Stay-At-Home-Dad

Welcome to the Pump House: Adventures in Fatherhood and Breast Milk Management

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A version of this post appeared on my blog years ago when London wasn’t even a year old. But I just tweaked it a bit, slimmed it down , and added here and there. I think it’s better now. Here it is…

Never in my wildest dreams, as I prepared for fatherhood, did I think I was going to spend so much time with lactation nurses, reviewing the intricacies of hand expressing (including motions), analyzing breast milk volumes, discussing engorgement, and just how much breast milk one could fit in a chest freezer.

A few hours prior to my meeting with lactation consultants, thinking there were three more months to learn these things, I didn’t even know lactation nurses existed. I knew that some babies were born prematurely, but I didn’t know my wife’s breast milk would still come in just as early as our daughter wanted out at 26 weeks gestation.

So it was that our 109-day stay in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) started with a crash course in breast milk. Within those first days of life for my daughter (London), my wife (Kate) and I spoke at great length with not just one lactation nurse, but several of them about breast milk and breasts, starting with a nurse asking my wife if she was going to pump breastmilk. Partly due to the trauma of the last 24 hours, and partly due to my complete lack of knowledge about breastfeeding, I had not thought a bit about breast milk or pumping. Kate was of a similar mindset at that particular moment, but we were both satisfied to know that there was a good chance Kate’s milk would come in. The early drops of colostrum, the nutrient-dense milk first released by the mammary glands, often come in shortly after the placenta detaches from the uterine wall, no matter the gestational age.

A couple of hours later a lactation nurse wheeled into our room something that looked like a medieval torture device. They were calling it the Symphony. They hooked Kate up to it and it hummed and sucked for 18 minutes. At the end of that first session, we could just barely make out two milliliters of colostrum. A few hours later Kate produced 2.6ml and then later that night 3.8ml. The next day, January 31, marked Kate’s first 24 hours of pumping. She produced 32.6ml that day, or 1.1 ounce. The lactation team handed us a log with the direction that we were to write down when Kate pumped, for how long, and the total volume.

We then received a DVD to watch, which would apparently help Kate get more milk by hand expressing and provide tips to alleviate the pain of engorgement. We were to watch it and return it to the NICU team afterwards. That same day, we popped the DVD into my laptop to watch some before going to bed. One minute into this educational video, the biggest breast and nipple either of us had seen appeared on screen. Kate laughed so hard she began to worry she might injure herself being only two days clear of a C-section. Everything hurt. If we continued watching, we put Kate’s health at risk. I slammed the laptop shut. Tears ran down our cheeks from laughing so hard.

Who knows who is responsible for making this particular lactation video, but may I make one small suggestion on behalf of my wife and all women who have recently had C-sections? Great. Do not make the first breasts on the video also be the largest breasts known to mankind. They should not be comically large, needing 3-4 hands to get them under control. In fact, this video is a danger to new mothers everywhere, they might literally bust open their gut laughing from it, like we almost did.

Thus, it fell on me to watch the lactation video alone, gleaning from it any helpful tips and then sharing them with Kate. She was impressed. It wasn’t like Kate’s breast milk volumes needed any help. Not long after London was born, I was spending part of everyday rearranging containers of breast milk in the chest freezer in the basement—the chest freezer we needed to buy solely to store breast milk. Kate and I would joke that I knew more about hand expressing breast milk than she did so I should print up some business cards and walk around the NICU offering my services to anyone who needed them. Hand Expressions by Bryce. Simple and to the point.

By day of life 57 for our little girl, Kate was producing 1,863ml a day, or 63oz of breast milk. To put that in perspective, London was fed a total of 800ml on day 57, the most she had ever consumed in one day. In fact, it took London a long time to drink as much milk in one day as Kate got from one 20-minute pump. A point was reached where no amount of rearranging the breast milk in the freezer would make room for more. I picked up a second chest freezer at Costco and Kate started to fill that, too.

For the months London was in the NICU we rented a Symphony pump, which at the time retailed for $1500-2500, and kept it in our bedroom. We started to call it the pump house. When at home, Kate disappeared every three to four hours to spend some quality time with the Symphony. As all moms know that schedule wreaks havoc on sleep and work responsibilities, but Kate did an excellent job. I did what I could by waking with her every time throughout the night, assisting in bottling of the milk, labeling and recording volumes, washing pump parts, and then delivering milk to the freezers in the basement. So, at our house, at least two times a night, Netflix and chill was swapped out for Netflix and pump.

As Kate tapered off the pump, we were just filling up the second chest freezer and the lactation nurses understood why Kate was putting an end to pumping. She had developed a reputation in the NICU as a super producer. At London’s discharge, on May 19th, 109 days after she was born, the NICU staff wrote messages to us. One of our favorites from the lactation team wrote, “Your mom was a rock star with pumping. She could have fed three babies in the NICU!”

Next week, London will be six-months-old and I can thaw breast milk from three months back. And right now it’s lunch time for the little girl, to the chest freezer I go.

On My 10th Father’s Day

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This could be my last summer as a full-time stay-at-home dad. As much as I need and crave time away from my kids, after less than 96 hours without them, I miss them dearly. Their squeals, laughs, pitter patter of small feet, noises from the kitchen as I wonder what they’re helping themselves too. Even sometimes their cries, when the silence without them feels like a suffocating blanket of absence.

Being alone is very nice. More time to catch up on the projects you’ve been meaning to do. A lot more time to read that book catching dust wherever you last set it. And an abundance of time to binge the newest buzzy show. There is just a lot more time to busy yourself with work, entertainment, things. And you can do all of it with minimal interruptions or, if you prefer, in absolute silence.

But after a little bit, after you get a taste of all those things that you were missing and that you have now done, there’s something else. There are questions in the quiet. Is this all there is? If this was life all the time would I get sick of it? Would solitary pursuits give way to success, self-absorption, or both? Would I feel like I am missing out on something? Would I get lonely or would my spouse be enough? Would she get lonely? Even questions about my far flung end arise. Will we arrive graying and wrinkled at the end of our lives wondering what could have been? Who are we missing? Who could be by our side now as we live our last days? What being/s will we never know because we do not have a child? I feel like the what-ifs would continue stacking up and then it would be too late.

What I don’t spend time doing is wondering what I could give to the world or to society if I did not have kids. Sure, it could be something great, but would it be as awe-inspiring, humbling, and as terrifying as having created a life? No. As holding the smallest hand in the pad of your index finger? No. As head-spinning as bearing witness to how fast the early years of life fly by? No. As proud a moment when you see your child shed a bit of your imprint on them to become someone wholly new, someone independent from you, but still your heart? No. As terrifying as the moment you realize they will spend many, many years on this Earth without you and you won’t be able to rush to their side anymore at the first sound of trouble, pain, or loneliness? I mean, the sadness of that thought could be enough to drive you to never have a kid, but it’s only a thought that parents can truly understand. And, by then, it’s too late. That is the risk we take. And there are big risks, but I know the answers to the questions above. Sometimes they get a little hazy and I feel the what-ifs rush in, but then I get a few days away from all their smiles, noises, questions, innocence, and imaginative everythings and the answers crystallize again into a sharp relief against a life without them.

I know I could give nothing to the world more precious and more important than them. I know the questions in the quiet would eat me up, but I know the answers to them and, for that, I am grateful.

Happy Father’s Day.

Camden’s Birth

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Yesterday @ANNELAMOTT tweeted:

Okay everybody, it’s almost time to start writing. Main thing: put on some pants. Finish up your cup of coffee–no one here thinks you need more. You’re good. Now: butt in chair; deep breath; write something, badly.

Write something, badly. Too often I think I can’t write until I can sit down and write something, goodly. I have about four days a year, maybe, when I think that is a possibility. Thus, I don’t write that often. So, thank you, Anne, for tweeting this out like a punch to my gut. Here is something I will finish writing, badly. But I will not abandon the coffee. Not yet.

After a couple minutes of vigorous massage, Camden’s first cry pierced the atmosphere of the operating room. Life, new and loud, dirty and fragile, and a sweet, sweet noise, but what tugged at my heart was another noise I heard from elsewhere in the OR.

At 7am, that Saturday morning, we arrived at the hospital. Kate had gone into labor a couple of days before her scheduled C-section. Camden was breach, so as they would have done two days later, the doctors moved ahead with the operation, prepping Kate and handing me the biggest set of scrubs in the hospital.

Within an hour I was sitting outside the OR by myself as the anesthesiologist gave Kate a spinal block. The last time I was in this chair outside the OR, Kate was 26 weeks pregnant and we were having an emergency C-section. That time around I sat for two minutes as Kate’s spinal tap was administered, as doctors frantically scrubbed in, and as person after person filed past me through the double doors and into the OR. But this time I sat for 20 minutes as people casually prepared for another C-section, as I heard small talk and even laughter on the other side of those doors. The laid back, quiet atmosphere was surreal. The only thing familiar to me that Saturday morning was the chair, the door, and the closet-like feel to the space where spouses are made to wait until they are cleared to enter the OR. The expediency, the mood, the number of people in the OR, and the conversation were all different. All normal, I suppose. This is how C-sections at full-term proceed, we learned.

As I was allowed in, I started to take pictures. First of Kate on the operating table with a curtain rising up from her chest to shield our view and maintain a sterile environment. Then, a selfie of the two of us, five minutes before Camden arrived. From there, things moved quickly. The anesthesiologist and nurse anesthetist stood by Kate, telling her when she might feel tugging or pressure. I readied myself to stand up and look over the curtains to glimpse my son for the first time.

By the time I was told to stand, Camden had already been placed on a warming bed, out of Kate’s sight. I leaned over and kissed Kate and then walked over to meet my son.

As I stood and watched a small team handle Camden during his first minutes of life, I knew something was not entirely okay. He was not making noise. His color was a little off, not pink yet. There were six hands on him, firmly massaging his whole body. One doctor was sucking a tremendous amount of fluid out of his mouth and nose.

I tried to keep things in perspective while I stood there. I had seen much worse. I had seen these docs with a much different demeanor. They were not there yet. They kept busily working on Camden, but did not appear worried. I kept reminding myself that this is a full-term baby. He will come around. He will come around.

First picture of Camden. 7 minutes old. 8:55am. 10/14/2017.

And then, he took a deep breath, and let out his long, first cry, which was answered by the sweet sound of Kate’s cry, the sweetest sound I heard that morning. For Kate, Camden had been out of sight since the doctors pulled him from her womb. She knew nothing of what was happening for that minute or two. The noise that came from her is truly a noise replicated at no other time than when a mother hears her baby for the first time. I could hear in it the anxiety washed away, the instantaneous connection of mother to son. Hearing it, I knew she loved him so much already, in a way only mothers can. To bear witness to that love is one of the single greatest blessings of fatherhood.

The Body-Shaming Candidate

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During the last two presidential campaigns I wrote blogs primarily about politics.

So far, in 2016, I’ve stayed away from blogging political on here. But election day will be here very quickly and I need to say a few things about this election, specifically about one of the candidates. I’ll get around to posting my thoughts on Mr. Trump, but for now I wanted to share this one commercial with you. It is made by Donald Trump himself, but it is an ad paid for by Hillary Clinton’s campaign. Mr. Trump merely provided all the material.

As a father of a beloved, precious little girl, Secretary Clinton could not have produced a better commercial. When you’re running against a candidate who thinks of women “as a collection of sex toys” (Comedian Samantha Bee’s words) reminding all the fathers of little girls all over this great land of Trump’s distaste for women is the most powerful message you can send.

Back from the Basement

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I’m back from the dead, I mean, the basement. For four months we endured one of the slowest basement finish projects ever taken on by man. It must be said that the aforementioned man and his pals worked maybe three days a week and a workday consisted of showing up at 10am and leaving by 3:30. Things got to a point where I did not want the man and his pals to work on anything else in the basement because every time they fixed something they broke or maimed some other fixture in the basement. The short list of fixes would grow from 5 to 40 in a week. I happily gave the man the check labeled, “Full & Final Payment,” knowing I was going to finish the rest of this basement myself.

Since then, I have spent every minute I had away from London in the basement. Even when she was awake I occasionally brought her down to the basement, installed her in the high chair, and queued up Sesame Street. I’d even push it to see if I could get her to watch two episodes in a row. I got pretty damn close a few times all without coating her with drywall dust, paint, caulking, and spackle. Success.

I had told the man that I could handle the painting of the walls,

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Kate enjoying an almost finished basement.

but somewhere along the way he thought that meant I was painting all the baseboard, trim, and doors. Rookie mistake on not clarifying that. However, after seeing how the man painted the ceiling, I felt quite confident I did not want him painting anything else in the basement. So, I took care of those things myself. The doors were easy, just time consuming if you want them to look good and show no roller or brush marks. The baseboard was a different story. I did not have the opportunity to paint it before it was flush with the hardwood floors downstairs. Painting already installed baseboard takes ten times as long as painting pieces of baseboard fresh from the hardware store. This is what really took up the majority of my work.

Other things we had to take care of ourselves: cleaning off the adhesive on the window frames left by this crazy,. strong, fireproof tape used to install insulation in the basement, installation of speakers in walls, caulking all trim/baseboard joints, filling nail holes, mounting doors, installing hardware, painting shelves, ceiling paint touchup, replacing a light switch, installing blinds, painting quarter-round trim, and finally, assembling Ikea furniture, which actually was given the final touch last night. All is not done. I have yet to paint a couple closet doors, paint the stairwell, install carpet on lower half of stairs, and paint an exposed I-beam. Kate and I agreed that when all that is done we will feel as though we finished a quarter of the basement ourselves.

Throughout this process I have been aware that we saved a substantial amount of money by using the people we used. We had expressed an interest in using the same people to finish the bathroom in the basement, but we will now be doing that ourselves. That will, undoubtedly, turn into a bigger project than it is in my mind and it will mean I may have to take another long break from writing, but this break may have been for the better too.

I’ve missed writing. Writing helps me destress. When I don’t have the opportunity to do it I have this horrible nagging sensation that if I were writing right now I would be writing some of my best stuff. Of course, this is not true, but it’s hard to ignore this voice, which always creeps into my life at the precise moment that sitting down for a couple hours to write something is an impossibility.

I promise no regular blogging at this point. I can’t even say for sure when I will write again. Like I wrote above, there are still significant projects to be completed before I can sit in front of a computer to write for even 30 minutes, but that time is closer now than it has been for months. I like that.

Play Dates & Guns

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My lovely sister-in-law sent me an article today. It’s not new, but becoming more relevant for this little family as London nears the age where somewhat unsupervised play dates will occur.

As soon as I saw part of the title: “The question I asked before any play date,” I knew it was going to be about guns. Sure enough, “Do you keep guns in the house?”

I am not going to pull quotes from the article, because you should read the whole thing. It’s short and sweet. 

My take: if you have guns, I want to see the safe they’re in before I’m hanging out in your house and especially before my daughter has a play date with your kid.

Hiding your gun isn’t enough. Okay, I’ll paraphrase one stat from the article, that 8 out of 10 first graders (first graders, people) know where their parents hide the guns.

Well done, America.

How to Help a NICU Parent

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A friend recently asked me for some advice. She knows someone who just IMG_3089_127883had a preemie at or around 26 weeks gestation and wanted to know how she could help them out, what to say, what not to say, etc. She gave me permission to post my response to her. It follows:

I am happy to share my advice. Some of it will be based on the assumption that you are in the same town as your brother and Erin and their new daughter, Harper.

Well, having a kid in the NICU is the most exhausting thing Kate and I have ever been through. Very important question: is this their first kid? If not, well, it’ll be even more exhausting than our journey. Anyway, exhausting, so the last thing I ever wanted to do when getting home from the hospital every day was cook. It’s sort of become a cliche, but cooking for them would probably be a huge help. I don’t think Kate and I went to the grocery store for 3 weeks after London was born. Without all the meals we received, we couldn’t give London as much attention as we did. We had one less thing to worry about and that was huge because having a 26-weeker is an all-consuming worry.

The first few days of NICU care are possibly the worst. Once the baby makes it a week, things can start to get a little easier. So now could be the most terrifying of days for your brother and his wife. It all sort of depends on Harper’s situation. Was this an emergency c-section? Did they have 24 hour notice so they could get some steroids to Harper before she was born? London did not have the benefit of steroids before she was born, which really set her back for some time. She was on the ventilator for nearly three weeks, if I’m remembering correctly. I’m not sure what I’m getting at here, but maybe it’s just that I know I was very open about London’s health and situation throughout her NICU stay. I sent out near-daily email updates to a large group of people. I would have never been able to tell all those people independently. So if your brother is open to the idea, I’d recommend that. Or if someone in the family wants to keep other family members and friends dialed into the situation by doing email updates then that would be a big help too.

I’ve completely forgot to mention that it’s so great they named her. I know that naming her is a commitment of the heart and soul that you resist when you see such a small and fragile human being. But it’s a big step and it might bring them some hope. I remember when London was just ten minutes old and being transferred from the OR to the NICU while Kate was still on the operating table, the doctor asked me what her name was, and I was just put on the spot and had to say it loudly enough that everyone in the OR could hear it. I didn’t know it then, but in hindsight, that was a pivotal moment of accepting as truth something I still couldn’t believe was happening.

In terms of what not to say, that’s always tough to answer. You know? It depends on the person’s tolerance of the cliche, like, “Everything’s going to be alright.” We heard that a few times and I may have even said it later on in London’s NICU stay, like in month 2 and 3, but I did not like hearing it in the first few days or couple of weeks even. I just wanted to know the specifics of London’s situation and all I wanted to share were the specifics. I didn’t want to speculate with family members and friends. I just tried to avoid the “what ifs”, so maybe help them do that.

I’ll stop writing after this next point. At three months early, Harper is going to be in the NICU for a long time. It’s important for your brother and Erin to get time away from the NICU. That won’t be right now, obviously, but later on it will be. As a NICU parent you feel the urge to be at the NICU as much as possible, but it is essential to get away from time to time. We wanted our health and our sanity while London was in the hospital and I think we may have lost both if we stayed there round the clock for the first month. Our NICU nurses were exceptional in that they all encouraged us to take breaks from being at London’s bedside. Clearly, we still went to the hospital every day for 109 days, but the time away from the hospital was almost as important as the time there. We needed a chance at rest and revival before facing the NICU’s minute by minute ups and downs. So, when it’s time, encourage your brother and Erin to get away, even if it takes you spending some hours by Harper’s side. Perhaps they will be uncomfortable with it at first, but they will appreciate it.

How’s that for a disjointed email? I mean, there are so many things that come to mind. Please, let me know if you have other questions. Sorry they are going through this. I hope Harper is doing well.

*All names in this post have been changed. 

One Year Ago Today, We Left the NICU

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London’s first night home. I already look horrible.

Today is the one-year anniversary of London’s big move from the NICU to her new home. Reflecting on that day a year later, I think I made the right choice by not overthinking what a big change it was going to be for London and for us.

I knew it would be an exhausting transition, but my thinking was that I would roll with the punches, get knocked down a few times (which I did), adapt my style (easy, give up sleep), and then hang on for dear life and at some point in the future I would come out a practiced and knowledgable parent (still looking to the future on that one, at least in some regards). To me, going through that process seemed easier than trying to be ahead of the curve. Plus, that would take time to read and figure out what I was doing wrong. After 109 days in the NICU and then starting parenthood all over again when London came home, we did not have time for that.

Learning London’s cues taught me nearly everything I needed to know about taking care of her this last year. A few cues are exclusive to taking care of a preemie, like knowing when to stop the bottle feed and move forward with the tube feed, or knowing when 1/8th liter flow was not enough or if it was just right. I relied on London’s pediatrician, her nurses, her physical therapist, her occupational therapist, and both sets of grandparents to fill in the gaps in my knowledge.

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Today. Playing with her Little People farm.

A year later, London is far easier to take care of than she was with all the accessories she came home with. And, I am far more rested than those first days and weeks she was home. I am still tired most of the time, but I have coffee for that.

London’s first year home bears the mark of many a preemie: daily doctor’s appointments at first, then weekly, and then gradually monthly, with some major scares along the way. I hope and pray her second year at home will be smoother than that, that it will bear more marks of hope and promise than it will remnants of her harrowing beginning.

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.”

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.

A SAHD Article

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Two friends sent the same article to me yesterday. Published in The Atlantic, Ryan Park eloquently writes about his time as a _BKP3983stay-at-home dad following his clerkship in Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s office. The article is titled, “What Ruth Bader Ginsburg Taught Me About Being a Stay-at-Home Dad: A young lawyer puts his former boss’s ideals into practice.” Here is a link to the full article, which is not short, but well worth the read to get this dad’s perspective.

The following are quotes from the article that prompted some head nodding and laughing because Park is so spot on.

“There’s an underlying assumption that women and men have different visions of what matters in life—or, to be blunt about it, that men don’t find child-rearing all that rewarding, whereas women regard it as integral to the human experience.”

I fully agree with the author on this point. The above assumption, in my case, is not true, and I wish the assumption was not out there at all (it would make it a little easier on us SAHDs). However, I can understand its existence. When I was growing up gender roles were presented as evolved from decades past, but there was still an emphasis on the mother as caregiver and the father as breadwinner. I do not know if that has really changed. Based on television commercials, it hasn’t, but that is a quick calculation by me.

“I could go weeks without seeing another man between the ages of 5 and 70 during the weekday working hours.”

Isolation is something that all stay-at-home parents must endure for part of their parenting, especially if that takes place during the infant months, which are chock full of naps. Naps, which we love, but also necessitate some solitude on the parent’s part.

“In virtually every extended conversation with a member of the yoga-pants tribe, I encountered the assumption that I didn’t want to be doing this—that my presence at the playground was the product of a professional setback.”

This is one of Park’s strongest points. Many people who hear that I am a SAHD assume it is because I was fired, couldn’t find work, or just generally suck at being out in the “real” world. Most people would never, ever confess to harboring this feeling, but I have the radar for it. It really does not get by me. I am sure it does not get by most SAHDs. The assumption is that this is not a choice, that SAHDs have been forced into their role. It is true that Kate and I were forced into this situation because of London’s prematurity. But now, since London has shed her medical accoutrements, we could, if we wanted to, decide that I should go back to work and we could pay a nanny $12/hr to be at home with London during the day. That is a realistic option we have now, but we are not moving forward with that, at least not at this point. So, in our case, we have made a choice for this to be long-term.

I understand that when you meet a SAHD it is difficult to tell whether his role is a chosen one. I am all about making it a little easier for SAHDs to be loud and proud about their duties and the way they go about accomplishing them. Thus, I have one suggestion. When you meet a SAHD do not assume he was forced into staying at home with his kids. Do not assume he chose to stay at home with his kids. Just talk to him instead. Hear him out. He will probably enjoy talking to another adult during the day (this rarely happens). Afterward, maybe you will know why he is a SAHD, maybe you won’t, but that should not be your concern, being friendly should be.

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.

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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