Great Good Fortune

At this point, things were not moving too quickly. The contractions gradually became more and more painful, and I had to stop speaking to make it through each one. Around 7 PM, my husband tuned the TV to the Giants baseball game, and I very nearly clobbered him. You get to watch that nearly every day of the week; why in hell should you get to watch it while I’M LABORING??

With contractions sweeping in every two minutes, I began to retreat inward. Instead of trying to make small talk, I finally decided to let the TV stay on as long as the sound was muted. I was very sensitive to noise, but I found that it ended up being a good visual distraction for us both since it was hard for my husband to see me in pain. If it’s not bothering me, I reasoned, he deserves some distraction, too. For now. I perversely found the game’s three or four bench-clearing arguments and subsequent player ejections quite enthralling. My OB even came in and watched the game with us for a bit, commenting that she could not tune in that particular channel in the physician’s lounge!

I mentioned to my husband that I’d seen a birthing show on TV that showed a couple sharing lots of hugs and long embraces during the contractions and birth, and I thought that looked like a really great way to labor. Since there was no way they would allow me to labor in the jacuzzi down the hall (due to the PIH– motherfucker! The one thing I was actually looking forward to in this whole experience and now I can’t even do that!), my hubby was very happy to grant my wish and continually showered me with loads of hugs and kisses. All I had to do was ask and he jumped to his feet, happy to oblidge. Those simple acts of affection really helped me relax more than I thought would be possible in the situation. I can do this all night if needed. Truly.

I kept having the feeling that things were going to happen quickly, like the massive ball rolling into the chasm in Raiders of the Lost Ark. But I had no earthly clue about when it would speed up beyond the point of my control.

Since I had not eaten lunch and was effing ravenous, people!, my husband went to fetch a popsicle for me. Then another. Along with some Jello. Damn that was tasty. Unholy good. He also requested the rolling mirror that I wanted to enable me to watch the birth. Good call, honey!

Finally, by 9:30 PM, it was taking all my energy to make it through the contractions. Since I was strapped to three monitors, I could not get up to walk around, nor could I find a comfortable position in bed. I might as well make this a little less painful. I’ve done it once naturally, and that was bloody awful. I clearly remember loudly and fiercely swearing like a sailor during my first birth experience, and when I mentioned this to my L&D nurses they openly relished their visions of a foul-mouthed laboring mom. However, I did not care to repeat that experience. Why be that miserable again? It’s not like I’m going to win any awards for a completely natural childbirth. I finally took my OB’s observation to heart asked for the epidural. It’s funny: once you decide you want an epidural, it can not arrive fast enough.

The anesthesiologist came and did the deed, and around 9:45 PM it was starting to take effect. The unfortunate part is that it only numbed the right side of my body, and I could still feel pretty much everything on my left side. Oh, come on now. What the hell is up with that? Surely it’s not supposed to be like that?! The anesthesiologist said the catheter was likely skewed slightly to the right side of my spinal canal, placing more of the drug to the right. Great. Just great.

At 10 PM, she gave me a “booster” of the epi, and it helped even things out a tiny bit. However, the blinding truth came as they inserted the foley catheter, because I screamed in pain through every inch. NoNoNO! SO not what I signed up for!

I began to get worried: I really do not want to feel him coming out as much as I felt that damned thing going in! The nurse told my OB about my reaction, and they all seemed surprised. Methinks I don’t really like the feeling of my medical staff being surprised.

My next exam showed that I was only at 5 to 6 cm dilated, and my OB swiftly broke my water. I was about to ask her to hold off for another half hour, just as insurance to make it past midnight, but I was distracted by my husband joking about my assumption that they would not mind me postponing the birth into the wee hours of the morning just because I wanted to. Wait a minute… isn’t this MY birth? Don’t I have any say here? If I wish to deliver this baby at oh-dark-thirty why the hell not? Alas, the choice was already made for me. No meconium in the water– that’s good news.

Things shifted gears rapidly after the amniotomy. Contractions were crashing in hard now, but I only had to breathe through them as I had before the epi. I know how hard this would have been without any drugs, and I never want to feel that out of control and completely overwhelmed with pain again.

By 11:15 PM, I was at 8 cm and 100% effaced. We have hit full throttle, but I’m not ready yet! My OB said I could try pushing a bit if I wanted to, but I stubbornly refused and again insisted I wanted to wait until midnight to deliver the baby. Seriously, you can go away now. I’m not going to push, no matter how long you wait. A few more contractions wrapped me up and down in their spiral grip. Sweet, sweet drugs. My OB smiled serenely and said “alright,” then left the room again.

I wonder how much longer this part will last? It’s a good sign that I’ve made it so close to my goal. Just a little longer.

And more contractions. They demanded every ounce of my concentration, yet they weren’t as bad as it could get. Where is that anesthesiologist? I could just kiss her and sing her praises from the highest mountain tops. Well… if it weren’t for these damned contractions. I had to focus my whole being on breathing slowly and purposefully through the intense pain that shot through me. The monitors showed contractions were arriving every minute, and I felt each and every one. My blood pressure remained high, but the baby was still tolerating the labor well.

At 11:30 PM, only fifteen minutes after her last visit, a very surreal thing happened. My OB came strolling very calmly into the room, pushing a draped cart with her. I remember quite clearly the quiet, slow cadence of her voice saying “Tonya, it’s time to have the baby.” I said something to the effect of can’t I wait a little longer? and she smiled and repeated “Tonya,    it’s time    to have    the baby.” She put her finger inside and showed me that the baby’s head was already only two knuckle lengths from being delivered. My hopes for a 6/28 birth came crashing down. When I was finally completely honest with myself, I realized at that point I was stubbornly holding the baby in by sheer force of will.

With this realization came grudging acceptance; it was time. Suddenly, at least six nurses flooded into the room, along with the neonatologist. There’s a crowd of people around the baby’s exam bed, and I assumed (correctly) they were from the nursery. My OB said I should start pushing with the next contraction, which came immediately. I pushed, and the baby’s head moved down to the entrance. My OB said with some fascination that the baby was spinning inside me (this must mean he was turning to a more favorable position? I hope to God that’s normal), and my husband asked if I saw all the hair on the baby’s head (I do).

The unique pain that exact moment brought– and knowing that the worst was yet to come– made it a conscious decision for me to bring this all to an end. The unbending, driving NEED to push combined with knowing that pushing was the only thing that would relieve the pain bolstered my resolve. With the second contraction, I steeled myself and pushed through the horrendous burning, stretching, exploding, impossibly full feeling. The baby’s head emerged.

My OB asked me to stop pushing and grunt instead. What the fuck? I’ve heard of panting and blowing and hee-ing and hoo-ing, but how the fuck do I GRUNT through a contraction? I tried making a grunting sound, but it was all wrong. Shook my head and tried again. No dice. What’s so special about grunting anyways? Then, as soon as she’d suctioned out his head, she asked me to give a little push and suddenly the rest of his body slithered quickly out.

She placed him right up onto my belly, and I scrambled desperately to hold onto his tiny, slippery body. I stared entranced at his petite and beautiful face. Oh my, he’s gorgeous! Such serene eyes, so very serious already. He intently studied my face, his forehead wrinkled in concentration and his eyes all squinty from the light. Such a tiny, beautiful body. I introduced myself as his mommy and spoke other happy, possibly babbling words I can no longer remember. Tears traced silently down my cheeks as I found myself begging please, please let him be healthy and let him get to stay in my room so I never have to be apart from him. Let him please be a strong and healthy boy.

I felt the umbilical cord snaking up between my legs, across my privates and up into the baby, a slick and rubbery and pale green thing. What a very warm, odd feeling. We are still connected, you and I. We are one, but soon you will be free and on your own. No, not alone. Never alone, but you are your own complete person and finally beginning your own unique life. I am so excited for you! I love you with every ounce of my being, little one.

And suddenly, they grasped him from me and whisked him onto the crash cart bed to begin examining him. I heard his healthy cry and fat, hot tears of joy washed over me. Our son was born! I saw the nurses put an oxygen mask by his face, and soon they told us that he was having some trouble breathing and he needed to go to the NICU. Oh, my God. What’s wrong? My sweet little boy, my dream. My heart was filled with terror when my husband asked if he should stay with me or go with our son, and of course I said Go with our baby! He should not be alone.

The room instantly emptied out and became very still. I delivered the placenta, and my OB showed it to me in detail and seemed in quite a rush to send it to the lab for a pathology report. When would I be able to go visit my son? A L&D nurse said I needed to recover for an hour, be able to stand up without falling over, and make a trip to the bathroom before I could go. You might have thought me a woman possessed at how hard I tried to make that epidural wear off my right side so that I could stand up! My husband returned and reported that our baby boy was doing fine but I should prepare myself because he needed to be hooked up to an IV, a breathing machine, and several monitors. Holy crap, my poor sweet little guy. I hope he’s okay. I MUST get down there to be with him. Right. Now!

Finally, nearly an hour later I was able to stand with assistance and made the requisite trip to relieve myself. I was trundled into a wheelchair and we made the trek down the hallway to see our baby. We had several names in mind (and one in particular because it meant “fixed, permanent, steadfast”), surely a sign that this was the right name for this very resolute and enduring child. However, we really wanted to see him again before we decided which to choose.

When we arrived, he was on a nasal CPAP machine (constant positive airway pressure) to keep his lungs inflated, and he had wires and tubes everywhere. He looks so tiny and exposed on that open, flat bed. It was a huge shock when they said that we could not touch him or hold him as we so longed to do, that we needed to let him rest quietly so that he could conserve his energy.

So began our long journey through the NICU.

—–

After all that, you’d think I would surely have made it past the witching hour, right? Alas, it is my greatest good fortune to announce our son was born after only 10 hours of labor at 11:38 PM on June 27, a mere twenty-two minutes shy of midnight. He weighed a whopping 6 pounds 2 ounces and was 18 1/4 inches long.

He is amazing and a fighter and his name means “steadfast, fair-haired gift of God.” I was instantly in love and remain beyond crazy about him to this day. Happy 6 weeks, my sweet boy! You’ve now officially been home longer than you were in the NICU.

It’s about time I shared my birth story for my baby boy. Fortunately, we all know by now that he came out okay. Here’s how we met:

It began as it had four times before: yet another round of contractions while I was on bed rest. My mindset was one of eye rolling– okay, here we go again. I was 34 weeks, 6 days completed into the pregnancy, and it was still much too early to have this baby. I briefly wondered again about the 30th– the mythical day I would be allowed to stop the terbutaline. Would contractions begin in earnest at that point or disappear indefinitely? All evidence I solicited labeled it a 50/50 proposition.

Since it was just after lunch (which I somehow failed to eat for the first time in recent memory) and time for my next dose of terbutaline, I gulped it and started pounding down more water. So far, the contractions were simply mild distractions from what had become my supine life. They were coming about 5 minutes apart. Pretty much textbook for all my other pre-term labor experiences to date, and nothing more than an annoyance as far as I was concerned. I chatted my husband online to alert him to the situation, and promised to keep him posted.

After about 30 minutes the contractions began to stretch out to 10 minutes apart. Relief washed over me; I did not want to make yet another trip to labor and delivery. While I was perversely enticed by the thought of some companionship should I make the trip to L&D, I vastly preferred to stay home. Here I had air conditioning, a few more episodes of Birth Day to watch, and the bowl of fresh fruit my husband had supplied before he left for work.

Just as I was about to decide what to do next with my time, I realized that the contractions were back, and rolling through me every 2 to 5 minutes. Surely, I had mis-timed them? I made a conscious effort to watch the clock each time a new wave washed over me, and realized indeed I was not mistaken.

I immediately grabbed the phone and called my midwife. It was 2pm and the phones had just been rolled over from the answering service after lunch. The office staffer I spoke to seemed unconcerned, and very much not in a rush to take my info down into a message for a return phone call. After being put on hold twice, I was surprised when my midwife picked up the line directly. She told me to go to Labor and Delivery to get checked.

That gave my heart a little thrill. I assumed this fifth trip would end the same as the previous four: receive a booster shot of the terb and get monitored for a few hours before being sent back home.

I made a trip to the bathroom to comb my hair and relieve myself. A little voice in my subconscious urged me to take my hospital bag: if I needed it, I’d have it. If not, it was easy enough to bring home again. As I got into the car to drive myself to the hospital, I called my husband at work to let him know where I was going. It was probably not the best idea to drive while in labor, but I’d already done it four times previously. I am also very comfortable with my level of self-awareness; I was fine. The contractions were not meaningfully painful yet and I felt completely in control. They continued arriving every four minutes during the drive, and I now needed to breathe purposefully to get through them. I welcomed the distraction driving provided. Fortunately, it was only a 10 minute trip.

When I arrived, I remembered back to the hospital tour we’d taken, recalling the advice we were given: ask for a wheelchair when you arrive in labor.

I don’t need that, I thought. Of course not, this is not the real thing yet. I threaded my way through the halls until I reached L&D, where I saw my OB behind the desk chatting casually with the nurses. Her eyes registered surprise at seeing me and she asked “Oh, what are you doing here?” I explained, through contractions that were painful enough to take my breath away and had me pushing with my arms away from the desk while doing runner’s stretches with my lower body to accommodate the discomfort. She said “Well, let’s get you checked out.” I quickly realized I’ve never been escorted into a L&D room so quickly before!

Once the monitors were attached at about 3pm, my OB came in and performed a cervical exam. I was at nearly 3 cm (same as the previous week) and 80% effaced. Great! No further progress there. However, unlike prior visits, she sat down in the chair beside my bed and began a very casual conversation. (You’d have thought by now I might have bells going off in my head, wouldn’t you? Alas, I was completely clueless. Or perhaps, completely in denial.) Thus began one of the most unexpected conversations of my life: “Okay, so what I’m seeing is that your blood pressure is way too high [161/108]. We’re going to admit you, and you’re not going home until you have a baby.”

I immediately envisioned a protracted hospital stay, with L&D nurses my indifferent companions. Hospital gowns, cumbersome monitoring belts, and incessantly beeping monitors. Frequent trips to the bathroom with all the inconvenience involved due to repositioning monitors each time I returned to bed. More of the same as I’d already experienced, only with no end in sight. Definitely not an enticing picture. This is just not happening, I thought to myself.

I asked if I would still be on the terbutaline to stop the contractions, or possibly start magnesium sulfate to stop the contractions and lower my blood pressure, but was shocked when the answer was no. My OB explained that since I had made it to within one day of our first goal (35 weeks), it was time to listen to my body and have the baby. The PIH (Pregnancy Induced Hypertension) was not a good sign, and my husband and I (along with our pediatrician) had agreed that we could deliver at this particular hospital with a Level 2 NICU if I made it to 35 weeks (vs. another nearby hospital that has a Level 3 NICU). My OB said, “One day away from 35 is pretty great considering your pre-term labor started at 32 weeks.”

My head swam as adrenaline took over. I asked at least a dozen questions, the first ones addressing my requirement that a neonatologist be present at the birth since our son would be premature. She assured me that the neo had already been called and would arrive once birth was imminent. I was also concerned about whether I would have the option of an epidural due to the PIH and the blood thinners I had stopped taking weeks prior, and her answer was quite a relief: I could have an epidural any time I wished, as long as my platelet count came back normal. She could tell I was very much on the fence about making that decision, however, and she said “You will feel the contractions– and you will feel pain– no matter what you decide. Even if you get the epidural. It’s really up to you.” I began to fiercely lovelovelove her no-pressure approach to everything! I was nowhere near ready for an epi at that time, so I declined.

The next phone call to my husband was fun… when I calmly explained that we were having a baby this time, he replied “Right now???! Ohhhh-kay….” After the initial shock wore off, he asked when he should get there (meaning, did he have time to finish one task at work and grab some things at home then arrive in an hour, or should he high tail it out immediately and arrive in 30 minutes?). I told him getting to the hospital within an hour and a half should be fine, since things didn’t seem to be happening too quickly yet. This ended up being a good plan (thankfully!). He arrived by 4pm, and grabbed my hospital bag from my car.

At 5:30 PM my OB performed what I can only describe as a vigorous internal exam (really horrendous, and damn that hurt like hell! Did she attempt to strip the membranes to speed things along?), and announced that I had dilated to 4 cm. During this time, I was shaking uncontrollably (usually a symptom of the transition phase of labor, but I like to be unique I guess). Contractions continued to get more painful, but after a trip to the bathroom they suddenly became more manageable again. I heard my OB ask for the device used to perform an amniotomy, and my brain kicked into gear. I asked her to please, please refrain from breaking my water so soon.

Now, I haven’t broached this topic yet, but this seems like the best place to address exactly WHY I wanted her to wait. The only thing I can say is I had a bit of an obsession going that day. I had a completely irrational but urgent desire to have my baby on June 28 instead of  June 27. Really, REALLY did not want him to have a 6/27 birth date. No way, no how. This store is closed, try again tomorrow.

When asked, the only reason I could articulate in the moment was a) I liked the number 28 much better than 27, and b) by waiting until 12:01 AM to deliver, I would then get two full nights to stay in the hospital after the birth, instead of basically one (the first night is counted as the day the baby is born, even if it’s 11:59 PM). My OB graciously agreed to wait, since the baby was showing no signs of distress. Huge relief; it felt so nice to have an OB that listened to and granted my wishes. And let me tell you, this was no little obsession. It flooded my mind and was my prime motivator. I did everything I could to hold that baby inside as long as I could.

(To be continued….)

Please accept my apologies for the long delays between postings. Funny how I don’t have the time to even pick up my laptop any more, let alone think about what I need to get done once I do open it up (about once every four days). It’s become an accessory as opposed to a daily tool. I am trying to get time to download pictures from my camera to share via email within the next week. (If you want to see the babe, drop me a note at the address over thataway –> If I recognize you as a regular poster or acquaintance, I’ll reply to you when I get my act together). Note to self: post my birth story and final thoughts on our NICU experience.

Things are going very well. Our tiny boy is an absolute joy. I am totally wiped most days, but with an active preschooler and a newborn it’s just not an option to take a break. I feel like I’m living an amazing dream come true. Just seeing him and holding him can bring instant tears to my eyes. I just want to soak up every single instant of this experience and sear it into my brain. I do not know if I can or will ever experience this part of life again, and it brings our a reserve of patience I didn’t know I had.

Our boy has a great disposition and only seems to cry when he has a dirty diaper or is hungry, or is frantically flailing his wee fists against my chest in a perpetually earnest attempt to refuse the boob. After a trip to the local breastfeeding support group and with the aide of a breast shield to help him latch, I finally have him giving it a go most of the time, and am trying to completely wean him from the bottle. Since he picked up some really nasty bad nipple habits in the NICU, each feeding session takes at least an hour or two. I am quite concerned about him getting enough fluids (especially in this awful 102+ degree heat). The whole bottle feeding/breastfeeding/pumping/washing bottles and pump equipment every 2-3 hours is just for the birds and makes everything a lot harder and equates to a lot less sleep for me.

We just celebrated our miracle girl’s fourth birthday, and it seems fortuitous timing for her to have a big event all about her during this time when everyone wants to talk about the baby. So far, she still appears to be in the honeymoon phase and totally in love with her brother. Though I did catch myself on Saturday saying something I never imagined I would. We were cleaning the house and our girl had acquired the feather duster. She paid brief attention to a few things in the living room, then I found myself at my next monitoring glance screeching “DON’T DUST your BROTHER!”

To have such issues, I feel like the luckiest woman on earth. It hardly feels like it’s nearly been a month since he arrived (probably since we haven’t actually had him home near that long). Things seem easier each day. (Fingers crossed!)

On the day the French celebrate as the beginning of their fight for independence, we are overjoyed to announce that our son has come home from the NICU!

We will spend the weekend learning a new normal. It appears that we have a lot to learn.

Besides not having my family together yet, the hardest part of living in the NICU at our hospital is a lack of consistent patient care. Some NICUs have a set team of nurses assigned to a baby for their entire stay. At our hospital, there are four shifts of nurses who work either 4, 8 or 12 hour shifts, along with a team of neonatologists that rotate being on call each day. We have up to three or four nurses per day, each with a differing style and definite preferences. Each neonatologist also has slightly differing goals for our boy each day, which makes it hard to gauge progress. One prioritizes breastfeeding, another wants to keep him in the crib (yes, he graduated to an open bassinette yesterday!) 20 to 24 hours a day undisturbed. How can you breastfeed a baby while he stays in the crib?? You begin to understand our frustration….

We are the ones who constantly have to assimilate to the current staff’s preferences every few hours. We’ve learned to adapt to each style, and I’m consistently caring for our child’s basic needs at each feeing (taking his temp, changing diapers, feedings (except for inserting and removing the oral gavage tube). We’ve learned that our truly most valuable role is as our son’s advocate– this works, that does not, etc., and staunchly stand up for our beliefs. I have been at 6 or 7 of 8 daily feedings since he was born; truly, I know what works best for him by now, not that all of the nurses or neos take that into account due to their own ego or “experience”.

Today, we had two new nurses in succession, and one mentioned that our son “might” have “neurological delays.” But she was unable (or unwilling) to provide details about what that might mean. Even the neo-of-the-day was reluctant to speculate, though a subsequent nurse I’m very comfortable and familiar with said that he shows two signs which, when taken together, might indicate such a delay (arching his back and screaming in a high-pitched voice).

Now, the back arching I’m not that concerned with. The only times I’ve ever seen him do that are when he’s waking up, and who wouldn’t like a good full-body stretch when you’re snugly swaddled and laying on your back 16 to 20 hours per day? This nurse did mention that these symptoms have been happening less frequently over time, and that he has obviously shown progress.

Why that first nurse so casually mentioned something quite alarming without being able to have a straight-forward conversation about it just floors me; like I need something else to be worrying about right now. Up until now, we’ve just been told that our boy just needs time to keep growing and making new brain connections; that the suck reflex usually happens in utero at about 37 weeks (4 days from now).

I’m encouraged because we got him to breastfeed for the first time yesterday, thanks to the help of a breast shield. Miraculous device!! Of course, the scale they used to weigh him before and after showed an 80 gram weight LOSS, though I’m convinced he got at least an ounce. How can a baby LOSE nearly three ounces breastfeeding for 15 minutes? Frustrating that they don’t have an accurate breastfeeding scale to use precisely for these purposes. Today, he did it again and got 35 cc’s, then took another 22 cc’s via bottle to complete a full feed. Atta boy! Now, he just needs to eat via either nipple at every feeding for two or three days straight– and consistently gain weight– in order to go home. His current personal best is one full feeding per day.

I’m praying that our sweet tiny boy makes those connections soon. Some days the lack of consistency is harder to take than others. At least at home we will be mostly in control of the environment and be able to provide all the consistency he– and we– need.

Our little guy is making progress in tiny steps. Basically, he still needs to bake for a bit longer in a calm, dark place until the needed skills fall into place. He finally latched a few times attempting to breastfeed, but does not have the whole suck/swallow/breathe thing at all coordinated yet. I’m excited that he’s at least showing signs of interest in getting his food direct from the source; pumping has been less than kind to the girls. We are still feeding him via oral gavage (feeding tube), which he tolerates surprisingly well.

The neonatologist told us today that the current outlook for him to come home is at least a week away, not a few days as was originally anticipated. We are hoping to bring him home by the 12th, which will be 37 weeks adjusted.

Since I have no internet access in the boarding room at the hospital, my updates will remain sporadic until we all get home. Will keep you posted as best I can.

This commemorates my first stop home after four days in the hospital. I came back in time to welcome our daughter home tonight. She was sleepy and cuddly and wonderful, two weeks apart was much too long, but understandably necessary.

My son is amazing. Peaceful. Beautiful. And tiny. We are heading back to the hospital for his next feeding at midnight. Since he’s a preemie, we are strictly regulated on when we can see him, and only get to hold him once every three hours if he has enough energy for it.

There is so much to tell, and not enough time for everything right now. The basics must suffice: my son was born Tuesday night at 34 weeks 6 days gestation. He was 6 pounds, 2 ounces (great size for a preemie!), and after holding him for a minute immediately after his birth he was whisked to the NICU. It was a full day before my husband held him briefly for the first time. My husband, who was phenomenal during the labor and after. My rock, my soul mate.

There is nothing so sobering as seeing your child, your beloved, much-wanted tiny baby, hooked up to machinery and covered with tubes and wires, poked and bruised and too weak to do normal newborn things.

Our lives these past four days have been molded into three hour segments, revolving around his feedings and any chance of getting to touch him or hold him. The hospital has become my home, and sleep nearly impossible. The mix of adrenaline, fear, and love is overwhelming at times, especially in the stillness of night.

Baby boy had a hard day yesterday and must stay longer in the NICU, probably through the weekend or into next week. He has made it so very far. He moved into an isolette after two days in a crash-cart style open crib. The last short-term battles we face (rather the ones we know of at this point) are getting him to eat and eradicating his jaundice. He was being nourished via IV, but has graduated to tube feedings. Slowly, we shed the machinery, tubes and wires.

I am pumping and finally producing more than enough to feed him entirely with breast milk. He has gone from 5 cc bottles (about a teaspoon) to 37 cc (a little over an ounce). Once he can reliably “nipple” his feedings and the jaundice is gone, we should be able to bring him home.

We can’t wait to be united as a family. The next few days of juggling quality time with my miracle girl and bonding with our son still in the NICU will be challenging. Split lives, never enough time in any one place. We have a boarding room at the hospital, so can sleep there whenever possible. Will post again when I can. Thanks for all your love and positive thoughts!