Preemie

The Troubling Loss of the Car Seat

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Fully functioning baby in the now retired car seat.

I felt the familiar bite of envy today when I saw a dad walking into a bookstore carrying his baby in a car seat. Oh, those were the days. Yes, they were.

But wait, you might say. Aren’t you excited for your baby to grow up? To walk? To be freer? Of course I am. She is crawling right now, but all she wants to do is stand at the coffee table and cruise around. In a little more time she will be walking with me, but right now we are in a cumbersome interregnum between the too-big-for-the-car-seat size and the not-yet-walking stage.

Benefits of the car seat era include easily carrying baby during any errand, including, but certainly not limited to, a stroll through the bookstore, a coffee run, and going to pick up a book at the library. Also, easily transferring baby from house to car, to inside bookstore, back inside car, back to house, and up to room if baby has fallen asleep in car seat. All this used to be done with one convenient baby bucket (receptacle or repository I like much better, but it just sounded weird, “baby repository”).

But now upon arrival anywhere we must transfer baby from big, new, giant booster-type seat for extra-tall babies to the stroller, also great for extra-tall daddies.

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Fully functioning much bigger baby in the new, custom-built-for-huge-people, booster seat.

The other option, and this is a big ask, is to carry her sans stroller. Since she’s 25 lbs and 31 inches, one better hope the errand does not take longer than expected if you spring for this non-stroller option, especially if you have already lifted weights that day.

This might be the first of many posts in which I sort of (or jokingly) mourn losing the conveniences of the infant, but also recognize the perks of getting older and growing bigger, like her booster seat (which is one indestructible gadget) and her current obsession with pulling to stand. These are great things.

But the other point of this post is that I cannot shake the memory of the days when I could carry London around in her car seat, sometimes with just a few fingers wrapped around the handle and the other two fingers carrying a six-pack. The ease. The comfort. The convenience. Oh my.

 

 

Generous Ventricles

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The hardest day to get through was Wednesday, the day after we got the news that London would need an MRI and a neurosurgery consult. Though we knew that the challenges of having a preemie were not over, we did not expect to encounter an obstacle quite as scary as this. But, with some prayer and time we reacquainted ourselves with the frame of mind necessary to get through the NICU days. That frame of mind is a place where you never forget that you’re not in control. The NICU does not allow for you to believe you are in control of anything. It is like you have been dropped into a boxing ring and all you can do is roll with the punches, no telling how awfully painful the next one is going to be, nor from where it will be coming. We got pretty good at that last winter and by Thursday I think we both felt better in a way. I even made a joke about it. After Kate asked me what I had decided to give up for Lent I said, “Hope.”

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London at 9 months.

We waited until the following Tuesday for the MRI. We were told it was a rapid MRI, a brain shunt series, which would take about five minutes and London would not have to be sedated for it. The consult would follow right afterward so there would be instant results.

At Children’s we were taken to an MRI waiting room. There were no small gowns for London to wear so she wore pants half a foot longer than her legs and a top that looked like a Snuggie. Kate and I chose to be in the room for the MRI so we had to get rid of all metal we had on. Zippers were okay. After a few minutes we were ushered down a very long hallway into the MRI room, where the door was lined with a metal detector, ready to catch any metal on or in our bodies that we forgot to mention in the screening process.

This MRI room was out of a Sci-Fi movie. It would have looked right at home in Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. The walls were of white gloss and the lighting made the room glow an interesting mix of blue and white. London was placed on the MRI bed, which had a blue pad on it that the nurses kept calling a “blue snuggly.” They warned us that once London was on the bed, they would fold up the sides, buckle them together, and suck all the air out of the snuggly to vacuum pack London. They added, kids don’t like this very much and they start to squirm and cry.

We folded up the sides of the snuggly, snapped the four buckles up from London’s feet to her upper chest. Her head was braced with many cushions, but first earplugs were added to protect her from the noises of the MRI. And then a nice lady sucked all the air out of the blue snuggly. By all measures London seemed to enjoy the whole experience. She did not make a peep and was even smiley. The bed slid into the MRI and the scanning began. London could look toward her feet and see us standing there waving and smiling back. She made two noises of distress, but quickly calmed down when she saw us. Five minutes later, she was done, and free from the blue snuggly.

We then had to go upstairs and check in for the neurosurgery consult. Within ten minutes we were sitting with a very nice lady who did not cut to the chase right away, but by the way she spoke and by the words she chose, I had a good feeling. She gave us a complete rundown on hydrocephalus and brain shunts. We looked at images of London’s head. In one image we got to see all of her teeth, although she only has three that have broken through. The rest of them were floating at various heights above and below the mouth. We went over the symptoms of hydrocephalus. There was a lot of talk about the size of my head. This was not news, but to prove the point the lady measured my head to confirm. 63cm. She said anything above 59cm is huge. And hey, it turns out Kate’s head is sort of big too.

London, we were told, has generous ventricles, but shows no signs of hydrocephalus. Of course, we should still monitor her head size and maybe at age 2 another MRI. Apparently, the MRI images told the doctors that there was nothing to be “excited” about, an interesting choice of words. If there was an issue, excitement would not be the feeling I would have. I found myself excited because there was not an issue.

We spent a very long time talking about London’s head and why it looks like London has adjusted nicely to her generous ventricles. As soon as we were out, Kate returned to work and I called my parents who, I know, were anxiously waiting for news and probably not expecting to have waited this long.

I returned home with London, relieved to an extent I cannot describe. I spent a lot of that afternoon and evening looking at London even more than usual, admiring her strength and attitude, and imagining the day I would tell London about the first year of her life. What would I tell her about a day like today? And what about the days far scarier and more exhausting than this one? I don’t know, but I know she will love the ending.

Waking Into a Nightmare

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When the doctor ordered a head ultrasound on you to finally put to rest any doubts we had about your head size I was comfortable with the call. Why not just check? I felt confident that nothing was going to come of it. However, as the day of the ultrasound approached I had this horrible feeling. I probably only have my imagination to blame. I guess I got hung up on a worst-case scenario and dwelt on it too long.

You did wonderfully during your head ultrasound. Your arms were flailing a bit and we had to hold them down, but you did not mind the cool gel in your hair or the foreign environment. We were there for less than an hour and went home awaiting results. We did not expect to get results that night while we were finishing dinner. Mom answered her phone and I did not think anything of the conversation until she pulled the phone away from her ear for a second to tell me it was your doctor calling. I knew a 7pm call from the doctor the day of your head ultrasound meant only one thing, he saw something he did not like. I sat at the dinner table and stewed, bracing myself for the next punch to the gut. What am I about to hear? I looked at you on the living room floor, trying to get mom’s attention while she spoke to your doctor, wonderfully out of touch with the news being delivered to us.

Mom told me that the doctor was concerned about the size of your ventricles. Out of caution, he recommended a consult with a neurosurgeon, which would most likely be preceded by an MRI. Mom explained all this news about you very well, even trying to calm me as the doctor tried to calm her, explaining that large ventricles may not mean anything right now. The consult and MRI are out of caution so we can really see if something is not going as planned in that big head of yours.

As Mom called her parents and delivered the news, I had to lie down on the floor with you. I clutched you as you crawled over me, not even taking my hand away to wipe the occasional tear from my face, letting them slide down my cheek and drip onto the carpet. I wanted to cuddle with you. You wanted to play. I had to call my parents too so Mom took you upstairs and you fell asleep on her.

Going to bed that night I was wishing I would wake up and remember that this was all part of a bad dream. I guess that is the great thing about having a bad dream. You wake up and there is an instant when you think the dream was real, but then you really come to and you remember with delight that none of that bad stuff you dreamt about happened. But the next morning it was the opposite. I came out of a great night of sleep and then as soon as I remembered the new reality I wanted to go back to sleep. I wanted to forget again. It was so good, that peace I had during sleep, and now it had slipped away and I did not want to face the day without it.

To be continued…

2 lbs, 8.5 oz

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I decided to post another original entry from our NICU journal. This is unedited from one year ago today.

Day 13 – February 12, 2014 – Wednesday

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February 12, 2014, one day after we got to hold London for the first time.

London had her PICC line pulled today. As well as her IV. So she is a lot freer today.

Tomorrow is London’s 2nd head ultrasound.

Today was a tough day, though not for you, London, but for your parents because the baby across the hallway from us was dying. This baby arrived around the same time you did, but we had noticed its condition was declining. When we saw both of the teenage parents sobbing today and calling in relatives we knew it was bad.

I had gone to return a pump and overheard docs saying that the chaplain had arrived. As I later stood at the sink washing breast pump parts, not more than 8 feet from where the baby was dying surrounded by family, I couldn’t help but cry. I don’t know this baby. I don’t know its parents, but I know what they went through to make it to this point and to face the truth that not all babies make it out of here was gut-wrenching.

The baby and the family were moved to a private room for the baby’s final hours of life. Now their pod is empty, lifeless, and being mopped by a janitor who hasn’t a clue what happened in that space just an hour earlier.

There is an amazing disconnect between some hospital employees and the patients and stories contained within the rooms of that hospital. I will never quite get used to it.

Today, London, you weighed 2 lbs, 8.5 ounces and it dawned on me that I weigh 100 times as much as you do.

One Year Ago Today

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Mom’s hands comfort London on February 4, 2014.

One of the most important things Kate and I did in the frantic, scary days following London’s birth was to write down what we did, even if it was watching some television to unplug for a minute. I am so thankful we have a journal from that time and from most of London’s NICU stay. Today I want to share with you what I wrote on February 5, 2014, London’s sixth day of life.

Wednesday.

Nana and Papa (my parents) told us that we could do whatever we wanted to this day and they would take care of dinner and grocery shopping and whatever else. We, of course, chose to sit next to you for the day. So we did. It was exhausting, the most tiring thing I’ve ever done, to sit next to you and constantly worry, watch the monitor, and pay attention to each and every beep.

You had a decent day. You had one more dose of drugs this night at 7, hoping to close that PDA of yours.

We had leftovers for dinner tonight. Nana and Papa came to the hospital to pray with us and to see you. They knew we were exhausted from being with you.

We watched Downton Abbey tonight, but Kate fell asleep. She is so exhausted from producing all that milk for you. I finished the episode with Nana and Papa and went to bed for the night. They stayed up though and watched another episode of Breaking Bad.

It’s silly what I wound up writing down some days, but even the mention of watching Downton helps me visualize that evening and what came before and what followed.

Maybe by chance you just found this blog and you have a baby in the NICU. If you haven’t already started a journal, I highly recommend getting one and starting today. It’s never too late. A lot of people might say, and you might think this yourself, that I will never forget such days as those immediately following the birth of my preemie. There is some truth to that, but there is only so much room in our heads and some bits of information slip away, unless you are one of those people who can remember every single day of their lives, every meal, every drive to work, etc. Chances are that this is not the case, so go get yourself a journal.

On London’s 1st Birthday

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London.

I am only human, so sometimes, when you are testing my patience, I may temporarily forget that taking care of you as a stay-at-home dad has been the most rewarding and exhilarating experience of my life.

These are the days that I will treasure for the rest of my time here. I cannot contain my excitement at the thought of you getting_BKP4139 older, taking your first steps, watching your personality blossom, and getting to try so many new things. But, there is something to be said about this time, right now. It’s a time when you need everything from me or mom. You are utterly dependent on us. You are also so content in our arms.

I believe your start to life somehow molded you into the tough and incredibly happy baby you are. I believe it means you will be a success in anything you put your mind to. You have a whole life ahead of you. I wish I could see it all, every minute. I wish I could always be by your side.

The reality is that I won’t be able to always be there. There will come a day when I will have to leave you. And I know one of the fondest memories I will have that day is to think back on the days I am living right now. The simplicity of them. The pure joy you exude. The joy you give me. The energy I draw from your wonder and curiosity in life.

The other day after finishing your bottle you were relaxing on me and sort of watching TV. Looking down at you, I had this image of you watching TV as an elderly woman. Weird, I know. I was picturing you toward the end of your life here on Earth and I got incredibly sad knowing that by then our days together in this world would have passed many years ago. It was such a sobering thought, which crystallized for me just how incredibly blessed I am to be with you as many days as I am.

In a year you have given me an abundance of moments that I have bottled up and plan on taking with me wherever I go. My love for you is at the brim. Good thing we have many, many more days together so I can make even more room in my soul to fill up with love because I don’t plan on losing one drop of the good stuff.

Love, Dad.

Did it go by fast?

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Did it go by fast?

That’s what everyone asks when we tell them London is turning one this week.

Like all new parents we have been very busy this last year. That’s what happens when you have kids. Life speeds up as you nurture another life. Everything takes longer from getting out the door to eating a meal to loading a car full of stuff for just six hours away from the house.

Time goes by quickly when everything takes longer. Maybe that is why everyone seems to have that feeling that the first year flies by.

But the answer is no. This year did not go by fast.

We just visited the NICU on Tuesday. We saw a few nurses who took care of London. The front desk staff recognized us as we were walking up the hallway toward them. “You guys look familiar,” one of them said, motioning at my height. IMG_2912

Standing there while London smiled and giggled at everyone who stopped to say hi, I had this overwhelming feeling of gratefulness. To think of London’s days in the NICU I feel like I need to look much further back in time than one year. Sometimes it feels like two years ago. Sometimes it feels like it never happened because that time was so different than what our day-to-day routine is like now.

Walking those familiar hospital hallways, making that familiar request to get through to the NICU, seeing the nurses, and hearing the distant beeps and alarms from the monitors in the NICU pods reminded me of how routine the NICU became. I forget it, but this place was our home for 109 days. Our house was just where we slept, but our lives unfolded in this little corner of the hospital.

I don’t know if you have ever had to visit your baby in the NICU. If you haven’t, let me tell you those days don’t pass quickly by. Since we almost spent a third of London’s first year in the NICU, a third of that year dragged on with countless questions, tests, consultations, laughs, smiles, and tears.

When I woke up this morning I glanced at my iPhone like I always do. The little white icon for the calendar app displayed “29.” I froze and stared at the number. London was not born until the 30th, but the 29th, January 29th, is when her early arrival started. To me, January 29, 2014 was the beginning of a miracle, so it holds a very special place in my heart, second only to January 30, 2014.

One year ago tonight we exited the elevator on the 4th floor. Our hearts remained there until May 19th. The time in between felt more like a year, which also feels like it took place years ago.

No, it did not go by fast.

January 28, 2014

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As London’s one-year birthday approaches, January 30th and the days preceding it are becoming clearer and clearer in my mind than at any point since.

Today, I am thinking of January 28, 2014.

I was in a bad state of mind that day, one day before Kate went into labor three months early. I had graduated with my master’s degree in International Studies six months earlier. I had spent summer, fall, and winter looking for meaningful employment in Denver and had found nothing.

On January 28th, I was at a coffee shop continuing my job search, but I was easily distracted and frustrated with so many things in my life. I was a few days shy of turning 31. I started to write my stream of consciousness down.

A wasted mind.

A wasted education.

Greatest accomplishment this year will be fatherhood.

Exciting that is, but I want something else.

Maybe staying home with the baby is the best.

But I’ll never know unless I get a job and can live the other side of things.

Since London was born, I have come back and read these lines a few times, but in a different mindset than when I put them down on paper. I no longer feel like my mind has been wasted. Of course, when I was in the middle of a fruitless job search it was easy to feel that way. It was easy to question my decision to go to grad school in a completely different field (IR) than my undergraduate studies (English). It was easy to get really depressed about having debt for the first time in my life, and all because of this damn master’s degree that I am not doing anything with.

A year later, the bit about the debt still angers me.

“Greatest accomplishment this year will be fatherhood.” On January 28th, I did not know a thing about what fatherhood would mean to me, thus thinking it would only be the greatest accomplishment that year. A day after writing this I was in fatherhood with no idea if my new duties would last a week, but I already knew that what I was doing during those days, what I was going to do in the days to come, would be the greatest accomplishment of not just the year, but of my lifetime.

In a way, I still want something else. I love my job. I am very happy with it. I know it will eventually change and I will be free to live the other side of things, but no matter what that other side is like, I will never get the sense of importance from it as I get from my current job. I did not know that on January 28th, but knowing it since has made all the difference during the seven months I have been a full-time SAHD.

The Typical SAHD Day

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I found that writing about my daily routine was very therapeutic and it is also great to have this down somewhere. It certainly will not prove to be the most exciting post of mine to read, but nonetheless, I share it because I never know who might find this helpful, touching, entertaining, etc.

6-7 am – Wake up. Kate will typically give London her first bottle of the day and graciously lets me snooze a little longer. Kate starts to get ready for work leaving London in my arms to cuddle a bit or to finish her bottle.

7-9 am – I set London down in the living room so I can get some breakfast. London is army-crawling or land-swimming now. Her curiosity drives her will to move to any corner of the room. She gets there fast and I usually have to break from my breakfast a few times to pick her up and set her back near her toys. Back to square one. I will also work out during this time. I take London to our unfinished basement. I bring her saucer down and some other toys. She is very content while I am working out. However, it is all about timing. If she is hungry, this is not going to go very well. I make sure she is full before we go downstairs. I typically do a workout from one of three workout programs I have completed in the past: P90X, Insanity, or T25.

9-10:30 am – Back upstairs in the kitchen. If London didn’t have her breakfast before my workout, then it’s time for that. Right now, she loves multigrain cereal and mashed up banana. We just tried yogurt for the first time yesterday and she downed a full serving size. It took me a couple weeks of London occasionally vomiting after meals to realize she needs to spend a little more time upright following a bottle or cereal. This also means I can’t hold her upright in my arms and give her a little bounce. I was doing this last week while watching some TV and I heard a loud splat and felt warm slime on my foot. I looked down and my right foot, directly under London’s mouth five and a half feet above it, was covered in vomit. So, upright she shall stay during this time until I feel we are in the clear. Sitting on the floor with her is how this time usually passes. She’s quite good at sitting as long as there are some toys within reach. I usually have an episode of The Wire on in the background. This show aired on HBO and is a cop drama based in Baltimore. Excellent writing, but dark, gritty, and very realistic.

10:30-12 pm – London’s first nap of the day is around this time, give or take thirty minutes. She typically sleeps for a little over an hour. I take her upstairs to her crib, put her in a new diaper if she’s been wearing the same one for a while. She naps much better in a fresh diaper than a slightly wet t0 wet diaper. That’s probably the case for most babies. Sleeping in a wet bed doesn’t sound fun. I stay in the room until London is asleep. This gives me some time to read aloud Harry Potter to her. We are somewhere around page 500 of the 5th book, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I do not read a page in silence or away from her side, so it is taking me a while to get through the 870 pages of this book, but since I read some to her every time I put her down for a nap I am able to whittle away a decent chunk of the book each week.

Once she is asleep I will hit up some house duties. Go downstairs and clean up the kitchen. Do some laundry maybe. Pay some bills perhaps. You know, all the menial but important stuff that goes in the background of every functioning household. I will also shower so London and I don’t have to smell me the rest of the day following that workout downstairs.

If there’s some time left, I will partake in one of my favorite rituals of the day and brew some iced coffee. I’ve recently started to make Japanese iced coffee with my Chemex. This is a superb method and, after trying a variety of methods, the best one I have found.

12-1 pm – London wakes up. I give her a bottle. She will play in her activity saucer afterward while I scrounge up lunch of leftovers or graze through the pantry for something resembling a decent meal. Maybe I’ll watch a little more of The Wire. These episodes are an hour long and I never watch them in one sitting. They are usually broken up in four or five parts scattered here and there throughout the day.

1-3 pm – If we have errands to run, this is when I get them done. I like doing them while London is awake so her nap time can be at home and I will also have more time to myself if she sleeps at home. Whether it’s the grocery store or flying through Costco, London is so good when I am out with her. Today we went to the library to pick up a book and a movie I had on hold there. She seemed to know it was a quiet building, keeping her singing voice at bay for a few minutes. Once home, more floor time with London. This is usually the time of day when I read her “age appropriate” books. We usually lay side by side on our backs, with me holding the book above us, her arms outstretched for the book, wishing to touch the thick pages and pull them to her mouth. She looks from the page to my mouth, so intently studying the movement of my lips and the sound coming out of my mouth.

3-6 pm – London’s second nap will happen sometime in this three-hour block. After finishing up this dose of Harry Potter, I usually have a little cleaning up in the kitchen, but then I have some real free time. I always face a choice during this time. There are two things I love to do during this time and not enough time for both of them. Will I read? Will I sit down and write a blog like I am doing now? If I don’t have a blog idea, I do not force it. So, with any luck, London sleeps long enough for me to read an old issue of The New Yorker or a few chapters of a book. Come 5:30, I will usually watch the nightly news and I will have to be snacking on something by then. London wakes up and Kate gets home next, or vice versa.

If there’s dinner prep to be done, I do it during this time, sometimes making all of dinner so that when Kate gets in the door we can all sit down and eat while Kate feeds London her dinner in the high chair pulled up next to our dining room table.

6-9pm – The use of this time varies. We might have a rented movie we want to watch. London might need a bath. We clean up after dinner. We tell one another about the day. I usually lean on Kate a little bit during this time, shedding some of the parental duties and enjoying the split of them between us. Come 8:30, we are thinking about heading upstairs for the night. I get London a bottle, her last of the day, and make another one for the morning. I bring her morning bottle upstairs in a little cooler bag to keep it fresh for the morning. London loves cold bottles!

9-10:30 – I typically give London her last bottle. London gets a goodnight kiss from Kate and I put London in her crib. I usually do not read to her at this time, slipping out of the room as soon as she is in her crib so she doesn’t get accustomed to me being there. If she does, then she will cry as soon as I step toward the door and make any sign of leaving. But, if I step out right after she gets in her crib and is holding her hands together and looking at them, then she won’t even notice me leaving. Of course, before all this I lean in and kiss her on her forehead, still to this day having a brief thought of her incredible progress and the adventure she has taken us on. An adventure unlike any other.

Once London is asleep, I will check on her once more, usually moving her into the center of her crib. Then it’s to bed for me. Reading with a headlamp or watching some late news.

36 Weeker ≠ 26 Weeker

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One does not want to brag about how long their baby was in the NICU, although many do (see this earlier post on NICU bragging).

However, not all who mention how long their baby was in the NICU for are bragging about the experience. I would say a decent number of parents are simply stating that information up front as a desperate attempt to find someone else out there who has gone through exactly what they have gone through. I can relate to their desire because parents who have had a 26-weeker are not going to have much in common with parents of a 36-weeker.

What Kate and I know about prematurity is based on our own experience of having a 26-weeker. So, if you can, imagine our reaction when we read something like this, “My baby was born at 36 weeks. It was so horrible. We had to stay in the NICU for two weeks.” Parents of a 26-weeker are just going to laugh at that. In a similar fashion, so different our experience could be from a 24-weeker that parents of such a preemie might rightly scoff at our daughter’s 109 days in the NICU. I would not hold that against them because 24-weekers are at a higher risk of having longterm side effects from their prematurity than 26-weekers.

The earlier your child is born, the more you will hear stories from parents of preemies that will sound “easy” or “absurd.” The more they are going to sound like the person is NICU bragging, when, in fact, they might not be at all. Perhaps they just want to share their story. 32-weekers are fairly rare, right? Yes.

As you might be able to tell from reading the earlier post about NICU bragging, my views on this phenomenon have slightly evolved. For parents of preemies, a good rule of thumb is this:

Next time you are talking to someone who has also had a preemie, do not assume that their child’s time in the NICU was harder, easier, shorter, or longer than your child’s stay there. There are ways to find parents who have gone through the same experience as you have, but starting off with woe is me, is likely going to isolate you rather than find you the support you desire.

Misconceptions About SAHDs

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A reader recently asked me about misconceptions relating to stay-at-home dads (SAHDs), more specifically, if I have encountered these misconceptions. And, if so, what would I say to the people who hold these misconceptions?

I am not sure I have a long list of misconceptions about SAHDs that I have encountered in my relatively short time being one myself, but there is one that comes up almost every time I tell someone I am a SAHD. It is that people assume that being a SAHD is a temporary, unwanted responsibility and, as soon as I can, I will put my child in daycare and go get a job, because that is what “adults” do.

In 2013, I remember reading an article in the NY Times about a subset of SAHDs, whose wives were CEOs, hedge fund managers, CFOs, or in another upper-crust executive job. One SAHD who was interviewed for the article confessed that he felt no pride at all when announcing to people that he stayed at home with his kids while his wife went to work. A part of me understood that at the time and, I guess, a part of me still does, but a bigger part of me was troubled by this SAHD carrying on that way. Clearly, the family seemed to have plenty of money to put all the kids into daycare or to pay for a nanny, but he and his wife had made this choice for him to stay at home with the kids. It may not have been his dream job or what he thought he would be doing at this point in his life, but why wasn’t he choosing to embrace it? Why be shameful about it?

Staying at home with a baby is certainly not what I thought I would be doing _BKP3914 - Version 3when I was 31, but I am. Why not embrace it? I would tell those people who expect me to be a little disappointed with my post in life that I love it. I will do it as long as my wife and I think it is a smart decision. It is a job, yes, but do not assume I would rather drop my girl off at a daycare to hang out with strangers everyday, go sit in a cubicle for 8-10 hours, and then pick her up at sunset. Some families do not have that choice. I completely understand that, but I am here because we do and do not have that choice.

We do because my wife is an extremely hard worker and quite successful at what she sets her mind to. We do because we are able to support our small family on one income.

We don’t because we cannot risk London being around a bunch of little kids who are carrying all sorts of germs that, for them, might keep them out of daycare for a few days, but for London could send her right back to the hospital.

Please don’t assume I am not happy with my occupation. Don’t assume I am a bumbling, know-nothing dad, who shirks as many domestic duties as possible because he believes he is above them. That is the dad of old, the mythical head of the family, distant and mysterious.

I am none of those things. When you next meet a stay-at-home dad do not assume he is either.

2014 In Review

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The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 7,600 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 6 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

A Letter to a Year

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Dear 2014,

Only 28 days passed predictably by before you became a year unlike any we had ever had. We were already set up for a big year with the closing on our first house December 31, 2013, and with our first kid on the way, due May 4th, and with me finding a job by then. But, only one of those big events went as planned, sort of. We did plan on having more than three weeks in our house before we added another person to it. Was this your way of hogging London? Eight months with her was not good enough for you? You wanted 11 months and one day to spend with London. I understand. After spending one moment with London, I could not hold that against you, but your selfishness sure made it hard on mom and dad.

Lots of things happened during your 365 days. Weddings. Holidays. A little travel here and there. Weeks of thunderstorms. Weeks of dry, hot heat. The Super Bowl. A season of television. Tax day. Pay days. Big days. Little days. Slow weeks and fast weeks.

But for 337 days, only one being mattered. You got your wish, 2014. You are all about London, but in three parts: her early arrival, her fight to stay here with us, and then her thriving.

You forced me to change so much I can barely remember what that little sliver of me was like before London arrived. But as I write this I know I am very much the same person I was at the start of the year as I am now at the end of it. But everything I am has been rearranged and redefined. Yes, 2014, you sure had your way with us, but we left you much stronger than we were when we said hello to you all those long days ago.

I know there will be other years like you. I wish I could see some of them coming, but I am also thankful I cannot, because in a lifetime not all years have happy endings, but this one does. I’ll toast to that.

Cheers, 2014.

The Redefining

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I wanted to share something short today.

At some point during London’s NICU stay I was shuffling through some words in my head. The words were not new words to me, but rather old ones with new, real-life experience meaning.

Selfless.

Difficult.

Scary.

Challenging.

Beautiful.

Enduring.

Love.

The meaning of these words most often change with a full-term baby, but when you have a super early preemie almost no word or perspective is left unchanged. The story of London’s birth is many things to us, but to boil it down to a few sentences is this…

A shift of everything into high gear and high limits. Your life and your cares as you knew them were wiped away in an instant. It is the redefining moment of your lives. What you thought would break you passed and you emerged from it whole.

Remade.

And redefined.

#athomewithlondon on Instagram

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Most of you know this, but along with this blog, London makes quite a few appearances on my Instagram account. You can follow me @bigbryce and check out the #athomewithlondon hashtag to look at all the images I have posted in the past. The most recent picture, posted last night, was actually taken on December 7 as London and I had some couch time before both going to sleep.

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New and Exciting Things About Fatherhood

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I did not expect to be a stay-at-home dad. Thus, I did not expect to be as excited by some things related to stay-at-home parenting as I currently am. This post is about some of those things.

Level 3 Nipples

Anything that helps the baby blast through a bottle faster is a godsend. When London first got home it would take her an hour IMG_5059to finish off 65 mL! And that was if you were lucky enough to keep her awake for an hour straight. That was next to impossible during her first weeks home. Eventually, she became more alert, but taking a bottle would still take up to thirty minutes. I remember when we moved to level 2 nipples and that time was cut down to fifteen or twenty. But just recently we tried level 3 nipples and she polished off a 160 mL bottle in eight minutes. These are the magic moments.

Grocery Shopping With A Stroller

I am ecstatic when I go to the grocery store and I can get buy with pushing London around in the stroller instead of using a shopping cart. London’s stroller has a large basket under the seat that can hold a lot of goods. Using it for the first time instead of a shopping cart I realized how easy it would be to just push the stroller right out of the store with groceries stashed away under a diaper bag. I have not tried that out and do not plan on it, but every time I fling goods into that lower storage net I expect a store employee to say I cannot do that anymore because, “You could just walk out of here with that stuff down there and nobody would know.” Anyways, I love ditching the shopping cart for the stroller. A just tuned up and thoroughly-oiled cart is no match for the smoothness of the stroller too!

Accomplishing Tasks With Baby In Arms

Last week I successfully held London and with one hand held a beer and with the other hand held a bottle opener. The execution was flawless. In seconds I was sipping a cold one and baby was never at any risk at all. I need to set up a tripod with a camera remote to record these moments. The things I carry with London or the tasks I manage to do with my hands while holding her are certainly worth recording.

Beating The Moms Through The Grocery Store

Yep. I said it. It feels damn good. I have my grocery store down pat. I did most of the grocery shopping long before London arrived and since moving to Denver I have done most of that shopping at the same store. I would say I probably am a little more aggressive with the shopping cart than most moms I come across. Once I know London is locked in, then it is liftoff. I have my strategies, but I am not revealing them here. I might reveal some secrets of the trade over beers…if I get tipsy enough.

No Ramp, No Problem

I have been out and about a few times with London when we have come to a flight of stairs where I was expecting a ramp. The first time this happened to me I turned around to search for an easier way down, but when I did I thought, what am I doing, I can probably pick up the whole stroller with the carseat attached to it and walk down the stairs. I have long enough arms that I can easily secure my arms on opposite sides of the stroller when facing it from the side. Remember, lift with your legs, not your back, and you are free to move about the stairs, up, down, and all around. Don’t mind the onlookers. They’re just jealous. These arms aren’t just for decoration.

Free Of It

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I was filling up a growler at the Bull and Bush when I received word that London no longer needed oxygen support. Tears immediately filled my eyes as I stared at the text message from Kate that delivered the news. I tried to compose myself as I signed the bill and took my growler, noticing a woman next to me at the bar. The woman’s prolonged stares told me that she knew I was trying hard not to cry.

Back in my car, I was able to share the news with my parents who were visiting us for Thanksgiving. After that I wept. I was overcome with pride in my daughter’s strength and attitude. It was the happiest cry I can remember having.

Here, on this blog, I have tried to convey to you what this journey has been like for our little family. However, there are some emotions that are so hard for me to put into words that I know I cannot give you the depth of feeling I felt at this news or that news, nor should I really expect to be able to do that because my feelings as London’s dad are obviously not going to be the same for you. Nevertheless, I wanted to try.

If you have read this blog from the start, you know just how far London has come since birth. I have reminded you enough. But her finally shedding oxygen support was a landmark event in her story, unlike any that she or heFullSizeRender-2r parents have lived through.

From January 30, 2014, we have treated London like a normal baby, sort of convincing ourselves that this is how all lives start. This is a coping mechanism and I suspect parents of babies and children with physical or mental setbacks have often treated their child as completely normal. This has served us well and I am sure it has served countless other parents well.

Now, I can only speak for myself, but no matter how much I thought of London as normal, I knew of her unique health risks and the challenges she had faced, so I never forgot that this was all quite far from normal. For all of her life up until last Tuesday, London had external, let’s call them accent pieces, on her face that clued everyone else into her prematurity or special needs. As a parent of a preemie, you get used to this, but from that first moment when you see your baby in that Isolette with tubes coming out of her mouth, nose, and belly, you yearn for the day when she can rid herself of it all, when she can be free of it.

Just shy of her ten-month birthday, that day arrived and I will remember for the rest of my life where I was when it did.

Articles of Fatherhood

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In November there were two great articles about fatherhood in the New York Times. The first one was printed under the title, “The Leave Seldom Taken,” and it can be found here. This piece talks specifically about paternity leave and how taking it, when you work for certain companies, can be a strike against you, but those dads who do take significant time off (we are talking months here, not weeks) after a baby arrives are significantly more involved in the lives of their children–during all stages–and do more domestic duties around the house and beyond. We have probably all known someone who could take a little time off from work to better understand the other side of the equation, i.e. all the behind-the-scenes work.

Obviously, due to financial situations, not all dads can take paternity leave because not all companies offer paid paternity leave. But, when it is offered and a man does not take all of it because he feels like it’s not his responsibility or he fears he would pay the price at work, I think, he is not much of a man. Of course, I am a stay-at-home dad, so I am a little biased. But I encourage you to read the article for yourself.

The second article, “Challenging The Mr. Mom Stereotype,” was about a gathering of the National At-Home Dad Network. The conference, to my surprise, took place in Denver. I wish I had known about it. There is lots of good stuff in this article (read it here), but I loved this passage:

(At the end: a female newscaster asking, “Is dad the new mom?” To which a chorus of male voices shouted at the projector, “No!” But these men are used to that question, or at least what it represents. They see it at the playground as they scan the grass for other dads to talk to, or from male friends who, as Mr. Washington put it, “don’t always get it.” They hear it in the innocent question from a neighbor–“Are you babysitting today?”–or the pediatrician who asks, “Should I speak with your wife?”

I loved hearing about the response to the “new mom” question. Stay-at-home dads, or sahds, are not the new mom, at least this one isn’t. Mr. Mom implies that we are raising our kids in exactly the same fashion as moms raise kids. Spend just a couple hours with a stay-at-home dad and I think you will realize how inaccurate a label Mr. Mom is for a Sahd.

Lastly, just today I was out grocery shopping and the lady at the deli counter said, “Oh, a father daughter day. I just love seeing dads out with their kids.” Before the week ends I’ll hear, “Oh, day off today?” Sometimes I simply say, “Yes,” and other times I look the person right in the eye and say, “No day off today, I’m a stay-at-home dad.”

Not all the things people say to me when I am out with London are like that though. A few weeks ago, a nice old lady at Costco patted me on the arm and said, “The sexiest thing in this world is a man with a baby. Don’t you ever forget it.”

I won’t.

Pictures: Leaving the NICU

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The day of London’s discharge from the NICU I brought the Nikon to take some higher res photos of her room and its surroundings. Although we never wanted a baby in the NICU, it did become a home for us after three and a half months. I suppose anywhere your baby has to stay will inevitably feel like a second home. I wanted to capture even the mundane things of the room, like the chairs we sat in everyday, or the closet doors displaying her footprints and growth progress. So, some of these shots will just not have much appeal to you, but I thought I would share them anyway because they mean so much to our little family.

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London resting in her NICU bed. For her, the day was not so monumental as it was for us. She had no idea what was in store. We did, and we could hardly contain our excitement and nervousness.

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This is one of those pictures that is more for our benefit than for yours. I wanted to capture what I saw from this side of the bed, where I actually rarely stood. I stood on the other side all the time. But at least from this angle you get a feel for what was in the rest of the room and the amazing windows we had in the room.

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The closet in London’s room with several footprints, a growth chart, a physical therapy schedule, a note from Kate, and the top of a bag holding London’s dirty clothes. Again, just trying to capture it like it was before all this stuff came home with us.

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The million-dollar view. It doesn’t look like it, but it’s the only window this size in any of the NICU’s pods. We scored in a major way.

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I took all the stickers we had placed on things around the room and put them on the iPad. The outcast Leprechaun was a treat from our Irish primary nurse. When he was on the lamp for months, I had placed a Union Jack flag in his hand. Eileen was not amused.

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Dear Megan, London’s primary, on the last day she was responsible for taking care of London.

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Spent a lot of days in both of those chairs, usually with coffee on the side table and always with my Timbuk2 bag filled with magazines or books to read when, or if, I could get some time to do so.

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Megan and Kate going over some paperwork before we finish packing the room up and carry London out of there once and for all. There’s no way to explain just how nervous you feel about taking your daughter home from the hospital after she has been there for almost four months. You absolutely need to get everything right and you also need to know again and again what exactly needs to be done if there is a problem with something once you are home. In less than an hour there is not going to be a team of nurses and doctors on the other side of the curtain able to answer your every question.

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Moments after all three of us stepped outside the hospital, 109 days after we frantically arrived, thinking we’d spend just a few hours there.

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Home. The adventure begins anew.

World Prematurity Day

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Right before falling asleep last night I was scanning Twitter and I learned that yesterday was World Prematurity Day. The March of Dimes Twitter account, which I follow, had shared images of city landmarks all across the world that were lit up purple, the color of support for preemies.

I don’t know how I missed this day, but today I read some articles about prematurity and found this one on NPR, the most interesting. Money quote:

Premature birth is now the single largest cause of death among babies and young children. Every year, 1.09 million children under age 5 die due to health complications that stem from being born before week 37 of pregnancy (a 40-week pregnancy is considered full-term).

I recommend reading  the whole article at NPR. It’s quite short. The editorial, titled “Preterm Birth: Now the Leading Cause of Child Death Worldwide,” mentioned in the NPR piece can be found here.

After reading the article and seeing the picture at the top of the NPR page, I am, again, so thankful for the treatment available to us here in Denver and that we were not traveling when London suddenly decided she wanted out.