I thank you god for most this amazing day.

Ava showed us today that something we're trying is working. She was as bright-eyed as a ray of sunshine when she awoke this morning, and has been handing out her trademark squinty/kicky grinning fits all day.  Now THAT'S good medicine.

She had an echocardiogram this morning -- a lot of her symptoms suggested a possible heart defect, although we'd thought by now we've turned that stone over, around, and inside out since her birth -- and the only abnormality was a little fluid related to the cloudiness in her lungs.  It's not causing her
any complications.  It just sounds spooky.  It was enough to tie my guts in a knot when they ordered
the test, but now that it's done, I'm relieved that we've checked that box.

They're weaning her off the O2 as the hours tick by, and she seems none the weaker.  She's maintaining her own levels well, and her breathing has slowed from a shallow pant to a deeper, more productive pattern.

Since she started watching Curious George on her bedside television, she's had a few mischevious monkey moments of her own.  She'll pull her oxygen tube out of her nostrils and pop it in her mouth, getting the rush of her life, no doubt.  She's had a couple of grand bombing diaper blowouts, too (likely a product of the antibiotics), and she gleefully wallows and flings the contents all over the bed and herself while the rest of us try to contain the fountain of feces.  Monkey see, monkey doo!

To sum up today's events, we feel like she's making progress in clearing her first hurdle -- the respitory quandary.  Even if we don't yet have a clear answer to its cause, we've made a few educated
 guesses as to how we might be able to prevent it in the future.  Once her medical team feels like her oxygenation is in the clear, we'll be on to the next challenge.  We're hoping that by Thursday, we'll be able to take a look at her upper GI and observe the mechanics of a feeding session, then get those
results in the hands of her doctors and surgery team.

...

It is a thoroughly surreal experience to be back in the hospital with our sweet baby.  Time feels frozen here, like we never left the first time.  It's like living in an alternate reality in a universe parallel to the peaceful life we have at home.  Your lives together change so much -  the setting, the cast, the tempo of each day....

It's midnight thirty now and I should be sawing logs, but instead I'm writing with one eye on the iPad
screen and the other on the waning moon shining over the cityscape.  The moseying tempo of Glenn
Miller's "Moonlight Seranade" softens the nerves.  The steadiness of Ava Leigh's breathing assures me that her slumber is a refuge and a relief.  I can be grateful for this very moment.  I really can.  Stretch that thankfulness muscle 'til it's back in shape.  If you don't use it, you lose it.

And since I've had this fellow's music on my mind a lot since our precious daughter's birth, I'll share the song of his that's carried me all day.  The text is by e.e. Cummings, and it's artfully set by an incredibly gifted composer I used to cross paths with once upon a time.