Jack Kaden

We follow the progress of Odin, a young boy that was born with a lot of the same challenges as Jack. He had the same ROP surgery that Jack had, and he was born 25 weeks, one week earlier than Jack. He’s a super-cutie. We’ve gained some strength from watching the Snowdeal clan work through the issues of preemie parenthood. 

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.

We have purposefully refrained from writing about certain things that could make Jack turn bright red later in life. Oh don’t worry. There will be plenty of things that we intend to include…but specific issues are off-limits.

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.

It’s been so long since I’ve written.  I hope you’ll forgive me? I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately…I’ve been, you know, huddling in a corner with a bottle of wine thinking about smoking cigarettes (not that I ever would, have you SEEN how much they cost?!!)

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

Well, we knew that it was bound to happen. We even joked about it. Who would be the lucky parent on duty (get it?) the night Jack pooped while taking a bath? At long last, our question has been answered: Sarah was the big winner.

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

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.   

When I was in the hospital for those 2 weeks before we had Jack I forced Arch to give me his computer and a wireless card so that I could do research. Honestly, I think that if I had asked Arch to give me his right hand, sawed off at the forearm while I was in the hospital he would have, so “forced” is a bit of a strong word….

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.