Pregnant with Dub. I was sick the first 6 months, had a broken foot the 5th month and sciatica problems the last 3 months. By the time I made up the weight I lost from being sick I had only gained 5 pounds total. I wore my normal clothes my whole pregnancy except the very end I wore maternity shirts because they were more comfortable.
Dub had to fight hard to live when he was born. He came early and too quickly. He was drowning in the fluid that didn't get compressed from his lungs because he was so small and came out so fast. They didn't place him in my arms like they did the other boys. They were rushing around him, and calling in more doctors and nurses. No one talked to me, no one explained what was wrong. I was in shock. I just stared at JC and he just stared back. They vacuumed out his lungs and he let out a little whine, not even a real cry. When I finally got to hold him he just lay in my arms sleeping. He would not eat, he would not wake up, he did not cry. They poked his foot, he didn't even whimper. They tried to get an O2 level on him and it wouldn't register. They took his blood, and he didn't even flinch. They took him away from me and rushed him into the NICU with a swarm of doctors and nurses behind them. No one told me what was wrong. No one explained anything. I just cried. Finally my OB came in and told me I could go see him after they got him stabilized. I asked him why they took him and what was wrong. He was angry. Not at me, but at the fact no one had bothered to even talk to me about what was happening. Angry with the staff, and I think angry with himself for assuming one of the 8 nurses and two other doctors had talked to me. He had been busy delivering the placenta and just figured the neonatal doctor or nurses had explained what happened. The neonatal doctor was called in to be present for the birth. He was there the WHOLE time with his nurses. No one even spoke a word to me.
Dub had to stay in the NICU. He had an IV, a feeding tube and artificial lungs breathing for him. He was using all the energy he had, just to live. I pumped and delivered my milk every two hours. I wasn't allowed to hold him right away and when I finally got to it was in a tangle of wires and tubes I had to be extra careful not to pull out or kink. I came in once to sit with him and the wind was knocked out of me and my knees became weak...I hadn't been warned about the IV being moved to his head. That was my last visit before I was discharged to go home, to go home with out my baby. I felt lost, incomplete, heartbroken, like I had failed. I was probably suffering from a little PPD at the time but I felt like my world was caving in. The only way I was able to walk out was knowing I was leaving him in the hands of a friend, who had asked to switch babies with another NICU nurse so he would be in her care. Thank you Donna, you are wonderful.
After Dub came home, he spent the first year of his life in a pouch, strapped to my chest. I used the "oh, he's nursing" excuse ALOT, even if he wasn't. I didn't want to risk him catching the flu, or even a cold from anyone because the doctors told me that if he caught them he would likely get pneumonia and possible have to be hospitalized again.
Dub is the perfect fourth child. When he gets tired, he finds a spot and goes to sleep. When he is hungry he asks nicely if he can get himself a snack. He plays quietly on his own or with his brothers. He loves to draw pictures and will sit at the table for hours with markers and crayons. He is super smart. He likes to write words and he always sounds them out first and then asks if he got it right. He is learning to read and loves books. His vision is terrible, sorry about that Dub. He looks super cute in his little glasses. He is a friend to everyone. His teacher told me he is very polite. He LOVES batman and Indiana Jones. He is super tough. When he gets hurt he is quick to claim that he is alright, even if I know he really is not. Example: One day I heard the toilet seat slam shut and he quickly exclaimed, "I'm alright, nothing broke!" Then I heard him wash his hands and he went about playing. TWO DAYS later I was clipping his finger nails and noticed the tip of his finger was HUGE, PURPLE and Oozing. When I asked him what happened he said, "Oh, I just smashed it in the toilet." I NEVER ONCE even heard him say ouch. He lost his nail. On the play ground at school he tripped and landed on his face. He got a little scratch by his eye where his glasses smashed into him, buggered up his glasses pretty good, but from what they told me he didn't cry, just said, "I fell down, but I'm alright." He adores his dad, but not as much as his dad adores him. His favorite foods are Kraft American cheese slices, bananas, and donuts. I still love to cradle him up in my arms and kiss all over his face, and he still tolerates it...for now. Happy Birthday Dub! We love you!
1 comment:
what a cute kid! i didn't know you had that much trouble getting him here! if all your boys are that polite and well-mannered, you've got it made. i think i've got some wild hooligans on my hands around here!
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