Denver

She Sneezes Into Her Hand As Well

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She sneezed into her hand five minutes after it happened. I shook my head in disgust and in further disappointment in myself for not stopping her five minutes earlier.

We were all out at one of my favorite restaurants, the Bull and Bush, having an excellent weekend dinner. London was in a high chair eating off of the disinfected table. She wasn’t too enthralled with the food. It was great, but there was so much to look at so sometimes she just wouldn’t eat what we were offering her. When that happens we always set the food in front of her.

London is finicky about when she wants to feed herself versus when she wants us to give her food on a spoon or with our fingers. Right before our server walked up to the table London turned away from a piece of food Kate was offering her. Kate placed it on the table in front of London, knowing that London would pick it up eventually and feed herself. But there would be no time for that. The server picked up the piece of food and fed London right off her finger.

I was so freaking surprised I froze, didn’t say anything, and looked at Kate. Did that just happen?

Kate’s eyes answered back, yes, yes it did. 

Okay, I thought. It’s probably not that bad. Wait, who am I kidding here? That server just fed London like she was her grandkid (interestingly enough, she was plenty old to have a few) without any knowledge of London’s past. And we have no knowledge of where her hands have been. Does she wash them as much as she should? Not sure, but I found out she prefers to sneeze directly into her palm.

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Our old lofty perch, from where the Bull and Bush was within walking distance.

I thought about saying something to her or writing on the receipt, but the damage had been done. If she had some disgusting bacteria on her hand she had already gifted London with it. I know very well that at some point I will transfer a bug to London, but that’s the right of the parent to do. Plus, I know I have big pump action bottles of hand sanitizer on both floors of the house. I know my hands get dry and cracked from using so much of that stuff. I have the cleanest hands I have ever had in my life.

Yes, I was mad at the server, but I let it go. I was mostly disappointed in myself. We were both trying to be so nice that we didn’t say anything at all when it happened. And it happened so fast. If we were going to say anything at all it would have needed to be pretty blunt like, “Stop! What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I vow to never let this happen again, but I also don’t expect to come across too many servers who feel like they can hand feed my baby. If they do, I’ll throw being polite right out the window.

Graduating to a Bottle

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Last week I uploaded a video of Kate and I feeding London 1 ml of milk from a very tiny syringe. Though it was a long, long time until London could move on up to a bottle and I took many videos between that syringe and the first bottle, I wanted to skip to a video of an early bottle feeding.

In this video nurse Eileen is giving London a bottle. It was during a time of London’s NICU stay in which she was particularly stubborn about wanting to drink at all. Sometimes she was a champ, drinking her whole feed, but at other times she drank 5 ml and looked at us like, what? I’m done. Just gavage the rest and get on with it.

I think I had been trying to feed London and handed her off to Eileen, hoping London would cooperate a little more. She does in the video at least, but I can’t remember if she finished that particular bottle. Most of the time she did not. Thus, when it was time for London’s NICU discharge she came home with an NG tube.

One thing you see here in the video of London is the pacing that we had to do for quite a long time before London had the energy and the skill to take a constant flow from the bottle without choking and also learning how to breath properly during feeding. We would give London some flow from the bottle, for three seconds about, and then tilt the bottle back and let her catch her breath and finish swallowing the milk. It seems simple enough, but you also had to keep her body tilted to the side as well. And after that, you had better familiarize yourself with London’s cues…or else a nurse might give you heck from the other side of the pod, “And dad’s just choking the baby over there.”

When my sister visited London she was eager to give her a bottle. I felt bad, but I just had to say no. I went on to explain that it wasn’t like giving a full-term baby a bottle, at least not yet. After watching me feed London, my sister acknowledged that it looked difficult. I’m glad she did. At that point, I was only willing to hand London to someone other than Kate or a nurse if all they were going to do was sit with her.

I remember the day I discovered that I did not have to pace London’s bottle anymore. We were waiting for a ROP exam, and she was a little moody so I brought out a bottle and I tilted it up so the milk started flowing and I did not tilt it back down again until the bottle was empty. I was astonished and looked from the bottle to London’s happy, chubby face and back to the bottle. I knew we had reached a milestone in London’s feeding progress. But back down to earth we came, for the ROP exam was next.

March for Babies

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Denver’s City Park during the 2015 March for Babies.

This last weekend we walked with London in our family’s first March of Dimes event. Last year we were still in the NICU when it took place and prior to that, I had no clue what March of Dimes supports. The organization exists to help moms have a full-term pregnancy. And if that doesn’t happen, then they provide help, support, and resources to preemies and their parents.

We had a hectic week so we actually thought about not going to Denver’s City Park to participate in the walk this year, but we were both thankful we did. We even got to walk with one of London’s primary NICU nurses. In addition to seeing some other nurses who took care of London, just being in the presence of more than a thousand other preemies and their parents was empowering…even if we didn’t strike up a conversation with any of them.

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London and Kate wearing purple in support of preemies and ending premature birth.

The 5k walk meandered through City Park. We started behind many slower walkers and passed most of them by off-roading it in the grass. Toward the end, we were out in front with other fast walkers scattered about. We slowed down a bit as we neared the stage of the walk where posters were placed in the grass showing pictures of preemies at their birth and then a few years later, strong, energetic, and healthy. The posters shared the gestational age at birth and sometimes the weight. As we walked by I glanced from poster to poster noting the gestational ages, “Born at 38 weeks…..Born at 25 weeks….Born at 40 weeks….Born at 33 weeks….Born too soon.” And then, a little later on, “Born at 19 weeks,” with a picture of impossibly small feet and a message of why the parents support March of Dimes, because no parents should have to suffer losing a baby.

When I saw the first “Born too soon,” I think I had a sharp intake of breath. It was a stark reminder that we were walking for the preemies who didn’t make it as well as those who have. We came scarily close to having a “Born too soon” baby. Whatever it was that set things in motion for Kate’s premature delivery, we will never know, but I am so glad things happened when they did and not 2+ weeks earlier. I usually don’t dwell on this what if?, but the walk made me think about it a little more than usual. To change my train of thought was easy this time. I just had to look up. I was surrounded by hope, happy endings, and amazingly supportive parents.

The Mountain Buggy

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I never expected to receive a stroller as a surprise birthday gift. Nor did I expect to be happy when receiving a stroller as a surprise birthday gift. When both of those things happened, I knew I had fully arrived as a SAHD.

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With the latest edition to the stroller stable.

The picture here is just moments after I came in the door to find London locked in and ready for a stroll in this Mountain Buggy Terrain, the tallest, most beautiful jogging stroller I have ever pushed around. We had thought about making this stroller our everyday stroller for a while, but after using it for nearly three months I am glad we did not. To be clear, the Terrain is amazing. At its tallest, it’s actually too tall if I want to run with it. (I love having something that’s too tall). The stroller is rock solid on bumpy trails and there is more than enough adequate storage below the seat and in pockets on either side of the sun shade.

But the thing is a beast! When collapsed it barely fits in the back of our Toyota Highlander. It’s no light stroller. Lift with your legs, not with your back. Lugging it around for everyday tasks and errands would have been a hassle. I am still ever so grateful for our Uppababy and the Chicco umbrella stroller we now have.

Again, the tall strollers are consistently one of the most expensive models in the market. However, our Terrain was a spotless floor model so it was discounted nearly $200. Phew.

I’ll never forget the first time I took London for a run in the stroller. She started giggling as soon as I started off on the trail. She kept laughing so that in ten minutes she had worn herself out and was snoozing. So even on gravel, the Terrain provides a smooth enough ride for the occupant.

I had given the Uppababy some stroller love on this blog back in September. The Mountain Buggy is worthy of the same praise. If you’re tall and want a jogging stroller, look no further.

I Hear Old People

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It was one of those freak, 65-degree days in January and I had ventured downtown with London. We were at REI and I had just sat down at a patio table at the Starbucks there, overlooking Confluence Park and the South Platte River and Cherry Creek.

Our table was in the sun and London stayed in her stroller, which was positioned just right for her to eye every person walking by her on their way to get a coffee. Babies love people watching and London was clearly into it.

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The scene of the crime.

I pulled out my phone and casually checked my email and did a quick scan of Instagram. It was about two to three minutes of screen time before I heard an old woman speaking. She was seated with her husband, I assume, at a table directly across from our table, with the path for patio customers between us. I had started to eavesdrop because I heard her say to her husband, “Don’t you wonder about kids these days and what their vocabulary will be like as they start school?”

I couldn’t hear what her husband said in response. I continued listening, positioned in a way that I was facing London, now giving her a bottle, but I had my sunglasses on so my eyes were fixed on this lady and she could not tell.

What she said next made me freeze. “Well, that dad over there has said all of three words to his daughter since sitting down. He’s been playing with his phone and not talking to her at all.”

In that moment, I’m pretty sure I wanted to huck my iced coffee at her face. But she went on, bemoaning the sad state of parenting because of parents like me who look at their phone in the presence of their baby. I continued my stare, amazed that she could not see my eyes through my sunglasses and astonished that she would choose to say such things at all about someone sitting right across from her.

The old couple’s conversation eventually shifted to a different topic.  Where I sat I did not need the hot, January sun to keep me warm anymore. My blood was boiling. For the next ten minutes I sat there thinking about what I would say to this woman, if anything at all, and how would I deliver the message? And every word I spoke to London I second-guessed, am I saying this to London just because of what that old lady said?

Was this a moment to hold my tongue and be the bigger person? Or did this justify letting this old hag know just how much her assessment of modern-day parenting was incorrect? I admit, normally, I would have let this lady walk by without saying a word, but I had never had my parenting called into question like this. I am no perfect parent, but speaking and reading to London is where I excel. I decided I had to defend this.

The couple had stood up, gathered their biking gear, and were making their exit, forced to walk right by me. My eyes did not leave that old lady as soon as she starting moving. This time she noticed my stare and as she was right by my table I said, “I heard every word you said about my daughter and I. I really didn’t appreciate it and wanted to let you know that you are wrong. I have read thousands of pages to my daughter and I think she’ll have a fine vocabulary.”

Old lady, immediately apologetic and surprised, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

No response from me. London stared at her and made some noises. “I can tell she’s trying to talk,” the old lady said.

“Yep,” I said, a little on the curt side, but hey, I think it’s pretty clear that I didn’t strike up this conversation to be friends with you so move along.

She felt like adding one more thing, “Well, it wasn’t like I was broadcasting it.” I did not acknowledge that and she got the hint and moved on. All the while her husband was a little behind her and I am pretty sure he missed the whole exchange. I gave him a wave and said, “Enjoy your ride.”

“Thank you,” he said, and walked on, completely unaware of what went down.

It was so liberating to let that woman know just how wrong and mean her comments had been. I watched her at a distance now, as she was getting onto her bicycle. There was a part of me that was hoping she would feel like an ass for the rest of the morning.

I think what that old lady said to her husband that day is so characteristic of some older or elderly people. It’s this feeling they sometimes get (or always have) that everything used to be better and now everything is going to shit, including parenting. As many people grow older the list of things they dislike and bemoan grows longer and longer. Eventually it is so long that most of the sentences coming out of their mouths are complaints. The worst of these are the most negative people to be around. This is a trait I loathe and one that I hope does not follow me into my golden years.

As a younger person it can be discouraging and exhausting to be around people who think everything is going to hell. I know it is very hard to be positive sometimes. And it is hard to hope. But try. Promise me that. And I’ll promise to read to my daughter today.

Early Smiles

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London’s early smiles were one of the first signs of how happy a baby she would become. At first I thought the flashes of a smile I saw were just the typical baby imitating the adult’s facial expressions, but by the time this video was taken on her two-month birthday I had changed my mind.

You can see London try to look up at me. The comfort of knowing that dad is holding her breaks through those hiccups and appears as a smile on her face. And then, back to hiccuping. Kate says, “She smiles a lot…”

She did then and she still does. She is constantly reminding me to be happy and then to stay happy. Even in those most frustrating moments of parenthood when I am in grumpy land and want to stay there, her joy cracks the scowl on my face and I surrender to her smile.

We are blessed and spoiled with such a happy baby, who continues to amaze the most weathered parents, grandparents, and great grandparents by her no-fuss, ebullient temperament.

Too Many Journals

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I would think twice about giving new parents a journal. Chances are, they already have three…at minimum.

They don’t need but one place to write their thoughts down about the expecting, the arrival, and the aftermath of their first child. We were lucky and probably only got about five journals, enough to record every minute of IMG_6093every day for the first three years.

Among people who journal, my devotion to it is moderate and, still, I am considerably disappointed by my lack of devotion to it. After all, it’s what writers do.

I’ve got a bookshelf of empty journals and I bet quite a few people can say the same, long before they have kids. For me, the site of an empty journal, which has been on my bookshelf for a decade, can be a consistent reminder of failure. (Note to self: move all empty or one-tenth-completed journals to box in basement.) Perhaps it’s the same with the people you are giving that journal too. Perhaps it’s not. But before you go ahead and give them that new-parent journal you better do a journal inventory of their bookshelves (in all rooms) and then assess whether these parents need more blank pages in their house.

If you do that assessment and you decide to still get a journal, I have a recommendation. It’s called Mom’s One Line A Day. It’s my favorite journal with the crappiest title. It offers six narrow lines of writing space for each day for five years. On each page you can see what you were doing on the same date in a five-year span. Now that’s a crapload of journaling, don’t get me wrong, but at six lines a day, even if your handwriting is small, it fills up fast.

Even with that knowledge, I fail to write in it half the days, but since Kate and I have used this journal for over a year now we have a considerable record of London’s first 15 months (nearly).

More momentous are some days than others, but I have found it helpful even to write down the seemingly mundane. Example: April 21, 2015 – 2 naps still. Read HP (book 6) out loud to you and some of A Game of Thrones. Outside in backyard you watched as I planted some herbs.

And right above that entry, I can see that on April 21, 2014, I wrote: Dad started reading The Hobbit to you today. You can’t truly follow the story but you know my voice and somehow you can tell when I start reading each day because you smile every time. It’s truly amazing.

So, if you must, pull the trigger on the Mom’s One Line A Day journal. It’s just the right dose of urging the parents to write about this spectacular time in their lives.

The Complicated Age of Preemies

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Home at last. London’s 4-month and 1-month birthday.

“How old is she?” The simplest of questions for parents of full-term babies to answer, but not so for parents of preemies because there are two answers for this one question.

At some point, a baby arrives so early that their actual age is going to be different from their developmental age. For example, my daughter, London, was born at 26 weeks gestational age, three months early. Her birthday is January 30, 2014. Her developmental birthday is May 4, 2014. This means London’s adjusted age is 11.5 months, even though she’s been with us for 14.5 months.

So how do I answer the question, “How old is she?” Well, sometimes I lie. If the person asking is asking because they are wondering why London is not walking and or talking because she’s the size of some two-year-olds, I lie and give them the adjusted age. By doing so, I direct the conversation toward the obvious and usually hear something like this: “My God, what a big baby.” I would much rather talk about how big my baby girl is than tell the person the truth and then have the conversation inevitably slide toward how London is, developmentally speaking, three months behind.

That said, I think most of the time I tell the truth and answer, “Almost 15 months,” because most people, whether they dwell on my answer or not, just aren’t going to say anything else. But I know, because I’ve seen it in their eyes, that when I say London’s real age some people look a little confused. I don’t know what they are thinking exactly, but it’s something along the lines of:

“Shouldn’t she look older?”

“She should be crawling by now.”

“She should be walking by now.”

“She should be talking more by now.”

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At seven and four-months old.

When I feel this reaction in people I know I could take the time and explain London’s two ages, but somehow just saying, “She was born three months early,” sounds cheap because I’m taking this huge, scary part of our lives and trivializing it in six words. Plus, the majority of people will not be able to comprehend what those six words truly mean. Getting stranger after stranger to comprehend that over and over again can be exhausting. I know, because I would make a casual effort to explain London’s prematurity to nearly everyone that asked. This was right after she came home from the NICU. Still on oxygen. Still rocking cheek patches. NG tube still snaking across her face. Understandably, those people who asked how old she was back then knew they were probably going to get something more than, “3 months.” But after a while, parents of preemies tire of going into the explanation thing. So, like parents of full-term babies we get back to basics with a simple, short answer, “Fourteen and a half months.”

Or am I going to say, “Eleven and a half months,” this time?

Oh hell, maybe I’ll just split the difference.

“Thirteen months.”

Nana Remembers London’s Birth

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I’ve been meaning to share this comment since it was left on January 29th, when I wrote this post. The comment is from my mom, recalling the night and early morning of January 30, 2014.

I have been thinking all day about the phone ringing this night a year ago when we were sound asleep. Groggy and confused we listened to you tell us Kate was in distress, the docs were monitoring her and you would keep us posted. We hung up the phone, prayed through our tears thinking how can a baby live at 26 weeks? And we called her Grace not knowing you’d give her that moniker as her middle name. Your next call came to say Kate was about to undergo an emergency C-section. More tears and ongoing prayer. I remember my heart was beating so hard for what seemed like hours but you called again less than two hours later to say “London Grace” was here. Dozens of doctors and nurses were looking after her and Kate was in recovery. Then you asked, “Do you want to see a picture of her?” And so it began.

Still, I can’t read this without fighting back some tears. I had sort of forgotten that I asked my parents if they wanted to see a picture of their granddaughter. Such a question seems a little odd, but in the moment it was not an unusual precaution. The one picture I had of London at that point was graphic, for lack of a better word. She was vulnerable and the picture succeeded in showing that. I must have thought that maybe they would not want to see a picture of her until she stabilized some. Had they felt that way it would not have bothered me. Obviously, I was still protecting myself, but I also thought about protecting others and this was a way I tried.

I have known for a long time now that there was no protecting me or anyone else if things had gone horribly wrong during those first days. I was in shock and still under the illusion that I had any control over what happened next.

Have Preemie, Will Not Travel

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Oh, the places we’ve been since London was born.

From January 30, 2014 to May 19, 2014 I left Denver once, for a quick trip north to Fort Collins. I was there for six hours. Since London was born I have spent three days outside of the state, not too far away, in Green River, WY. It took me two minutes to draw on a map where I have been in the last 14 months.

Having a baby will naturally limit your geographical existence. Having a 26-weeker will completely shut your travel down. From what I have heard about other parents who had a very early baby, we have been ambitious in our reach across this relatively small map. I have heard of parents who will not take their baby outside the house but for walks. These parents have decided that taking their preemie to the grocery store, the shopping mall, or to Target, puts their preemie at too great a risk of getting seriously sick and going right back to the hospital. My family did not make it out of the NICU without receiving such advice, from a nurse nonetheless. We were blown away by the severity of such restrictions and quickly conferred with other nurses that we did not have to stay under house arrest with our preemie until flu season was over.

We have followed certain recommendations such as, do not fly anywhere with your baby until flu season ends. Locking baby inside an incredibly small area for two hours with 140 other strangers sounded like a really bad idea to us as well. Not flying anywhere for such a long time (our last flight was in mid-December 2013) has been incredibly weird and challenging, but also much better than having a very sick daughter back in the hospital.

The feeling has been similar to putting travel and adventure on probation for over a year. Localized adventure has still been possible and we have taken advantage of that with trips to Wyoming, Breckenridge (twice), Steamboat Springs, and Estes Park. If it wasn’t for weddings, I am not sure we would have made all those trips, but thank God for weddings because these short getaways have quenched at least a little bit of our thirst for travel.

Flu season is almost over. Besides the obvious, this means as a family we are free to move about the country. And again, weddings will be the catalyst of much of that travel, but instead of weekends in the Colorado mountains we will get a weekend in southern California and Nashville, with some excursions in between. The destinations are exciting. The process of getting there, i.e. flying with London and bringing all the baby stuff along with us, does not excite. However, if London’s behavior as a baby can be a predictor for how she’ll be on a flight, I can say she probably won’t put up much of a fight. It’s her 40 lb. car seat that will.

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.

 

 

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.

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.

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.

Costco Etiquette

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How I wish all my fellow Costco shoppers could have attended a cotillion class on shopping the aisles of Costco when they were growing up.

Alas, this did not happen so I am going to present to you a few rules my fellow Costco shoppers can abide by for all future visits to that wonderful store.

1. Samples. Every one loves their Costco samples, but no one loves a stalled shopping cart in the middle of the aisle while you mosey on over for another bagel bite. Get your butt and your cart to the side of an aisle so people shopping at Costco aren’t blocked by people just there to eat enough free samples to constitute a lunch. I’m looking at you, retirees.

2. Stay to the Right. Just like on the freeway, if you’re not passing anyone, stay to the right. This way, when I close in on you I can move into the middle and smoothly pass. There is no reason to claim the middle lane at a mall-saunter pace.

3. Baby on Board. When you see a fellow Costco shopper with a baby recognize that he or she is not at Costco today to spend two hours walking up and down every aisle and buying every item that remotely piques their interest. He is there to get crap done. He has a list. He knows what he needs. Now stop looking at that kayak like you are going to buy it and move out the way!

4. Book Table. From now on, all perusing of books shall be done in a clockwise direction around the table for better flow, for better access for those arriving at the book table, and for an easier exit for those leaving the book table.

5. Receipt Check. That second Costco employee stationed at the exit of the store is not just there as a joke. He also looks at receipts. Form two lines, using both receipt-checking employees and we all get out of here a little sooner.

6. Gas Station. Most gas tanks are located on the driver’s side so people line up on the right side of the gas pump even when there are spots open on the left side of the gas pump. What these people do not know or what they are nervous to experiment with is that the hose on the Costco gas pump reaches most gas tanks, no matter what side the opening is located on. I was at Costco last week and I saw the worst example of this. Everyone seemed in a rush to top off with $1.83 gas that there was a deep, six-car line at the station. It looked horrible. I almost turned around, but I noticed two open pumps on the left side. I slowly drove forward, wondering if these pumps worked, looking at all the people sitting in their cars and waiting. What for? I arrived at the pump, pulled the nozzle around to the opposite side of my car and filled up while people who had been waiting when I arrived watched me finish up and drive home.

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.