HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, ALL
If this doesn't make you smile, I don't know what will.  IN truth, I'm kind of already over Halloween.  We went to our annual Halloween party on the 22nd as Hagrid, Bellatrix and Norbert the baby dragon.  That looked like this:

We won best costume! So, that was sweet.  But for us, that was really our Halloween, so now I kind of feel semi-annoyed at having to keep up the festivities.  I'm ready for it to be Christmas.  Seriously.  As in, I've already gone decoration shopping and have Rigby's outfit for Santa pictures.  So stay tuned for ridiculous Christmas cuteness!

Life Catches Up With You

I had the perfect plan for my first post-NICU post.  I had taken a picture of Rigby's hand, where if you looked VERY closely, you could still see where his IV needle had been.  I was going to wax all nostalgic and say this was all you could see on him now that ever proved he'd been a NICU baby.  But then life happened.  And I didn't blog for five months.
Which is sad, because MAJOR stuff happened those five months.
First there was this:

Our first family photograph, taken at the NICU the last day Rigby was there.

Then there was this:

Actually, finally, MAGICALLY leaving the NICU with our perfect baby boy.

Wanna know something else kind of wonderful? Rigby was finally released from the NICU on May 8th, 2011.  Mother's Day.  My first Mother's Day.  Even now, when I think of that tender mercy my eyes well up with tears.  Getting to take home my first baby, my beautiful son on my first Mother's Day was so perfect, so right.  So many things about the beginning of his life didn't SEEM right, but somehow, this sweet occurrence put things in perspective.  No more nights sleeping away from my little angel,wondering if he would wake up and cry because I wasn't there.  Of course, that also meant no more nights of uninterrupted sleep, but that was all worth it, too, because then came this:

About two months after Rigby came home, he was blessed on July 3, 2011.  James gave such a beautiful blessing.  This weekend was also awesome because it was our first Fourth of July as a family.  Which looked like this:

Of course, Rigby did get his first cold after this weekend, which sadly led to more time in the hospital.  Fortunately, we never had to be admitted, however Rigby had such a hard time clearing the mucus from his cold, almost every night we had to go to the bronchiolitis clinic at the E.R. so they could suction is nasal passages.  This way, he could finally breathe easily enough to sleep, but it broke my heart to do it.  Every time, Rigby would cry SO hard.  I'd have to stand in the hall and let James play bad cop while I cried.  Hospital staff would walk by, smile understandingly and ask if the infant screams belonged to my baby.  I'd sniffleingly reply yes.  We were the ONLY people utilizing the clinic in the middle of July.  That fact, it can safely be said, can be chalked up to a preterm immune system.  Fortunately, Rigby's cold cleared up about two weeks later, and just in time, too, because then there was this:

Our annual trip to Chelan, and Rigby's first time!  It was fun, but very different from all our other trips.  James and I always focused on Rigby first, then took turns doing our usual fun things.  I'm really looking forward to next year when Rigby will be mobile and able to discover Chelan for himself.

Today, our days look mostly like this:

Rigby is THE HAPPIEST baby.  He wakes up with a huge grin on his face that wavers only when he's very hungry.  He's got the sunniest disposition, it makes him so easy to love.  Sadly, right now we're working on cold number two. The nurse at the pediatrician's office didn't believe me that he was sick at first because he was so smiley.  Then she heard him cough.
We're on the tail end of it I think, now, but it's still so hard to hear him cough or struggle for a breath.  Rigby's also decided to assert his independence.  This last weekend, my 5.5 month old decided he was done nursing.  As in he will have NOTHING to do with me if my shirt is off.  That's what I mean about the "Life Catches Up With You" part.  All of the sudden, Rigby was done nursing.  I wasn't ready for that.  I thought I would decide when we would wean him.  I planned on being the awesome mom that breastfed for a year, even though every day was a battle to produce even half of what Rigby needed.  But Rigs had other ideas.  It's making me a little blue today.  Like, already he needs a little less of me than he did before.  But James pointed out that now he'll just need new things, different things.  Need me to listen to his babble and pretend it makes sense so he can learn how to talk.  Need me to help him work on rolling over.  Need me to make an absolute idiot of myself to get a giggle out of him.  There are new things he needs from me, too. 
I guess that's what this is going to be like, this whole mommy thing.  Realizing one morning that they don't need you the way they did before, but that they need you still, in a different way.  Maybe next time I won't need to drown my sorrows in mini snickers because I'll understand that better, and his growing up won't seem like it's already going too fast.
Let's hope I get better at it, anyway.  There's miles of this baby weight to go, still, and I don't think the snickers help in that fight.  Too bad carrot sticks and crunches just aren't as comforting. :)

Being Mommy

So, I'm sitting here at the NICU bedside of my perfect baby boy, listening to the soft sounds of him breathing.  Every now and then, when his binkie slides out of his mouth or when he bears down to fart (a charming trait from his father, I'm sure), he starts to make little grunting noises that sound like an angry piglet.  That's about as close as he gets to crying, usually.  The nurses tell me he's a good natured baby.  I, of course, believe this and every other word of praise they have to offer my beautiful boy.

My existence now consists mostly of interpreting the differences between soft breathing Rigby and angry piglet Rigby, trying to discern and prevent any more apneic spells before they start.  I flatter myself that I'm starting to distinguish Rigby's breathing patterns pretty decently.  Sometimes, even before the machines start beeping to warn me his oxygen is dipping, my heart is already in my throat because I've heard the change in his breathing.

As I've been sitting here, I've been thinking about how this must be what it is to be a mom.  Knowing your kids well enough to be able to interpret things like this, and trying to head problems off at the pass so you can save your baby from even the slightest discomfort.

I've been thinking about the fact that now, I'm a mom. From now on, someone (firstly, Rigby and later on others) will only call me that - mom.  Mommy. It's weird to think in my head "I'm a mom." The thought by itself feels strange.  I have a mom.  How can I BE mom? Without context, that thought flashes in my head like a neon sign in a foreign language, it seems so weird and out of place.

Which is silly, I guess.  Of course I'm a mom.  Who else would sit here hour upon hour playing "watch the monitor/listen to Rigby breathe?" (Not a care-free game, by the way.  Takes years off the end of my life.) Who else would stare endlessly into his face, memorizing every feature? I remember James' sister Ginny explained that when she had Xela, it was like falling in love.  It's kind of like that, I guess.  Except that falling for James was a choice.  I could have (though I never would have) walked away from that choice.  There are no choices here.  I know I'd walk through fire for this little man and not bat an eye.  I'd do that for James, too, but you get my point.  Something inside shifted after I had Rigby. My world will never be the same.  And that's because I'm a mom.

Must run.  Angry piglet is grunting. :)

Our New "Normal"

So the most apt quote I've heard about the NICU comes from one of Rigby's NMP's and it went something like this:

"Being in the NICU is like being on a roller coaster with a blindfold on.  You never know when you're on your way up or down, or when you're nearing the end, and it's terrifying the entire time."

To say our life has been a roller coaster for the last two weeks is really an understatement.  Rigby has had three "go home" dates scheduled for him... and just in time for each, he's managed to do something that earns him more quality NICU time.

Rigby's got some pretty substantial reflux problems.  He refluxes so badly, that he needs to hold his breath to protect his airway.  Sometimes when he does this, he holds his breath so long that he turns blue.  It is utterly terrifying.  Definitely the worst part of the roller coaster ride.

When he had his first "spell," I was reduced to hysterical tears.  Now, three spells later, I still get pretty freaked out.  But I deal.

The bottom line is they will not let him come home until he can go a week without having another apneic episode.  I am glad for this.  If he was home when these spells happened, there's a chance he wouldn't come out of it. Where he's at, he's constantly monitored and has excellent nurses to help him out when he can't bring himself around.  He's exactly where I want him to be when and if he has another spell.

The problem is, each spell means another week in the NICU.  Another week where I feel like a celebrity mom with highly-paid nannies who doesn't REALLY get to raise her baby, and not like a REAL mom.

Every one told us to enjoy life before the baby, because we'd never go out to dinner/movies/anything ever again.  Well, we're still going out to dinner (thanks to my VERY generous mom).  We'll be sitting in a restaurant, and all I can think about is that my life seems pretty much the same (minus the massive sleep deprivation) as it was before Rigby... and I want it to be totally different.

I want to be home with him, changing his diapers, and being stuck at home for long evenings with the baby.  I WANT to not be able to go out to dinner.  I just want him home, safe and sound, like any other normal baby.

But if he was, maybe he wouldn't look this cute:

He's so beautiful, it makes my heart hurt.

And it this is the only way I get him, I'll take him this way.  I can make it a few more weeks with this new "normal." He's worth every second.

Rigby James Norman: 6lbs 8 oz. on April 12, 2011 at 7:26 pm

Our beautiful baby boy is here. 

And he is perfect.

Seriously, I look at him, and I know rationally that it isn't really possible that he is the most beautiful baby on the planet.  But that's what I see. 

Every time we go down to see him in the NICU, he gets more and more handsome.  All the pictures I have on this computer right now are from his first 12 hours, and I promise he just gets cuter as time passes. I will eventually get more pics up.

James nailed it on the head this morning when he said this to our NICU nurse:
"I never understood why my siblings took hundreds and hundreds of pictures of their babies before.  Now I understand."

It's awesome to watch James be enamored of his baby.

We have to bargain with each other for who gets how much kangaroo-care (skin-to-skin) time with him.  Although, with James, he says it's more like Grizzly Bear (skin to hairy chest) care :)

So, here's the story:
Around 6 p.m. on Monday night, they took us down to Labor and Delivery to start administering the drug that would soften my cervix.  Neither James nor I could really sleep a wink. James was excited and sleeping on a bench.  I was nervous out of my MIND.  Needless to say, by the time morning arrived, we were both basically miserable, running on NO sleep and nerves.

At 9 a.m., they started administering pitocen to start my labor.  I was at 1 c.m. at 90% effaced...

FOUR HOURS LATER, I was still at 1 c.m. and 90% effaced.  Every half hour, they would up the pitocen to no effect.  It was infuriating.  I was horribly crampy, but the monitor showed no real contractions, it just stayed at a higher than normal level.  Gradually, this got more and more painful.  Finally, my doctor came in and broke my water (whereas before it had only been leaking) and put an internal monitor to see if I really wasn't contracting at all.  The new monitor revealed that basically, I never stopped contracting.  Wave upon wave upon wave of contractions were hitting me with no respite in between.  Within the hour, I was begging for the epidural.  If you know me and needles, this is somewhat ironic. 

I have to say, the anesthesiologist was an all-star.  I really didn't feel much at all, and never had to see what was going on.  James, on the other hand, had a front row seat to the epidural needle show, and nearly passed out! Fortunately, I was too distracted by contractions to notice ALL the blood drain from his face.  Otherwise, I might have gotten worried.

About an hour after my epidural, the nurse checked me again.  I was sure there could not have been all that much progress.  I was wrong.  I was 5 c.m.

An hour later, I was 9 c.m.

Twenty minutes later, it was time to push.

I will say this: in my humble opinion, epidurals are one of the greatest inventions of our time.  Labor was hard work, but doable.  I can't imagine what it would have been like trying to do that work while dealing with the pre-epidural pain.  I have INCREDIBLE respect for my female ancestors that managed to do so; I just don't really envision myself ever doing so after this experience.

After a few "practice" pushes, they quickly wheeled me into the Operating Room where I would deliver Rigby.  It had a pass-through window to the NICU where his teams of nurses awaited his arrival, as well.

About 20 minutes later, Rigby made his grand entrance.  It was completely surreal.  My doctor laid him on my stomach where James and I gazed at him in disbelief for about a minute.  Then, swiftly they whisked him away to NICU. 

I could hardly believe I had a baby.  The epidural was still going strong, so I didn't FEEL like I'd just delivered a baby, plus there was no baby to be seen.  This was incredibly weird.  I didn't feel like I'd had the chance to absorb the fact that he was really real. 

James did, though.  Pretty quickly afterward, James got to go to NICU and see our baby boy.
His head was a little lop-sided from my pushing, as was his nose.  Rigby had tricked our doctor into thinking he was turned the correct way - towards my spine.  Turns out he was pointed upwards, and as a result, had a bit of a jostle with my pubic bone.  James took tons of pictures, and hurried back to the room to show me.

It was like looking at a stranger. I still wasn't absorbing who this little person was.  He definitely had the same mouth as all my baby pictures.  And dark hair like us.  And a high forehead like us.  But I didn't know him. 

I finally got to hold my baby a few hours later, after multiple examinations and prodding.  By now, I was loopy from exhaustion and pain killers.  But I finally felt  something; a underlying connection between me and this little pink-faced baby who looked at James and I with an expression of consternation and confusion. 

Every time I've gone to the NICU since, that feeling has swelled to greater proportions.  There is nothing more heavenly than having my sweet Rigby fall asleep on my chest.  The fact that my heartbeat, smell and voice calm him, and raise his oxygen saturation higher is one of the most contented, fulfilling feelings I've ever had in my life. And I get a lifetime of this. 

Well... maybe not a lifetime of kangaroo-care.  But a lifetime of him. 
And I couldn't be happier.

The Countdown Begins in Earnest!

Well, just a little bit ago, our doctor came to give us the rundown on the next 48 hours or so.  Tomorrow at 5 p.m., I will be taken down to Labor and Delivery where they will start the medication to soften my cervix (sorry if that's too much info for anyone!).  Sometime early Tuesday morning, they will start pitocin, and likely sometime before 5 or 6, Rigby will be here. 

That is insane to me.

It is the most overwhelming mix of emotions:  Relief that I made it this long without delivering him.  Disbelief that he will actually be here that soon.  Fear for the labor part.  Excitement to see what he looks like.  Nervousness about really not knowing what comes next. And many more emotions that I can't even really put a finger on.

The resultant mix of emotions is like mystery meat.  You think you can guess at some of the ingredients, but the product as a whole is largely unidentifiable, and you don't know how to feel about it.  I have dealt with this world of uncertainty be eating a bag of Milano cookies almost entirely by myself in less than 24 hours.  (Thanks, Kristin, they were fabulous!) Perhaps not the healthiest way to process my feelings.  But then I tell myself the window of time I can legitimately claim to be eating for two is quickly closing, and I might as well take advantage of it while I can.

It's weird to think that from now on, I'll be a mom.  In a lot of ways, I feel like I still rely on and need my own mom so much.  How do people do this when they are 19 and 20? I feel like a very responsible human being, and I hardly know what to do with myself.  I can't imagine what this would have been like when I was 21-24 and still figuring out who I was.  James is so cool and confident about it.  It's one of the things I love most about him.  He just confronts things.  He doesn't let his mind frazzle him with worry.  He just takes the next step.  He's like the living embodiment of the Elder Wirthlin quote - Come what may and love it.  Of course, he's not the one having to squeeze a person out of him in the next 48 hours, so perhaps it's not really fair to compare my nerves with his. 

 At any rate, the good news is, the amount of time I have to worry about these things is finite.  The hours will pass, and then Rigby will be here, and I won't be able to sit and obsess and worry; I'll be able to DO.  That's something to look forward to.  That, and finally meeting the little stranger that's been growing inside of me for the last 34 weeks... that will be pretty darn cool.

The Breaking Point

Ok, it's official.  Rigby and I are on the same page on this one, we are DONE with this place!

MOST of the staff (with one notable exception who shall be FULLY discussed in a moment) have been completely lovely, supportive and calming.  It's not their fault.  It's just that a week away from your own bed when you're NOT on vacation is just awful.  Also - it is IMPOSSIBLE to cuddle with your husband in a hospital bed.  The best you can hope for is to awkwardly hold his hand as he tries to get comfortable in the Naugahyde rocking chair clearly much to small for him. 

Last night, just before James left to spend the night with our increasingly neurotic and frantic dogs, I reached my end point.  I just wanted to go home with him.  Nothing sounded more heavenly than cuddling on our couch with our dogs just being US instead of being "patients."  I was done with this hospital stay, for sure.

This morning, it quickly became apparent that Rigby shares my sentiments.  He gets monitored on two different types of machines each day - a fetal heart tone Doppler where they just listen to his heart rate for a minute or so, and then a more lengthy non-stress test where they hook me up to monitors that keep track of his heart rate for 20 minutes and see if I'm having any contractions (which I never am.)  Both machines use sound waves, and as the days have gone on, I've felt him get increasingly more agitated when he's monitored.  This morning, however, he took it to a whole new level. 

First, he wouldn't sit still for the short fetal heart tone monitoring.  The nurse had to satisfy herself with listening to the heart rate in the placenta, since he wouldn't stay put.  Then we went downstairs for the non-stress test...

Basically, for half an hour, it looked like earthquake tremors were shaking my stomach.  He was clearly PISSED at the barrage of sound.  My little monster kicked, punched, rolled and squirmed.  The nurse irritatingly told me that I'd have to stay on until she could establish his "baseline."  We tried rolling me in different positions, and nothing seemed like it was going to work.  Rigby was tired of playing by their rules; willful disobedience took over. 

I have a feeling this personality trait will blossom into something much less easy to contain once Rigby's actually here.  I should try to squelch it early I guess.  The problem is, it's already my favorite part of him.  Maybe I interpret too much out of the actions of my semi-conscious fetus, but to me, it's like he's sticking it to The Man in utero.  Strident stubbornness and an inborn unassailable belief that your way is the only right way is a trait both mommy and daddy have in spades.  I like to think we've passed that on to our little rebel.

Anyway, back to the monitoring.  When laying on different sides didn't seem to work well, I tried talking to him.  This was slightly awkward, since all that separated me from the other moms being monitored was a series of curtains.  The nurse probably thought I was nuts, too.  Don't worry, I didn't try to rationalize with a fetus.  I just started talking outloud, thinking maybe something about my voice would calm him down a little bit.  Honestly, either the kid got tired from all his antics and fell asleep, or maybe me talking to him did calm him down a little bit, because finally he stayed relatively still enough to get a baseline.  I didn't tell him he's still got to make it through at least 3 more days of monitoring... That just seemed cruel :)

As for the WORST STAFF EVER, I can now officially say I've met the employee at this hospital with the worst bedside manner imaginable.

Every day, I'm supposed to spend the majority of the time wearing some plug-in compression stockings that help make sure I don't develop any blood clots.  I realize that this is important.  It's just that these stupid things are constrictive, non-breathable, and make me get really warm ON TOP of the inflated warmness I already experience as a result of being pregnant.  They suck.  Bottom line. 

Apparently, SOMEONE (and I will find out who) told on me, that I wasn't being a model patient and wearing them as much as I should.  They sicked this old lady on me, who is apparently in charge of "education" on the maternity floors.  Here's our exchange, in as exact detail as I can render it:

Old Lady: So, it doesn't look like you're wearing your stockings much.
Me: Yeah, I know I should, I'm sorry.
Old Lady: Do you want me to put them on right now?
Me: (already not liking her tone) No... my husband will put them on as soon as you leave, I promise.
Old Lady: (eyes narrowing) You know this is really serious.  Do you know why you're supposed to wear them?
Me:(perhaps annoyance is already flittering across my face) Yes.  They are to prevent blood clots.  I promise I will wear them.
Old Lady: (adopting a more intimidating, I'll-show-you kind of manner) Well, just so YOU take this seriously, blood clots are the leading cause of maternal death in this country.  And it happens more often than you think.  So you really need to put them on.
Me: (probably not keeping the pissed-off-ness out of my voice very much) I understand.  As soon as you LEAVE I will put them on.
James: (several audible snorts of laughter spontaneously emit from him during this last part of our exchange)

What I WISH I'd said: Listen, you horrible old woman.  Clearly, your favorite part of your job is the fake authority you get to wield over people as you wander through the halls telling them what to do.  You're probably under the delusion that your scare tactics are effective.  They are NOT.  Do you know what is? The thought that if I wear these stupid things, you will never come into my room again.  That is why they are on right now.  That is the ONLY REASON why. And if you come into my room again, I will remove them and never put them back on again to teach YOU a lesson.  I don't know if you noticed, but I've got enough things on my plate to worry about right now.  Perhaps you didn't care to read (or have too bad of eye sight to see) the part on the chart that says I'm here because my baby is coming several weeks too early, and he might suffer complications from his preterm birth.  Maybe you missed the note on there as well that I'm dealing with preeclampsia, another threat to both of our health.  TRUST ME.  I have enough things to freak out about without you not-so-subtly suggesting that I'm going to die unless I wear your damn socks.  So, bite me old lady.  Between the two of us, I'm pretty sure something is going to take you out sooner than me.  And at least I will have the decency not to lecture you about something you were probably already aware of, just to make you feel bad about yourself.

...Ok, maybe I don't wish I'd said ALL of that. But at least part of it.  Like I said before, Rigby and I are ready to be OUT of here!