Watching Helicopters

My little daisy bug is eating so well!

She's gobbling her full feeding amount most every time every three hours now;

That's extremely encouraging to us, 

because that's exactly the goal she had to meet before they let our little birdy fly outta here.

Still, we're left with no answer as to how long she has to prove herself in order to earn her freedom....

So we find our happiness not in daydreams of home,

but in the moments suspended between checkups and stolen naps.

We wiggle and sing old Judy Garland songs.

We play dress-up and charm the nurses.

We paint imaginary pictures in the air as her Baby Einstein music machine serenades us.

I consider the babies down the hall in the NICU pods where we graduated from and I think of all the babies who can't play....who are too small to wear clothes....who can't even be touched.

Some babies never even have a mommy or daddy who visits them.

I press my daughter's chubby cheek to my chest and watch another hospital helicopter touch down.

The Labyrinth

"Remember you Hippopotamus oath!"

- Homer Simpson

You know, we've been treated really well here.

Even when I've lost my sanity or patience, the staff at Children's has shown me tremendous amounts of grace.

They've been reassuring, attentive, protective, and downright caring.

When I was worried about our daughter, they were reassuring AND straightforward 

(I appreciate this.... I don't like to have smoke blown up my skirt).

When I needed friendship, they stuck around to expound on everything from child-rearing stories to theology.

Heck, they even tracked down the most inane items on my behalf, just for the sake of making my life easier.

I don't doubt there are a handful of people here whom I would gladly bring Ava to visit, just so they could hold her and enjoy her company apart from her inpatient time.  I have no doubt she will have her chubby arms around many necks here one day.

To the staff here at Arkansas Children's Hospital,

I will be forever grateful for your reassuring presence and expertise

as we travelled the labyrinth of our daughter's first few weeks of life.

Namaste.

Tiny Dancer

"First thing I remember, I was lying in my bed

Couldn't have been no more than one or two

And I remember there's a radio coming from the room next door

And my mother laughed the way some ladies do

Well, it's late in the evening

And the music's seeping through..."

- "Late In the Evening"

Paul Simon

After all the unannounced consultations that interrupted what few precious scraps of mommy naptime I had budgeted for this afternoon,  

when I feared that my rapidly fraying patience with appointments and malfunctioning monitors was coming to an end and tears were stinging my eyes,

my little cathead began to dance.

I had turned on her Baby Einstein music aquarium for Ava to watch as I changed her, 

and as it cycled through its program of Chopin, Bach, and other various composers' pieces,

I wondered if it was my imagination when I noticed that she seemed to dance in accordance to the tempo of the music.

When I was pregnant with her, I constantly dreamed that she would dance.

Never would I have thought you would have fulfilled that dream so soon, miracle girl.

Continue to astound me, daughter.  It heals me.

Warning

Our nurse came into Ava's room about ten minutes ago and told us that the hospital had called Code Tango -- for those who don't speak Hospital, that's window-shattering weather.  Violent winds.  Tornadoes.

She had just finished telling us that it had only been called twice in her thirty three years here.

I've learned never to say the unlikely won't happen to us.  That's the whole reason we're here with our little squishy.

So here we are, hunkered down in our bathroom, awaiting God knows what with a flimsy shield of pillows and blankets, ready to shield our child with our bodies if necessary.

Some idiot parent nearby remains on her couch texting next to her huge room window while a nurse shelters her baby.  Did I say idiot?  I meant neglectful idiot.  No apologies.

Jason snoozes against the shower wall with Ava sleeping soundly in her daddy's arms.  I will never forget this. Out of all the danger we were prepared to be on guard for during this time, this is one event we never foresaw....

Happy Birthday Baby Sneezes

This cycle of baby sneezes is brought to you by the letter A.

HAPPY TWO WEEK BIRTHDAY, OUR LITTLE KUMQUAT!

We rejoyce over your safe arrival each and every day.  

Ok, bring on the unbearable cuteness.

Gift

Dear Ava,

Apparently I'm not as strong as I thought.

Nearly two weeks after your arrival, after the carnival of diagnoses and surgery has torn down and left town,  you and I and Daddy are left in relative peace to regroup and rearm ourselves for the next battle at hand: feeding.  I can't imagine what it would be like to be denied the pleasure of food for the first week and a half of your life (and I'm sure your Daddy especially couldn't conceive of it - he's a HUGE fan of nourishment in whatever shape, form, or fashion it's presented).  Now begins the slow ascent toward healing, toward the comfort of routine that will illuminate our homeward path.

I'm thankful that these events are unfolding during the bleak month of January - out of all of the months in the year to be sequestered, I'm almost relieved to be removed from the contagion and cutting temperatures typical of this time.  I'm grateful to have a window out onto the world in your private room - in stark contrast to the pod where you spent your first days - and a little space of our own to arrange as I see fit.  When you reside in a small, confined space, seemingly insignificant tasks like changing blankets and putting together new baby outfit combinations take on surprising significance.  You struggle not to depend upon the television as your main source of stimulation.  Day to day living both crawls and flies by.  Sleep is elusive.  One consultation leads to an adjustment which leads to another consultation...  And so it goes.

None of this is your fault, dear daughter.  Although you're the one who bears the brunt of the hardship in this situation, all I truly know is my own thoughts.... and I constantly fight the urge to disconnect you from all these tubes and wires, strap you to my chest, run home, and lock the door behind us.  I have to give up this fantasy.  I know we're doing the very best thing for you by being here.  The medical staff here has been nothing short of nurturing and supportive.  If not for Daddy's rock-steadiness and the understanding of some very special nurses with whom I've had intimate conversations, I think I would be struggling in this purgatory so much more.

Every time you look at me trustingly with my own denim-hued eyes, you assure me that every moment spent here in this hospital is an investment in the future of your health. Every scrap of information issued from the medical staff is an opportunity to gain insight into your condition.  Every potential diagnosis-related obstacle that I read about as I rock you further arms me to fight for your development.  I look at you see a puzzle that will ever fascinate me, a Rubik's Cube who I will learn the motions of by muscle memory.  There is no single 'solution' to you, or a lone path to your ability to successfully eat.  This is our first journey together toward a common goal.  This is our first class in learning to follow your lead, to listen to your body as it tells us when it's ready for progress.  This is your first gift of patience.

Profile of a Diaper Filler

 Name: Ava Leigh Clenney

Aliases:  Baby Bird, Moon Pie, Pretty Girl, Fatty Fat Fat

    

Height: 19 1/2 inches long

Weight: ahem...A lady never tells!  But if you must know, 7 pounds.

                 Hair : Strawberry Blonde                                Eyes:  (currently) Bennett blue 

     

        

Likes:  Accessorizing, holding hands, dining by dim NICU light, and the warmth of a rich baritone voice.


 





Dislikes:  Unwarmed baby wipes, the shock of a cold thermometer to the armpit, gun control lobbyists ( you're welcome, PawPaw).

Current location:
NICU south, Room 19
(That's right - we've fled Pod 5 and are currently enjoying the metropolitan view from our new
private room window!  We're overjoyed that we'll have our own patch of sunlight to bask in
tomorrow morning, and peaceful aural space to fill with soft music when we're feeling artsy-fartsy.)



 




Future plans:  Guzzle eight 60 milliliter bottles in a day as quickly as a frat pledge during rush week, create abstract diaper art that would rival any Jackson Pollock painting, and hurry up and get home so I can  charm and/or terrorize Honey Boo Boo Dog and the pugs.