Oh wait, actually I am going to totally punt and just post some  pictures (we finally got a new camera after months of agonizing, Canon, Nikon, Canon, Nikon? A question for the ages…)those who know me well know that I am oddly, and to a fault, decisive so just guess who the waffler was? go on, guess.

On to the main event:

What?! This is how everyone drives in Brooklyn

Out in front.

Bedroom eyes

Mommy, out.

While much has changed, one thing remains the same – We live our lives with this feeling of amazing gratitude because everyday, we get to wake up to this:

Could you really ask for much more?

He won’t even let the kid play in peace! I wonder what will happen when he gets his NEW camara?

That’s right. Jack has recently learned the word, “no.” I understand that many parents are dismayed when this happens, (and that it usually happens much earlier), but us? We’re delighted.

It used to be that if Jack wanted something we’d play a guessing game, a looong drawn up guessing game. “Would you like juice, or milk?” was often met with an exasperated look and then perhaps some flinging of the offending item. Today I asked Jack if he wanted Juice and he shook his head “no,” so I prodded him a bit more (I am that kind of Mom after all), “juice?” I asked again, all innocent…and there it was clear as day, emphatic even, “NO.”  I kissed him.

Despite the 37% delay he’s getting much better at telling us what he wants. We were reading The Little Engine that Could this weekend and we passed the page talking about the oranges and apples and creamy milk (with peppermints and lollipops for dessert) when Jack removed the book from my hands and returned to the milk page. I didn’t get it at first so I read it to him again and then turned the page. He did it again, pulled the book away and turned it back to the milk page. So I asked,  ”Jack, would you like some milk” and he signed “yes, milk” and then he spoke… ”prreeaze.”

We have entered tantrum land here. The first one or two were pretty alarming, Jack is so snuggly that not being able to touch him as he freaks the eff’ out is a little weird.  The tantrums go for about 20 minutes and involve a lot of sideways angry glances towards me. 2 hours later we get hugs.

Maybe my son is a teenage girl?

He’s also become a bit of a brute. He pushes back from the table with a lot of force, and throws his hands up in the air, aggressively signing “all done!” (well, aggressive as ASL lets you get).  He threw a wooden ball at Sidney’s head the other day and the THWOCK!!! sound was heard all the way at the other end of the apartment.  

It’s amazing to us that the 2 pound 3 ounce preemie is now a big boy. With opinions, and such.

This week, Odin woke up and was having trouble seeing out of his right eye. Over the past several days, it’s become clear that he is in serious danger of having a retinal detachment, which leads to blindness. Sarah and I have been thinking about Odin all week, and we’re sending all our good vibes his way.

The thing thats scary about this is that Odin is 4 years old. And as Eric, Odin’s dad, eloquently put it: “day 1464: the long arm of prematurity reaches out and sucker punches us.”

That’s what really gets me. It may be years before we fully understand all the effects of Jack’s prematurity. And even as I strive to put it behind us and move on with the normal worries of parenthood, the reality is that there are unknown effects of prematurity that can take years to manifest. 

I recognize that all parents worry about their kids. I get that. I mean, my mom says, “Just wait ’till he asks you for the car keys and says he’ll be home by 3:00am. Now that’s worry!”

But I feel like for us, there is another layer. We get to worry about all that normal parent stuff, plus we have to try not to obsess or project our preemie worries onto Jack. 

Last thought.  Snowdeal posse, we’re wishing you the best of luck, and reminding you that Odin is a very very tough cookie.

So, this will be the only mention we make about potty training.

Today, Jack used a potty for the first time.

Mainly because his parents forgot to go get him new diapers.

We rock.

The end.

So, a couple of items to note:

• Soon, very soon, we will no longer be calling the island of Manhattan home. I think it’s kind of awesome…although I believe I have mentioned that my fictional middle name is ambivalence.
• Soon, very soon, we will bid a not so fond farewell to the UWS and the “I LOVE  YOU” dude on the street corner and the crappy ass elevator in our building. I will miss our closet space, and perhaps the water pressure (Arch, did you check the water pressure in the new place?!), and not much else.
• Work? It’s better-ish. Some days I still do consider running out of the building – and I have recently learned I am not alone in that feeling…safety in numbers I suppose.
• Jack? Well. He’s got a ball, see? and we talk about it a lot, see? It’s all BALL, BALL, BALL, BALL, BALL – followed by id’ing where Sidney is in the room, followed by further declarative statements regarding said BALL.  I am willing my son to speak because I want to know what the eff is going on his head.

Anyway interwebs, I think you’re kind of nifty and I don’t want you to take  my silence to mean I don’t like you, it’s just, you know, there is stuff happening and we don’t really blog about it. Oh also? We’ve lost our little camera so that’s why you don’t have any pictures. We’re working on fixing that problem ASAP.

Your friend,

Sarah

This is a related clip from the classic American film, Caddyshack. 

Click here to view the embedded video.

In the name of decency, I thought better of taking pictures of this magnanimous event, but here is another  bath-time picture so that you can see the scene of the crime. Please note the look on Jacks face. It clearly says, “Who me? I would never… ever… poop in the bath.”

Yeah right.

The good news is that he was none the wiser and aside from a thorough rinse-down he seems to have escaped unscathed.   

Anyway. I needed data when I was on bedrest, I knew that we were headed into uncharted territory.  So. I researched.  I googled. I used that damn advanced statistics class (FINALLY). I burned up the interweb looking for information that would prepare me to be the mom of a preemie. I read blogs of preemies born 20 years ago who were “just fine.” I found communities that maybe I shouldn’t really have been reading at the time…and I also found some helpful resources.  

Every day since we’ve come home, I’ve kept up that research. But that research turned rapidly into a craving for community, to find parents who perhaps share the same worries. Mom’s and Dad’s who have lived through some of those dark days and are still coming out the other side.

I didn’t recognize how alone I felt in all of this until recently. I was at the park with Jack and there was a little 2 year old girl there with glasses. And me, being all self-absorbed and what not, assumed the little girl was a preemie. Not only did I assume this, but I went on and created this 2 minute fantasy that I would have a friend in that mother, someone to talk to about the worry and the guilt and the yada-yada etc. But no. She was just a mom with a little girl who wore glasses.  And then I was UPSET. I was upset that the little girl wasn’t a preemie. Can you imagine?! I was wishing that this poor little girl with the glasses was a preemie so that I could make friends with her mom.

Sick and twisted, party of one, right here.

We came home and Jack climbed up in my lap and fed me goldfish while I cried big old dumb tears. Because I am dumb. And he is here and somehow I can time warp to “back there” and dude, wtf already?

And I am working through it. And part of that is just remembering that I am not alone, and actually? it may not be that crazy to want to talk to other people who have lived through something similar.  

A couple of weeks ago, reading my normal blogs, people I think of friends, (even though I’ve never met them), I find that one of my friends is part of a new community, “For mamas of still babies, tiny babies, lost potential of all kinds.”  and I visited this community, and then I wept. I feel unworthy of these women when I read their stories.  I must warn you not to follow this link if you are at work or some other place where bawling openly would be deemed inappropriate.  That said, I need to post the link to glow in the woods just in case someone is googling something like “FUCK AND NICU” or some other relevant search term and accidentally landed here.  Because maybe they’re searching for someplace safe, and man, do I get how important that is. **

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**I’ve had this post written for about 10 days and have been hesitant to post it. I don’t post most of what I think or feel these days for fear of upsetting some vested constintuent somewhere or another, but this one still felt important 10 days later. So. There you have it.