod (like a bunch of whales. That made me laugh way too much just now.) where he'll have his own room!! Finally, I can gossip and judge people in peace again. It's really awkward to talk about the other moms when they're sitting five feet away and glaring at you.

I'll miss Pod E. It's been good to us. We met Nurse Jennifer there. Memorieeeees. But I also like the idea of moving. It breaks up the time a little. Don't worry; we'll still see Jennifer sometimes.

Thank you for your encouragement yesterday. I was very grumpy. I didn't have any Diet Coke. I know. A baby in the NICU is bad enough, but then to be Diet Coke-less... it's almost too much to bear. I found some today, though.

I really do feel better today. I know tomorrow could be totally different. It comes with the territory. That's a big adjustment but we'll figure it out. Or lose our minds. I'm actually okay with either of those options. I wonder if they have Diet Coke in insane asylums.

All right, I know what you're all really here for. Enjoy these pictures of my super-cute baby!

Tired

I am tired. Truly, completely, utterly tired. I feel like I'm whining when I say that. But today is a whiny day.

Last night Daniel and I went to the preemie parent support group. All the parents with babies in the NICU can come for dinner and discussion about how much it sucks to have a baby in the NICU. I thought it would be helpful. But I was wrong.

The other parents there were taking their babies home after being at Northside for 5, 6, 7 weeks. Don't get me wrong; I don't wish any ill will on them. But it's hard to get reminders over and over again on how much worse Josh is than so many babies here. I know he's so much better off than many of them. I know we're blessed to have him with us at all. But we've been here for three weeks and we'll be here eleven more.

I'm already so tired of being here. The nurses are great; Josh is getting the best care possible and he's doing pretty well. It's just exhausting. We come in here, we read to him, we change him, and then we just watch the nurses take care of him.

I think that is what's hardest to deal with. Josh doesn't need me. I'm sure he likes it when I hold him and read to him but at the end of the day I can't do anything but sit and watch other people help him. Last night he was having trouble with his oxygen and heart rate and I just had to sit and listen to his alarms go off. I couldn't do anything to help him.

People keep telling me I'm strong. I started to believe them because until last night this week was easy. We got nothing but good reports. It's easy to be strong and courageous when everything is going well. And then as soon as something went wrong, something that wasn't even that big of a deal, I lost it. I cried and despaired and that was it. I didn't even think to pray.

I'm not strong. I wish I was. I wish I was more faithful and hopeful and the kind of person who showed others what a walk with Jesus looks like. But I'm not. I'm just tired.

I'm so, so tired.

The Routine

No, the title of this post does not refer to a song and dance routine that I am going to perform for you. I know you're disappointed.

There have been several requests for me to film and post Daniel's many dance numbers - I'm trying. I really am. But someone keeps talking to me about how Some Things Are Private and how You Have To Ask Permission Before Doing Stuff Like That and Something Else I Didn't Really Catch Because Grey's Anatomy Was On And It Was A Really Good Episode About A Little Kid With Liver Disease. It's like Daniel doesn't care about this blog at all. But I'll wear him down. Don't you worry.

So, my teeny mini baby is doing well today. He's doing so well that his parents ditched him and left him with Grammy. Well, and the 14 kajillion medical staff members, but mostly Grammy. He's on the CPAP (it has bubbles!) and he's doing well! One step closer to breathing on his own. He also gets some super-rad breathing treatments for a while because his lungs keep deflating. Jerks. Part of the breathing treatment is a little vibrating massager thing that they rub on his back to break up the congestion in his lungs. It's kind of funny because it's sooo tiny (just like everything else that Josh uses) and it's just funny to think of a baby getting a massage.

And Daniel got to hold Josh today! The nurse let Daniel hold him up when they changed the bedding. It was totes awesome.

The Amazing Levitating Micro-Preemie

Today we had to discuss the dreaded W word... no, not whales. NO, not washers. It's... ... ... work. Yes, work. I know. I've kind of just stopped going but it turns out that if you don't go to work, you don't get paid, which means you don't have all that food and shelter stuff people keep mentioning. Then you run out of places to steal food from and you have no bail money and it's all just downhill from there. So as much as we're dreading it... Daniel will probably have to go back soon. His manager has been very understanding but that can only go so far, you know?

I know he has to work. But I am not looking forward to it for two reasons: 1) Daniel is the one who actually pays attention to the nurses and doctors. I try. But I get distracted by my pretty baby. And now they've added the bubbles and they're just so fun and by the time I'm done playing with those the doctor has gone. Until now that has worked because Daniel is not so easily amused and he listens. He is also a numbers guy. I am going to have to make liberal use of the pens my SIL gave me (which are so colorful, YAY) to write down everything. If I can remember them. Someone remind me.

Reason #2 that I am not looking forward to Daniel's return to work is that it means we'll settle into a routine. Normally I like routine. I even, dare I say it, love routine. But this routine means we're really, truly, no seriously in the NICU for a while. Until now it's been easy to pretend that it's only going to last a few more days and then we'll bring Joshua home. Healthy, I know. But if we get into a schedule and a pattern... it means we're really doing this. Josh is really staying in the NICU for 11 more weeks. Stupid NICU. Except please don't leave, NICU; you're saving my baby's life. I love you.

So that's it for updates. I'll keep you posted if anything cool happens, like a shark attack or if Josh learns trigonometry or something. Thanks for reading!

Yes, that is my giant thumb in the corner of the picture.