Twenty Months

Patrick, Patrick, Patrick...I'm not sure what to say about this twentieth month. It's been an interesting one for sure. As expected, you have finally without a doubt entered the first stages of the terrible twos. You try us and test us at every turn, willfully disobeying just to see how serious we really are about that NO. Then you'll turn around and give us the sweetest hugs. How can I love something so much when it's that insistent upon being disobedient?
I'd say part of it is that smile. You seem to have figured out how contagious that smile is, and you use it at every opportunity to get yourself out of trouble. Sometimes you try turning actions that should receive punishment into games. You pull out a drawer we can't baby-proof, we tell you, "No" sternly, and you giggle as you reach for it again. I laughed and gave in the first few times you tried this manipulation, but I'm on to you now, buddy. I love the laughing, but I'm not giving in to your games. I'd much rather hear your laugh when I tackle you and tickle you until you get the hiccups. We can both appreciate that game.

Something else I know both Daddy and I appreciate at least is the cuddliness. I absolutely treasure our untraditional breakfast routine, where you sit on my lap and watch TV with me while you eat dry cereal out of my hand. Feeling the weight of your head against my chest can relax me the way nothing else can, while at the same time bringing a lump to my throat at times. You don't even seem to mind that my lap is changing shape almost daily. It only makes our cuddle time more special when Nathan decides to butt in and kick at you for taking up his space. I have to laugh that the sibling rivalry has already begun (although I may quit laughing about it in a few months).

Speaking of Nathan, you have started to figure out that something is going on there. You're fascinated by the new crib in your room, although I get the feeling you think of it as a huge toy right now. At the doctor yesterday, you couldn't figure out where that noise was coming from when we were listening to Nathan's heartbeat. That look on your face was classic. I'm starting to wonder if you'll ever associate your little baby brother with Mommy's huge belly. (By the way, I got my first progesterone shot yesterday at the doctor as well. Hopefully this means Nathan won't come early like you did. I don't want any of us to have to go through that stress again. Other than that, the appointment went fairly smoothly, and everything is fine.)

Within the last few days and weeks, we've watched your language development take off. Daddy and I are suspecting some of your gibberish is starting to sound more like real words and phrases we say often. We've identified "Bye" (ba), "See ya," and a few other words of farewell. I also love "Ah-dah," your way of saying "All done!" Unlike many of your other words that are simply fun to hear, this one has been very helpful. I no longer guess you're finished with meals when you drop food over the side of your high chair. I know when you're done eating your snack. You make sure to let me know when the food in the microwave is done. I'm constantly amazed at all the diverse applications of this phrase you've found. You're a smart kid, for sure!

I'm hoping you continue using my favorite phrase when Nathan gets here. "Sokay" must be something you hear often from Daddy and me. You've adopted those words of comfort as your own, and we can hear you muttering "Sokay, sokay" over and over as you read your books or sit in your car seat or do other activities alone. I have to wonder if you're planning to comfort your little brother with those same words when he cries. It gives me good insight into your sensitive side that you picked up the phrase, "It's okay," long before saying the simpler word, "No."

I hope you always stay so sensitive to your own feelings and those of everyone you care about, but I also hope that you don't end up hurt because of your sensitive nature. Most of all, though, I hope this sensitive nature eases the transition into the role of big brother. Now that we have your brother's first baby things, it is becoming real to me, and I worry constantly about how you're going to adapt. I know things will be difficult for Daddy and me as well with the big transition, but I can't help but put your feelings first. You are my precious firstborn, after all, and no number of younger siblings can change your place in my heart.

I love you for always.

Mommy

Nineteen Months

Dear Patrick,

Today you turned nineteen months old. Suddenly it seems odd to be naming your age in months. All of a sudden you've graduated to years. I can remember giving your age in days and weeks; years sound so old. When did you grow up this much?
This has been the month of full-blown toddlerhood. You walk, walk, walk all over the place. Even playing takes second place to walking. You might pause for a second or two to focus on a toy, but the best toys are those you can cart around with you, like your ball that you will throw and chase, throw and chase all day long. You also love empty water bottles because they are so portable and make a cool noise when you bam them against different objects around the house.

You also talk to me all the time. I love watching your vocabulary develop, even though it is happening slowly. It cracks me up which words are important enough for you to learn first and which you understand well enough to repeat. Who would have predicted "cheese" and "fishies" (goldfish crackers) as the first two food-related words you would say? Today you very clearly repeated "baby" when I pointed out a picture of a baby on the computer. I think you're beginning to understand that babies will quickly become very important in your life. I can't wait for that moment you touch my belly and say "baby."

With the toddler walking and vocabulary comes the toddler attitude, though. You have learned how to throw tantrums with the best of them. You can already throw that body around in the most pathetic ways to try to get our sympathy. I wonder if once your language develops further and you can tell us what is wrong, your tantrums will taper off. At least we will know what needs you have that need to be met. But then I doubt it at the same time. Most tantrums are because we won't let you do something specific, usually something in direct disobedience to us. We understand what you want, and that you understand what we're telling you, and you simply don't like it. Your tantrums are a manipulative tool, and we're not buying it. I need to get a good video of one one of these days, though, to show to you when you're older and can laugh at yourself the way Daddy and I do sometimes.

Speaking of Daddy, he is your absolute best friend right now. You ask for him first thing in the morning and after waking up for a nap, and I'm pretty sure you recognize the ring on my phone that means he is calling me. You can identify the sound of the garage door closing when Daddy gets home from work, and you run (well, walk really fast for you) to that laundry room door that connects to the garage--where you know he will appear really soon. You have a special Daddy squeal that I love to hear as much as Daddy does. Mommy is good enough to have around, but right now Daddy is your everything. He's the same to me, so I can understand how you feel that way.

I appreciate that you make the effort to show me plenty of attention when Daddy isn't around. You've gotten to where you love to cuddle with me first thing in the morning, and I treasure those moments even more than you realize. And even when they're manipulative, I love those times you toddle over to me and lay your head against my leg for a second or two. It may not match a Daddy squeal, but you understand that I need those quiet moments with you and it means everything that you're letting me have them.

You laugh all the time these days--when you're not in the midst of a tantrum--and generally have a great outlook on life. Even when Mommy is hormonal and moody, you can manage to make me laugh along with you at your silly antics. In fact, sometimes I wonder if that's not what you're trying to do. You're my sensitive little boy, already able to set your own wants and needs aside sometimes to attend to Mommy or Daddy. I can tell even now that you will be a great big brother, even when you let jealousy take over from time to time.

Mommy and Daddy love you so much, as much for the crazy toddler you've become as the sweet boy you've been all along.

Love,

Mommy

Eighteen Months

Dear Patrick,

I'm sorry it's been three months since your last letter. You'll be happy to know that Mommy is starting to feel much better again. You've been such a trooper, putting up with all sorts of changes as we've gotten used to Mommy feeling bad and then better again. I've never been more grateful for your laidback personality. Even as you've been undergoing your own transformation to a toddler, you've struggled very little over the last few months.
In the past few weeks, you have most certainly made that final transition to toddlerhood, just in time for your eighteen-month birthday. You took your first few halting steps last week, and this week you're showing off your talent walking for everyone. You'll walk short distances just for fun now, with less and less hesitation every day. You act as though standing unassisted is old hat, even though you seemed quite nervous about it not that long ago. I love how proud you are of your accomplishments, hiding the pride under your nonchalant attitude. You beam when Daddy and I praise you for anything. I love that aspect of your personality.

With the independence of walking has come a desire for all kinds of independence, especially in the eating arena. We knew to expect this long ago, and Daddy and I have been grateful that you didn't before now. Every meal that you ate off a spoon readily, without a care as to what was being fed to you, was a gift. We'd heard rumors of picky toddlers. Slowly but surely you are turning into one. Every so often we can still feed you a meal off a spoon, mostly particularly messy meals, but you prefer meals that you can feed yourself. We've had some huge messes to clean up after letting you get your own way. There are also some meals when Daddy and I have to get creative to find something, anything, that you will eat. Fortunately you are still always hungry, so we can always find something you will eat.

You definitely still have Mommy's metabolism, though. We'll be lucky if we discover at your check-up on Monday that you weigh twenty pounds or more so that we can finally turn that carseat around. You're tall, though. Those legs can't even straighten all the way out in your backwards carseat anymore. It's funny to watch you eat Mommy-sized meals--quite literally, I might add--with a big, poochy belly (also resembling Mommy's) when you finish eating. When we weigh you, however, you weigh the exact same you did last time. I know this metabolism is a blessing, but it's starting to get frustrating. Finally I understand the phrase "eating us out of house and home." I can't imagine what your teenage years will be like.

On the bright side, I think you're hitting a growth spurt. You've been less hungry and more sleepy for the last few days. I hope I'm right. This will be perfect timing. Pack on those last few ounces before Monday's appointment. Of course, it's also possible you're readjusting your schedule yet again, finally reaching that one-nap-a-day schedule I've been expecting...um, dreading for so long. I may miss that extra "free" time during the day, but it's a good sign that you're growing up.

It's fun watching your language development as well. You want to talk pretty much all the time. Daddy and I have even heard you muttering to yourself in your sleep late at night. Unfortunately, most of it is still in baby gibberish. That doesn't seem to matter to either of us. We still hold complete conversations, with neither of us understanding more than a word or two of what the other is saying. You were even answering, "Yeah," to Nana's questions over the phone the other day, acting like you knew what she was asking. These conversations are precious to me. It means a lot that you're making such an effort to talk to me.

Today you were mimicking whispering to me. You kept making "s" noises, and when I whispered back to you, you'd smile and "whisper" right back to me. Clearly you're understanding the concepts of a conversation. I expect a full language explosion before long. In the meantime I'll keep listening for the five or so words you have already mastered. I just can't wait to find out exactly what is going through that mind of yours.

My favorite thing ever, though, is your laugh. You are so full of life, ready to enjoy everything around you. You love playing with Mommy and Daddy, and any unexpected--or sometimes even expected--move can bring giggles or even belly laughs. You continally remind me not to take life too seriously. It is worth it to take the time to enjoy myself, the way you can any second of the day. In fact, playing with you is the best laugh break I can take. Your laugh is so infectious.

I've heard that having a baby ages you. Something about the idea of being someone's mother and all the responsibility that comes with it can turn hair gray faster than anything else. But I don't think so. All I have to do is get on the floor with you and tickle you--and suddenly I might as well be a kid again myself.

Thank you for keeping Mama young, my dear boy.

Love,

Mama

Fifteen Months

Dear Baby Boy,

Now that you're fifteen months old, I'm realizing my opportunities to call you that are quickly dwindling, so I'm going to use that nickname every chance I get. Some day all too soon I'll let the name slip out, and you'll just roll your eyes and sigh at me. "Mo-om!"
This month was an exciting one for you because you experienced your second Christmas. You certainly seemed to enjoy it more than your first, as you were awake for much of this one, but you still didn't quite seem to grasp the holiday spirit. I'm looking forward to next year when you may start to understand that there are goodies underneath that bright paper and shiny bows. Perhaps you'll be more interested in ripping off the paper and playing with the toys instead. Still, you seem to be enjoying all the loot from your many relatives who love you.

Your big gift this year, and the one you appear to love the most, is Angie, your first puppy. Once you realized she was coming home with us to stay, you became absolutely obsessed with her. More than once you've tried crawling into our bathroom where you know her pen is just to pull up on the side and look at her. You coo at her in your "kitty" voice and try to imitate all the noises she makes, her growls, barks, and whines. Daddy and I love to hear it; the noises are lots cuter out of your mouth than hers. You laugh uproariously at Angie's antics and grab her rope so that you can play with her yourself. I sometimes think you can't wait to get just a little bigger and can play with her without having her nip at your hands and run around and play chase like Daddy does.
You have also figured out how to say Angie. That's certainly telling, considering the only intelligible words we've heard from you so far are Mama, Dada, hi, Grandpa, and kitty. The only ones you've said with any regularity are Mama and kitty, so you must really love that puppy to have learned her name so fast. On the other hand, you use Mama as your catch-all word right now. Of course, you use it when you want me, but we also get to hear it any time you want anything. "Mama" is just your way of expressing yourself right now. It gets our attention anyway.

Several weeks ago when it looked like you were growing tired of nursing, I decided that if you were willing to continue until you were fifteen months old, then I would wean you then. If I remember right, that's about when I gave it up, so that felt plenty long enough to let you nurse. I've been so proud of myself for making it this long; I hated breastfeeding in the beginning.

Then this morning I got you up as normal and headed straight to your high chair for breakfast instead of stopping on the couch for your morning nursing session, the only one you still get. You fought me when I tried to strap you in, screaming at the top of your lungs. You knew something was different, a change from your morning routine, and it broke my heart. I'd already had an internal debate going in my own mind about whether I thought I was ready for you to wean. Your resistance to the weaning was the final straw. Your breakfast started off with a nursing session as usual after all.

In a way, I'm disappointed with myself for caving when I'd set a goal for myself, but I can't bear to hurt you, even in this tiny way, just because I told myself I'd do something. What does it matter if you continue nursing for one more day or one more week? I'm still working us towards weaning, but I'll slow down. There's no hurry for you to grow up.

You're growing up way too fast in every way, growing taller each time you wake up and more mature every day. You truly won't be my baby boy much longer. I'll still love you just as much when you're my toddler boy and my teenage boy and my grown-up boy, though. But you'll have to forgive me if a part of me will always think of you as my dear little baby boy.

Love,

Mommy

Fourteen Months

Dear Patrick,

I almost missed your letter this month. Somehow the days and weeks are slipping away from me; I'm losing track of time. How can you be fourteen months already?

In two days we will reach another milestone: the anniversary of your due date. I've had that date seared in my mind ever since that first ultrasound when they predicted December 9 as your arrival date. It's strange to think you're well into your second year when this December 9 rolls around.

You probably don't know this, but December 9 was an important day for our family several years before you arrived. In 2000, one of your great-grandfathers passed away on that day, Nana's dad. Last summer, I dreamed repeatedly of what would happen when you showed up on December 9. I looked forward to bringing such joy to a day that was otherwise sad. I envisioned you growing up to be a spitting image of the great-grandfather you'd never get to know.

At least the last seems to be happening so far. Every so often, a look will cross your face that reminds me of Grandpa Fisher. I would be proud to have you grow up to be like him.

Although it saddens me that those dreams of your arrival on such a special day didn't happen, you had your own plans. Instead you chose to show up on your Papa's birthday. You get to share something special both with your Papa and your Great-Grandpa Fisher. I guess you had something even better in mind.

Speaking of your mind, this month has been a chance for you to find your own. Now that you've discovered the wonders of mobility, you have tons of fun determining where you want to go. You still seem enthralled with the idea that you can go where you want, when you want. You still look over your shoulder often to make sure I'm near, but you explore the whole house as long as you're not alone.

Unfortunately, you have also discovered that you can disobey. Your favorite places to crawl are the forbidden places, and no matter how many times I tell you no and pull you away, you turn around and crawl right back. Usually you have a smile on your face as you do so. To you, disobedience is just a game. It infuriates me to no end. I can't wait until you learn to say the word "no" right back.

And then there are days like yesterday when you're a perfect angel. I can't wait to spend more time with you. You have fun doing anything and everything, and Mommy's company is welcome, not mandatory. I'm reminded then just why I love you so much, even through the most disobedient of days, as I tell you no the fortieth time in the last five minutes.

You still cuddle occasionally, giving the sweetest of hugs, and I long for those quiet, still moments. I hope you never lose that snuggly side of your personality, even as you grow increasingly independent over the coming months and years. Even if you do, I'll love you anyway.

Mommy

Thirteen Months

Dear Patrick,

Today you turned thirteen months old, one of those seemingly inconsequential milestones. Yet you celebrated by reaching several milestones of your own.
For the first time today, you took your first few unsteady crawling steps, real ones on your knees, not the army crawl you've mastered in the past week. Even better, those steps were straight towards me. When you reached my legs, you followed through with your determination to figure out this mobility thing by pulling yourself up all the way to your feet, entirely without assistance from me.
Since then, you pulled yourself up several more times while I was attempting to take photos of you in the orange chair. You gave Mommy a bit of a scare because I was worried you would fall right off the chair, but you have better balance than I realized. Before I know it, you'll be standing on your own, and then walking away from me on your chubby little legs.
You've also proven this month yet again how stupid your parents are. I'd forgotten that the older and bigger you get, the more food you need. As a result of a fortunate mistake, you ate almost twice as much as usual for lunch one day this weekend. When Daddy and I realized you could eat that much, we increased how much we feed you at every meal. It seems to be working because earlier today you tipped the scales at 17 1/2 pounds for the first time. When you go see the doctor on Thursday for your weight check, I'm sure you will impress him with that weight gain.
While I am thrilled for all your accomplishments in this past month, it kind of saddens me at the same time. You can crawl away from me almost as fast as I can chase you, and that's not even an "official" crawl yet. I don't know how I'll ever keep up with you when you can walk. This newfound mobility is a huge step, but yet another one away from me. I'm thrilled with how eagerly you use that mobility to get to me, but more and more you will be crawling away from me instead. It's a stark reminder that you are growing more independent with each day that passes, and you'll need your mommy less--or at least in different ways--in the years to come.
But the one good thing that has come with your mobility is a new sense of wonder at the world. Objects you had only been able to see from a distance before are suddenly within your grasp. I love to watch your face light up as you find yourself able to reach something new and interesting. I hope you are always so eager to try new things and excited by the results. I hope that sense of wonder at the simplest things in life follows you even when you are too old to let others know how awesome things like touch lamps can be.

Above all this month, my love for you has grown even faster than you have. I feel that same sense of wonder every time I look at you and realize I love you more today than I did yesterday. I wonder how my heart will ever hold it all years from now. I pray that someday you will get to experience love like this.

Love,

Mommy

The Birthday Party

I want to apologize ahead of time for not only the excessive number of pictures but also their poor quality. I realized after nearly all the pictures were uploaded that I somehow lost all the edits I had done. It may sound lazy, but I'm not doing all that work again. Also keep in mind that these are just a small sampling of all the pictures taken on Saturday. My brother took many, many more pictures (professionally I might add...I love having such great connections), and I haven't had a chance to go through any of those yet.

Pre-Party:

Patrick with his Gigi in a rare moment when he's content in someone else's arms

Loving on the cat, who was immensely entertaining to Patrick

Helping decorate--He loved his first experience with balloons.

The Cake:

My mom helped me through my first attempt at making and decorating a cake. Here is the basic shape that she was kind enough to bake for me:

The Bare Bear

The Completed Cake

I have to admit that Matt did just as much of the decorating as I did. I love that it turned into a project that Patrick's parents did for him, not just his mom. Matt's pretty artistic, isn't he?

Patrick scraping the frosting off the cake--He really did love it, even though he didn't taste much of the cake itself.

The Cake Face

I just realized I didn't post any pictures of the final cake face. He ended up rubbing his eyes and hair with the frosting hands. I may find one of the messiest face pictures to post tomorrow.

The cake when Patrick got done with it

The presents:

Before

After

Sorry I missed the during. They should be among the pictures my brother took for us.

Other pictures:

Patrick with his Great-Aunt Mary as he holds one of his presents

The Birthday Boys

I love that Patrick shares a birthday with his Papa. What a neat connection!

The First Birthday

Dear Patrick,

I apologize in advance that this post will not be everything I had imagined for months as I saw this first birthday approaching. I had dreams of perfectly explaining exactly how much you mean to me and reiterating what a perfect miracle you are. Tonight finds me more exhausted than I could possibly have predicted, however.

I never expected just how tiring planning your birthday party could be or how drained I would be after the excitement of opening presents and eating cake. I did expect you would be wary of the presents until you recognized what wonderful surprises waited inside. I expected you would still find the wrapping paper and ribbons and tissue paper and cards more thrilling than the brightly colored toys at first. I expected you to love the cake once you determined that funny thing sitting on your high chair tray was something edible. I expected you wouldn't dive into the cake but pick at it. And you didn't disappoint.

I also expected all sorts of memories from one year ago to flood back over me today. Somehow I was still surprised to find myself glancing at the clock repeatedly and playing the game: "What was I doing at this time one year ago?" I could always remember. You see, I will never ever forget that day. It feels like every moment is now written on my mind, in my heart. Scary as the day was, more and more I realize it was one of the best days of my life.

I still wonder, though, if this is the way it will be every year. Will every year's party be so exhausting? Will I always relive October 7, 2005, every October 7? Will the memories stay as vivid?

While my emotions were all over the place today--wavering between annoyed at your Mommy-leeching and nostalgic for your infancy--I wouldn't change a thing about the day. I'm finding myself exhausted but satisfied tonight. This has been a good day. You are so loved by so much family. The excitement, the worry about you and your mood are worth watching you play with new toys and interact with new people. They're worth taking the time out to really look at you and see just how far you've come in the past year. Days like this remind me not to ever take you for granted.

That is my promise to you today, my little man. I promise to always take time out from time to time to remind myself what a miracle you are and how blessed I am to have you in my life. I love you more than you'll ever know, Patrick.

Mommy

Lucky 11

Dear Patrick,

Today you turned eleven months old. This is one of those forgotten milestones, with no important changes that are supposed to happen on this day. It pales in comparison to the milestone you'll experience next month. But it's important to me still, and I'm celebrating, even if in a different way than we will next month.
You see, I reached a milestone of my own last night, one that it only took eleven months to reach. I was reading one of my new books after you went to bed. I found myself sobbing when the main character lost her baby when she was born prematurely. It takes place in pioneer days when there weren't doctors readily available. From the time she realized what was happening, her baby was doomed. It hurt me like you couldn't imagine as they described her baby, a slightly smaller version of you when you were born, and her pain at holding her baby she'd looked forward to for all those months who never really got a chance at life.

That's when for the first time in all these months I let myself think it: That could have been you, that tiny baby who never got to take a first breath. That could have been me, the mother mourning the loss of the life growing inside her for that long. For the first time, the complete blessing you are overwhelmed me; I felt the full measure of gratefulness for your very presence that I'd been reluctant to admit all along.

Sure, I've grieved for your prematurity, for the problems you've had since then because of it, for the stressful NICU experience, for your still-delayed development. But that time is over. Instead of focusing on how things went wrong, I'm astounded by how much went right. You are a wonderful child, a perfect baby. Whether it's in spite of or because of your prematurity, it doesn't matter. I think that book last night finally helped me come to terms with the manner of your arrival. I may finally have accepted it.
It is now time to move on, to look to your future. Daddy and I did just that last night. We're now thinking beyond that milestone you're going through next month that I can't bear to think about right now. We got you your first Halloween costume. Instead of the non-celebration we had in the NICU last year--with nothing more than a Polaroid of you in an oversized pumpkin hat--we're going all out. Remember that this costume is supposed to be a surprise, though. Don't slip and tell one of your grandmas when we're not around!

You also now have your first pair of shoes, although you have yet to wear them. Maybe later today we'll try them on for size and take some pictures to commemorate the event. You're growing so fast, needing shoes already. You'll be toddling all over the house before we know it--and I'm sure I'll be chasing you with those shoes that you will have pulled off as soon as I could get them on.
Speaking of mobility, you're still not ready to crawl. I think sometimes you want to, but it seems to be too much effort. You'd much rather look up at Mommy or Daddy and ask with those big blue eyes to move you wherever you'd rather be. Of course, you're so laidback still that if you don't get moved immediately, you just find something else to play with within reach. It doesn't bother you if you don't get to go somewhere new.
And I'm finally ok with your reluctance to crawl. In fact, I consider myself truly lucky. I hear so many women lamenting at how quickly their babies grew up. They wish they could have that little baby back again, the one who isn't into everything all the time. I have that baby. I have had that baby so much longer than I ever expected to. You came two months early and then have stayed more like a baby months longer than most. I have what every mother dreams of, the baby who stays that way. I know it won't last forever, and I don't want it to. But I know that years from now I won't miss having a baby around quite as much because I was one of the lucky ones who had one for longer.

I love how you're socializing more and more, though, even with Daddy and me. Your sense of humor is astonishing, especially since you have to make do with just gestures and your one word. Just yesterday you were cooing at your toys, acting like you were having a real conversation with them. I had to butt my way in to see if you would talk like that with me. I asked you, "Which toy is your favorite?" And instead of talking to me, you just reached out your hand for my face. I thought it was sweet at first until you grabbed my glasses. I think you answered my question: I'm not your favorite toy, my glasses are.

It doesn't matter to me. You always seem to enjoy playing with me. Each day I'm more surprised at how much I enjoy playing with you. You are truly turning into good company for me. You're such an entertainer too. You'll do anything to make me smile. I can't help but fall in love with you more each day. I'll close your door at the end of a long day and wonder at how my heart could have grown that much in one day to love you that much more.

I'll love you always, Patrick.

Mommy

Ten Months

My dear Patrick,

Today you turn ten months old. I can't believe it. It sounds so old, like you're no longer my little baby but a little boy instead. Now that you've hit double digits in months, you're close enough to that first birthday that it won't be long until we give your age in years instead of months. You're growing up so fast! Slow down a bit. I'm not ready to be the mommy to a toddler.

This has been a huge month for you developmentally. You started out the month trying desperately to balance sitting up, with Mommy worrying about you because you couldn't sit up yet at nine months. This month finds you sitting up all the time like a pro, and instead Mommy worries about how you're not crawling yet. You are making progress in that area finally, though. Just in the last few days, you've thrown your body around into new positions that remarkably resemble the crawling position. As soon as you realize it, though, you lay your head down to pretend that was your plan all along. I think you're as afraid of taking that step of crawling as Mommy is. I know there will be a mad rush to finish baby-proofing the second you crawl for the first time. The problem is that I'm not sure exactly what needs to be baby-proofed. As soon as I see what mischief you're eager to make, I think I'll have a much better idea what precautions to take.

You have also made drastic improvements with your fine motor skills. I have so much fun watching you play with your toys. You can manipulate almost anything to do what you want it to do. It's also hilarious to see what you have determined must be a toy. Just in the last few days, you have found cell phones, remote controls, cats and dogs, a wooden spoon, a spatula, and even a metronome, to be great sources of entertainment. Remind me again why we spend money on brightly-colored plastic toys. Oh, yeah, they also provide endless hours of entertainment. I hope you are always able to be so content with such simple toys.
Yes, this is my new shorter haircut. It looks nowhere near as great as it did when I left the salon (although we all know it would never look that great again), but at least you can see the new length.

This morning was a sad morning, Patrick, although I think the drama missed you entirely. Daddy left us to go on a business trip to Austin. This is the first time he has left us overnight since that first night after you were born. That night he left Mommy to try to sleep in the hospital and he went to stay in a hotel room with Papa and Gigi so that maybe he could get a good night's sleep as well; neither of us had slept well the night before, with you causing Mommy so much pain all night. I don't think you even noticed Daddy was gone that night, although Mommy certainly did. I've never been so lonely; I didn't even have you in my belly for company any more. The best moment was when we reunited the next morning. I had gone to see you in the NICU for the first time early that morning, and just as I was preparing to leave to get some more rest, Daddy showed up by your warmer. Suddenly I saw Daddy as more than just my husband, but also a wonderful, loving father as well. That is a moment I will always remember.

I can only hope that on Friday when we're reunited with Daddy again, it will be just as sweet as that moment in the hospital. I was relieved this morning when we watched Daddy pull out of the driveway and waved cheerfully at him that you didn't understand what was happening. I'm glad you didn't know why Mommy's cheek was wet when you reached up to touch my face or why I couldn't talk much with you for the few minutes after. I'm glad you don't understand that you won't see Daddy again for several days, and I hope you don't even realize how much time has passed when we see him again. Yet I also hope that you don't forget Daddy in that short time and welcome him again on Friday with excited squeals and a big hug. I have a feeling Mommy will welcome him similarly. I'm trying my hardest to focus on that day when we get to see him again and not how much I miss him now, while he's gone. It's nice having you around to distract me from my loneliness. In fact, I really can't be lonely at all when I'm chasing you around, trying desperately to keep you entertained. I just don't know how I'm supposed to fight off the loneliness when I crawl into a huge, empty bed tonight with you sleeping soundly in the other room.

I love this picture I got of you and Daddy yesterday. I love how you're looking at each other, sharing a moment. (I also love how it looks like you're trying to play guitar with that spatula.) Please don't grow too much or start doing too many new things in the next few days. I don't want Daddy to miss even one moment of your development. I know he's going to miss you just as much as we're going to miss him. I don't know what we'd do without Daddy around, and this week is a great reminder of that.

Enjoy your ten-month birthday, Patrick. We'll really celebrate on Friday when our loving little family is back together again. Mommy and Daddy love you.

Love,

Mommy

Gigi Takes Over the Blog

Today is my day to write something for the blog. I'm the far away grandmother from Big Spring, TX. We live eleven hours away. I have loved Patrick from the first day I found out I was going to be a grandparent; babies are a gift from God. I immediately started buying clothes, toys, and whatever else I found I thought the kids might need and what I thought my grandbaby would "need". Matt called on Gary's birthday to tell us that he and Kathy were on the way to the hospital and it looked liked Patrick would be born that day! We packed our bags and got a plane reservation and off we went! We were on our way to the airport when Matt called to tell us Patrick was here.

We arrived in Houston about 11;30PM and we still had to get to the hospital. When we got to the hospital we were afraid that there would be no way at that late time to see him, but Matt called the nurses from the special phone outside of NICU, and we scrubbed and went in. Patrick was so tiny, but he was breathing on his on and really just looked like a tiny baby. He was the sweetest thing I had ever seen, I knew when I saw him he was going to be fine.

Since we live in West Texas we rarely see Patrick. We have come to depend on Kathy's daily blog to keep us up to date with their lives and tell us about our grandbaby. Kathy has us addicted to the computer each day, almost like a soap on TV but better. The pictures are great and the videos make almost like we are there. The background for a lot of his pictures is an old orange chair that Matt's grandmother gave him while he was in college. Kathy has taken some wonderful pictures of Patrick in that chair.

May was a busy month for us, Matt's brother Daniel graduated from A&M University with a D.V.M. and got married. Matt was best man at the wedding so we got to see Patrick! While Patrick was here Matt and Kathy let GiGi and PaPa do as much for him as we could. That meant he got to go places with us, and yes I did go show him off a little or maybe a lot. I took him to the office where I work; he was soooo charming smiling and talking to everyone. I had a great time just finally getting to show off the real Patrick instead of the book of pictures at the office my boss calls the "catalog". Patrick also got to see his great-grandparents. His great-grandmother rocked him to sleep on her shoulder, like she has done all her grandchildren; it seemed to make her day. Patrick seemed to have no complaints either.

Kathy, thank you so much for writing the blog each and every day I don't really know how you do it, but I am truly grateful. The blog has meant we get to be a silent part of your life and I really do appreciate it. I love you Kathy, you’re a very special MOM.

I'm Taking a Blog-ication!

Today is Patrick's nine-month birthday, and to celebrate, I'm taking a short vacation from the blog. I'm turning the blog responsibilities over to his grandmothers for today and tomorrow. Don't worry; I'll be back on Sunday with all the news to catch everyone up with his antics from today and tomorrow. So without further ado, here's Nana:

Well, blog world, this is a new experience for me -- sharing my thoughts for anyone with internet to read. I must admit it's just a little intimidating, but since very few people have ever accused me of being short on words, this could be fun!

Today is a special day in many ways -- I'm here in Houston visiting with my sweet daughter and her adorable husband and my precious grandchild; I will be seeing my other daughter and her fabulous husband later this evening; Kathy and I just came from a happy well-baby check-up; and I get to have special Nana time with Patrick tonight while everyone gets some time out. (I may act like the sacrificial martyr, but it's really a lot like Christmas for me!) However, the most incredible part about this day is that it is Patrick's 9-month birthday today. It is so amazing to think that 3/4 of a year has already passed. Since Kathy has given me the opportunity to guest-blog today, I want to take this opportunity to write a letter to Patrick.


To my dear little Patrick,

Nine months ago I learned an incredible fact: sometimes very tiny gifts can change your world. You surprised us with your early arrival and we dropped everything and headed for Houston to meet you. We arrived late in the evening, and we came straight to the hospital hoping for a chance to visit you right away. Right then we thanked God for this new person who had entered our lives. Grandpa and I looked at you as you slept in your little nursery bed amazed at how strong you were in spite of your small size. My hand covered more than half of your body, but you slept so peacefully.

Since that time you have continually amazed me. You have such an effect on me and I want to share just a few of the ways that you make my life as a Nana beautiful:

1. I melt when you first see me and you immediately smile and squeal like you remember who I am. We live in different cities and only see each other every once in awhile, but as soon as we are together again, it's as if you never left. We begin the fun right where we left off.

2. I love the way you light up when I sneak in your room to get you out of bed after a nap. You seem so excited to see me -- and I can barely wait to pick you up and squeeze you.

3. I cherish the big hugs that you give when I pick you up or when you are sad or when the mean nurse pricks you for that bad blood test. The memory of those tight hugs and cuddles will always stay in my memories.

4. I smile when you are nursing on your mom's lap and you look upside down to make sure that I'm still there. It totally made my day when you screamed the time I walked out of the room because you wanted to be sure I was going to come back.

5. I laugh when you play with my bright red toes and you belly laugh when they wiggle.

6. I am entertained when you sit in your car seat next to me and proudly stretch and make your carseat toy play music. You had your mom pretty perplexed for quite awhile -- and you were the ghost all along! :)

7. I am proud of you for growing so well and for being so healthy and strong. I love to see you sitting and trying so hard to stand and move around.

8. I am grateful that you were born to such wonderful parents and it is so precious to see the way you reach for and gently touch your mother's face and the way you smile and giggle to see that Daddy is home.

9. I am amused that you like to learn new things from your Nana -- like the way you love to hold a book and "read" and chatter at the book. Much to your parents' aggravation, it's fun that you remember how to spit every time we are together again. I can't imagine how that happens!

10. I am filled with love just at the thought of you and how special you are. Your grandpa and I cherish every moment that we get to spend with you.


So, Patrick, you can see that my life will never be the same now that you are a part of it and I am a Nana now. In the future there will be more grandchildren and you will have cousins and they will also add a lot of joy to our family. I have learned, though, that my heart just keeps growing bigger and you will always have a little corner of it. I love you forever!

Love,
Nana

Part III--The Aftermath

This is the part three of a longer story. I suggest you go back two days and catch up before reading this one if you haven't already. Also, I'd really like to include some pictures for everyone, but apparently some of blogger's recent problems have affected the picture uploads. Has anybody else had the same problem? I may try again later to add pictures to this post and yesterday's, so you might want to check back just to look at the pictures.

Yesterday I talked about Patrick's journey through the NICU, but mentioned very little of my own. It appears as though, I too had to go through a journey both before and after he came home. If you remember, I noted yesterday that I felt incredibly numb just after Patrick was born. Really that feeling lasted for several days. I look back now and realize the severity of my detachment. I understood in my mind exactly what I should be feeling and forced myself to act as though I felt that way. I doubt now my act fooled anyone, but I still gave it my best shot. I squeezed out a few tears when I saw him in the NICU and when I had to leave him at the hospital, but there was very little emotion behind those tears.

Even after getting home, I didn't feel much. I was very distracted for about a week with having my parents visiting and Matt home from work and then moving the next weekend. It wasn't until we were settled in our new house that everything began to sink in. Suddenly I was left all alone as company went home and Matt went back to work, and we didn't have any cable or Internet to distract me. All I had was box after box to unpack. That left me way too much time with my thoughts. I started having frequent episodes of the baby blues, as I'd heard them called. They weren't fun, but as long as that's all they were, I knew I could cope with them.

The longer Patrick was in the hospital, though, the worse the episodes got, and more frequent. I spent most days sleeping until noon when Matt would come home for lunch and physically drag me out of bed. I moped around during the afternoons until it got close to time to go to the hospital. Then I would start perking up and getting excited, although a bit anxious too. I had hope that things would go well at the hospital. Much of my emotions for the night and next morning had to do with what happened at the hospital. If Patrick had done well and had his feedings upped, and especially if we got to give him a bottle or change his diaper, I was in great spirits, elated even, sometimes into the next morning. If he hadn't progressed and we only got to hold him a few minutes and he slept the whole time, I would get depressed again. I can remember crying on the long drive home numerous times because things didn't go as well as I'd hoped at the hospital. It was during this time that Matt and I began to suspect I was a victim of post-partum depression. I was too embarrassed about it to ask for help, though, so I suffered (and made Matt suffer) alone.

I was sure everything would be better when Patrick came home. And it was somewhat better. The depression started hitting me less often, but it didn't go away completely. I thought it was the lack of sleep and assumed once Patrick slept through the night, I would be better. I wasn't. By the time Patrick was six months old, Matt and I were stunned that I was in such a statistically impossible minority to still be suffering from post-partum depression. That's when I began to search for another possible cause of the depression.

In the last few weeks I have started realizing that it probably isn't depression in the traditional sense, but really more related to grief. I'd never thought of grief as the cause because Patrick hadn't died. Yet I still believe that parents of preemies grieve for their little ones. We grieve that our babies are sick and we're helpless to fix things. We grieve that we didn't get to experience the last few months of pregnancy or our perfect deliveries. We grieve that we can't even care for our own babies, and the first parents they know are the string of nurses and doctors who change their diapers and feed them. We grieve when we go out in public and see other new parents with their babies and feel jealous that we're parents too and nobody knows it. We grieve that our preemies have the very real possibility of not making it or having long-term complications, even when they're healthy all along. We grieve that our bodies failed us and our babies. We grieve that we can't even hold our own children without express permission from a doctor.

I wish I could say that recognizing I'm grieving has made everything better, but it hasn't. I understand why I still get depressed some days, but that doesn't prevent the depressed days from coming. I know that I'm still working through those stages of grief, and until I've reached that acceptance stage, the depression won't just disappear. I think that's part of the reason I continue to try to figure this whole thing out and work through my feelings about it. I'm hoping that by analyzing it from every angle, I will suddenly find acceptance about his prematurity. I know it doesn't really work that way, but ignoring it isn't going to help me work through my feelings either. Because of that, I can't promise like I have in the past that this will be my last post about Patrick's prematurity. The blog is a good outlet for me to work through my feelings, and maybe some of my insight will also somehow help some of you other preemie moms who are going through the same thing. Maybe I will write something that you can identify with and help me through as well. So I'm sorry to those of you who are sick of hearing about this, but it's too much a part of my life right now to ignore.

Part II--The NICU Journey

This is a continuation of yesterday's post. I recommend going back and reading that one before picking up with this one; it will make more sense that way.

Matt and I were finally left alone once they had verified I was recovering fine. That's when the phone chaos began: we had to call all the family to tell the good news. Because we didn't find out I was in labor until a short time before he was born, most of the family was very surprised to hear Patrick was already born. They weren't expecting any calls about it at all for two more months. I remember those first few hours after the birth being joyous, despite not having Patrick with us. I was finally able to eat dinner too, my first meal of the day. Hospital food never tasted so good!

The NICU's nurse practitioner on duty came to chat with us after Patrick had had his official NICU check-up. She had only good news for us. Patrick's official weight was 3 lbs 3 oz and he was 16.5 inches long. He was in great health for the moment, breathing room air and not needing any oxygen to help get his lungs working. She was very cautious in warning us that his health could decline at any moment, especially when he tired of breathing after a few hours. We were also warned about how long to expect him to stay in the NICU, when he might be able to start eating breast milk and how he would be fed, all the typical stuff they tell every parent of a child admitted. We didn't realize at the time, but the spiel we were given was quite rote as the doctors were rigid on the timeline for a healthy baby in the NICU. They absolutely would not try feeding a baby with a bottle before 34 weeks' gestation (they still calculated a baby's age in the NICU on its gestation, even though it was through gestating), even if the baby showed signs of being ready for it much earlier. That became quite a point of contention for Matt and me over the following weeks.

The rest of the evening and following days in the hospital were mostly taken up with visiting with family and friends. I went to visit Patrick three times while I stayed in the hospital. The first time was by myself, early in the morning before anyone had come to the hospital, even Matt. I truly hadn't felt prepared to see him before then and had only seen pictures Matt took when he visited the evening before. That experience was quite a reality check. Patrick looked so small curled up on his belly in the warmer. The diaper, the smallest size they make, was much too big for his little bottom. I wanted to touch him so badly but was afraid to. Finally the nurse caring for him (Joanie, the giraffe's namesake) came over and talked with me about him. She also offered to let me hold him. I honestly didn't think I'd get that privilege for several days, so I was surprised. Of course I accepted. She was caring enough to leave me alone with him for a few minutes to bond. I don't remember much about what I thought or said to him, but I remember being in awe that I was holding my son. Matt joined me a few minutes later, about the time I needed to put him back in the warmer, and we marveled together at our tiny infant son for the first time.

I only stayed in the hospital for two nights. By the end of that second night, I was more than ready to leave. I had gotten very little sleep while I was there. I was also in very little pain and feeling too well to be stuck in a hospital. I hated going home to where I'd be an hour away from Patrick, but I knew it was bound to happen eventually. I was quite numb after we left the hospital. I knew we were leaving without part of the family, but I couldn't quite wrap my fragile emotional state around that idea until we were long gone.

Patrick was always a healthy baby, despite taking up residence in the NICU for over a month. The extra rooms of the NICU, what they called the annex, had been closed down when they started evacuating the hospital for Hurricane Rita a few weeks earlier. The day after we left the hospital, they re-opened the first of those annex rooms and chose the four healthiest babies to move into it. Patrick was one of the first they chose, even though he was one of the youngest in the unit. He never needed oxygen or any help breathing at all and was able to handle breastmilk the day after he was born.

Over the next five weeks, Matt and I rearranged all our schedules to be across town at the hospital every evening. Sometimes I would also go visit during the day. I turned into a milk hoarder, mourning the loss of even one drop of breastmilk. When my production far outpaced his intake, we started storing extra at home. Soon our freezer was almost exclusively milk storage. Then we had to start throwing some away. We still took several bottles of milk to the hospital every few days. Patrick was allowed more and more milk almost every day. Almost as soon as he hit the 34-week mark, he started bottle-feeding. That was a monumental day for Matt and me. Based on our observations of him over the past few weeks, he was more than ready for it. He proved us right, drinking his first bottle like a pro in about ten minutes. That started him on the fast track to coming home.

About the time the feeding tube came out of Patrick's nose because he was eating solely with bottles and was able to start trying to breastfeed, we expected to hear talk of his homecoming. When we didn't, we started to wonder what was going on. What happened over the next week or so was a comedy of errors. There were several other milestones Patrick had to reach in order to be considered healthy enough to be discharged. Every time he would appear to be taking a step in the right direction, the nursing staff would change shifts and the new nurse would take him back a step again. Finally it looked like he was ready to leave, and then he suddenly started having apnea attacks again (although we'd never heard of him having apnea attacks before this time). The doctors were sure it was acid reflux but had to run tests to make sure. They said that based on the results of the tests, they would either send Patrick home with medicine for acid reflux (they did), send him home on an apnea monitor (they did), OR keep him another week to make sure the apnea attacks weren't a problem (they did that too). I think it goes without saying that Matt and I were a bit upset with the news, especially when they did all three things, not the one we had been told they would do. We think the whole thing was a big conspiracy and unnecessary, but we can't prove it. Probably all he ever needed was the acid reflux medicine.

Then the day came, quite suddenly it seemed, that we were told we were rooming in with him for the night and taking him home the next day. There was a last-minute problem that he hadn't been circumcised when we were told he would be, but somehow miraculously that happened and he recovered from it in enough time that we were still able to bring him home on November 14, a month and a week after his birth. That was at least as joyous as the day he was born, even though we knew it was also the start of sleepless nights and even more worrying than we'd already been doing. Since that day, we haven't had any other health problems with him, not even a cold. He may have decided he was going to come early, but at least he knew he was ready to come that early.

Yes, I have more to say about the matter. Stay tuned tomorrow for part three, what I hope to be the final part of this story.

Eight Months

Today Patrick turns eight months old. I was trying to figure out how to celebrate this milestone on the blog when Matt remarked to me the other day that Patrick has now been out of my belly longer than he was in it. The day when that happened passed several weeks ago without notice. I thought as a good way to celebrate both his eighth month and that he's been alive longer outside of me than in, I would take the time to write down his birth story. I've been meaning to for some time and just hadn't found the time to be right yet. Now it is.
The pregnancy itself was rough. I had horrible "morning" sickness that lasted all day every day. It forced me to quit teaching a month before school ended. I also had several bleeding episodes when I thought I'd lost Patrick. Several weeks after the one that sent me to the emergency room, I was finally diagnosed with a sub-corionic hematoma. I was put on a semi-bedrest that was silly compared to the one I had been on for months that somewhat controlled the nausea. Finally around the fourth of July last year, the nausea started to let up and the bleeding had mostly stopped, so I started living an almost normal life again. I still wonder if that nausea-induced bedrest may have kept the bleeding to a minimum and saved Patrick's life.

I had relatively few problems from then until the week of Patrick's birth. I'd had a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions that Monday and some back pain on Wednesday, but neither was serious or continued long enough to suspect a problem. When the back pain returned on Thursday night, I thought it would once again go away after a little while like it had on Wednesday. I also thought the pains were typical third-trimester pains.

After several hours of back pains that started to emanate to the front too, I began to wonder if something was wrong. I checked in my faithful What to Expect When You're Expecting book, looking at pre-term labor, early signs of labor, and kidney infections to determine if one of those would explain the pains I was having. None of them did, so I continued to suffer.

I remember trying all sorts of things to help ease the pains: a hot shower, pacing across our apartment, even Tylenol (I laugh at myself now for taking Tylenol for contractions). Toward morning as the pains got worse and closer together, I found myself leaning over our bathroom counter and swaying back and forth, a position I'd only seen pregnant women in labor take. I remember thinking how funny it was then and still not suspecting I was in labor.

Matt and I were supposed to get up early to go close on our house, and we were both relieved when morning came and we found out the house wasn't ready to be closed on yet. (By the way, we did close on it the week later.) We called my parents to tell them not to come to Houston to help us move over the weekend. It turned out to be a good thing they were already packed and ready to leave Dallas, though.

Finally around 11:00 in the morning, Matt convinced me I should probably call the doctor about the pain. The office closed in an hour as it was a Friday, so it was a good thing I called when I did. They told me if I had six of those pains in an hour to head to the hospital. When I'd had four in twenty minutes, we started preparing ourselves to leave. I still thought it was silly to go, though; I fully expected to be told I had a kidney infection, given a prescription for antibiotics, and sent home. Because of that, we packed no clothes or anything for an overnight stay, just the bare essentials to be gone a few hours.

My mom called me on the hour-long drive to the hospital (we'd moved and not changed doctors, so the doctor and the hospital where she delivered was still where we used to live). As we were talking, I had another pain. She told me later that from how I sounded, she could tell I was having contractions. I'm quite glad she didn't tell me that then. I was scared enough as it was.

We got to the hospital about 12:30 or 1:00 and parked. I walked in on my own, stopping every so often with a pain. It took us some time to find the right place in the hospital, since we hadn't gotten a chance to tour the hospital and maternity ward with a class. I was one day short of 32 weeks, much earlier than I anticipated needing to take a class.

I got situated in the admittance room of the ante-partum ward and got hooked up to the monitors and IV. Sure enough, I was having contractions, as the monitor was quick to show us. I still find it odd how quickly I accepted that fact without any fear; I wonder if I'd known in the back of my mind what they were all along. The nurse asked the barrage of questions while I suffered through several more contractions and then went to check me. She didn't even get the speculum all the way in before dropping it in panic and racing for the phone. She managed to quickly inform us on her way there that all she saw was my bag of water and she was calling for the doctor. I knew that meant I was in labor and they would not be stopping it; I would be a mother within a few hours most likely. Still I wasn't scared. I think I was numb by this point (and I hadn't even had the epidural yet!).

The nurse came back with another nurse a few minutes later. My doctor was otherwise occupied and wouldn't be able to come in to deliver Patrick, but she was sending another doctor in the practice in her place (I found out later it was also her own personal ob/gyn). The nurses immediately got me flat on my back in the bed and wheeled me to a labor and delivery room. I was very carefully moved to the bed there and situated in that bed with my head down. The thought was that gravity would possibly help keep the baby inside until the doctor could get there. It was lots of fun trying to sign all that admittance paperwork while on my head. It didn't help matters that the nurses were doing all sorts of tests to me, like a sonogram and other things I can't remember, and I was also still suffering with contractions every few minutes.

This is where everything gets blurry. I can only remember a few snapshots of the next hour or so, and I don't really remember what order they come in. I know the doctor got there, checked me, and broke my water. I remember telling Matt not to watch but that it wouldn't hurt me. I remember the gush as it came out of me--gross! I was already 9 1/2 centimeters dilated after my water was broken. I know the anesthesiologist came some time later and asked Matt to leave the room while he gave me the epidural. Matt doesn't like needles, so I was glad the doctor asked him to leave. I was fine because I didn't have to see that nasty needle. I remember the nurse inserting the catheter, and I was nervous it would hurt even though I already had the epidural. I'm pretty sure I peed on her before she could get it all the way in. Also during this time, Matt started calling family. His parents and mine left right away. They weren't given enough notice to make it in time for the birth, but both were there that evening. (By the way, have I mentioned it was Matt's dad's birthday? Patrick was the best present he got last year, he claims.)

It wasn't long after that that I needed to push. I could feel it despite the epidural. It only took a few pushes. Between pushes, though, I was calm enough to joke and laugh with the nurses and Matt. I'm still amazed at myself that despite all the circumstances I could still joke and laugh. A few pushes later at 4:17 pm, Patrick came out. According to Matt, he slid out so fast that the doctor barely caught him. She was also not used to such a little guy, so his light weight caught her off guard and she almost dropped him.

Patrick immediately started screaming. The doctor held him up so I could see him briefly and then handed him over to the nurses and pediatric team for him to be checked out. Not once during this whole time had I doubted the health of Patrick. I knew what to expect for him after he was born, with the whole NICU experience, but I knew somehow that even if he went to the NICU, he would be healthy. My suspicions were confirmed when he was handed to me just minutes after he was born to hold him for a moment before being whisked off to NICU. The nurse who put him in my arms told me his apgar scores were 8 and 9 1/2. The way she said it made her sound impressed. I was simply proud of him for doing so well.

I remember looking down at him numbly for the few moments he was in my arms, thinking he didn't look that small really. I noticed his beautiful face with perfect features and realized he was mine, my own son. That thought didn't really sink in for some time, though. I remember feeling somewhat detached about the whole situation the entire time I held him. Then he was torn from my arms and taken to NICU where I didn't see him again until the next morning.

I'll continue with the story of the happenings after his birth tomorrow. Obviously when you have a baby in the NICU, the story doesn't end there. I may be kind and shorten the next few weeks for you, though. Then again, maybe not...

7-7-7

Family picture before church on May 7

Today, on the seventh, Patrick turns seven months old. To commemorate the occasion, here are seven lessons I've learned in the last seven months:

1. If Patrick needs a bath before going somewhere for the day, I absolutely cannot get myself dressed first--unless I want to change out of pee-splattered clothes again before leaving.

2. As much as Patrick loves spinach, it is the most disgusting ingredient in his diet. Not only does it stain almost anything (including carpet), it also stinks badly in its pure form, even worse when it comes out the second time, and the worst in the diaper. Ewww.

3. Everything exists for the sole purpose of entertaining Patrick, especially people. Once they no longer entertain him, they have no reason to stick around.

4. Patrick has yet to understand the difference between his outside voice and his inside voice ("six-inch" voice)--especially during prayers at church.

5. Babies develop a personality a lot sooner than I expected. Patrick oozes with personality all day long and somehow seems to find more to show us every day.

6. Naptime is the best time of day. I look forward to it all morning, anticipating it like Christmas or my birthday. I love the few minutes of me time I get after several hours catering to Patrick's needs. Then a few short minutes after he drifts off, all I want is for him to wake up and need me again.

7. There is nothing sweeter than knowing he loves me. When he smiles that huge toothless sleepy grin when I lean over his crib each morning, I know without a doubt that all the frustrations and tears, poop and spit-up are more than worth it to have Patrick in my life.

Patrick in his "big boy" stroller for the first time

(He needed a smaller, more portable stroller for vacation.)