It is nice to know that the niche markets are still going strong in these days of uncertainty. There are online vendors able to fill any needs, and it can often be easier to get bargains from them than from traditional brick and mortar stores- especially when what you're shopping for isn't readily available at the local 5 and 10. For law enforcement agencies that need to consider needs such as BDU pants, LA Police Gear is a good place to visit. For those of you whose personal tastes also run towards this sort of thing- for camping, hiking, and outdoor activities, it's also great.

I think this week we're seeing the last "gasp" of the terrible twos. They weren't all that terrible, really, this past year. Not compared to some of the tantrums I witnessed other kids having- the kind that makes any mother raise an eyebrow, take a breath of relief, and thank God that those aren't HER kids and that she can walk away. My Preschooler has gone to bed for the night now, it's been a whole day of extremes from behaved child all the way to screaming tantrums while walking with the tricycle. Those resulted in her being bodily carried over my shoulder like a potato sack all the way home. Kicking and screaming the whole way. On the bright side, I've now done the cardio portion of my day. Definitely. No one can claim that this experience did not give me an intense workout.

We're all working on my diet this week. Not just for my sake; the Boy is once again approaching his mandatory weight checks and physical fitness testing. He's got to lose the handful of pounds that has crept back on since the last time. Since he wants to drop carbs and add veggies, and since I've got to drop most of my carbs and add serious veggies, and since we live in a place where they're just so gosh-darn cheap, I've been expanding the recipe books one more time. This time I've even started making some progress in it.

For one thing, who knew that me, who hates spinach with a passion, would like fresh baby spinach when it's stir-fried with pulled pork and fresh cut corn in a sesame-ginger sauce? I had seconds and thirds of that, and my glucose came in at a nice number. If anyone wants the recipe, request and I'll post it. Tonight's dinner was a variation on Quiche Lorraine, carb-light and made my glucose even happier. Lots of freshness, and it tasted yummy, and it was done in about 30minutes.

Recently I was asked to participate in a survey of parents who've had babies in the NICU. Most of the questions were those that I anticipated would be asked. One struck me as unique- it's not a situation unique to the NICU, and I know it's felt by everybody whether or not they're parents. The question is “When do you feel the most out of/in control of your situation?”

That's a hard one to answer. I've always been a control freak. I need to feel in control of things. When I feel like I lose control of things, noticeably my house and kids, then I start to lose my marbles. Some days it feels like a very short trip.

And of course I know that I can't control my kids. That's the reality of kids. They're not controllable. They're led, teachable, they're even sometimes biddable. But not controllable. I make my peace with knowing that I have almost no control over them some days. -Discipline is one thing, following rules is enforced, but controlling whether or not the Toddler eats her meal? Whether or not she accepts the rules with grace or needs several time outs in her room? That's what I mean by not controllable.

I feel out of control a lot. I feel in control more. When I am losing my marbles, I pray. My back-brain starts repeating that one word over and over, my constant prayer for the strength to get through this life. Serenity. Serenity.

I feel so old.

Just when I think that juggling the kids is getting easier, or when I have a workable system in place, everything goes belly up for a few more days and all my good intentions of blogging and checking blogs and keeping in touch with the world outside of this household has gone. I am pleased to report, however, that we have yet to end up on the news. The baby has avoided a rehospitalization, he has been weaned successfully off the NG tube and now takes all his food by bottle, and the Toddler is still enjoying every interaction with her little brother- despite his continued refusal of sharing her lunch and snacks.

The funniest thing... she tried to feed him a corn dog. He was hungry, she recognized it, popped her corn dog into his mouth and when he stopped crying for a moment in shock at this concept she giggled and danced away. Proud of herself for helping. For sharing. I applaud her willingness to do these things even as I shake my head at the logic that led her to it.

In a few short weeks (less than a pay period- yikes!) my mom returns to the east coast. I lose my backup during the days. Let's face it; apart from the weekends I lose my backup pretty much entirely. The Boy is willing to help as much as he can, but he's working long hours with wierd people and I know he's dragging so much at the end of the day. It's sometimes all he can do to stay awake until 7 at night before he's asleep. On the other hand, he does get up at the early morning feeds so that I can get uninterrupted sleep. This is why I love the man.

Let's see, what's kept me away from all but the basic email checks this week?

That's right! The family! The latest set of settling in pains that swept through us as we adjusted to life with two small kids and a full schedule of doctors and education specialists. I find myself envious of families who don't have to run their kids and themselves to doctors every week starting at this age. Don't they normally get a year or two "off" to learn how to adjust to having the infant? But for all of that I really can't say as I am having the troubles now that I had the first time through this phase of parenthood. I'm just learning how to survive, again, on fragments of sleep snatched here and there.

I'm doing well at it, as witnessed by the fact that I haven't given up all my leisure activities. I'm still carving time out of the day to sit and read, to make sure the kitchen stays tidy, time to play with my kids and really experience the joy that comes with all that sleep deprivation and screaming. We're weaning the infant off his NG tube and all the way to bottle-feeds. He's now taken everything by mouth for five days. He hasn't lost any weight, although his gain has been minimal. More importantly, we're managing his reflux and his feeding issue without losing our minds completely or pushing the Toddler off to the side the whole time. Making sure she gets equal time in the day is hard, but that's a priority for us and we'll make it happen somehow.

Getting used to things. Again. Moving from parent of one to parent of two is endlessly new, endlessly fascinating, endlessly sleep-deprived.

The events of my last post have passed, as I knew they would. Did it have to be three loads of laundry later, though? I go into this half-awake world of acceptance, where it doesn't matter how many shirts I have to change into. It doesn't matter that I've given up redressing the infant with the food-retention challenge. Infant is snuggled and swaddled in an endless stream of clean flannel blankets and warm clean towels. A pile builds in the corner of stained and slimy t-shirts, interspersed every four layers with another skirt or pair of pants that failed to escape the drama.

His tiny lordship is feeling better now, curled on my lap and looking up at me with the biggest blue eyes I've seen since his sister was this size. He is taking more by mouth, has pulled out his NG tube again, and I'm reluctant to put it back in place until I absolutely have to. Some of that is due to not wanting to put him and me through that procedure, of course. Most of it is purely selfish.

You see, I've come to adore gazing at his little face when it's not obstructed by tape and tubes. Absolutely adore it.

Besides which, he's supposed to be pushed gently towards all feeds by mouth. So we can ditch the tube forever.

Despite a beautiful dinner laid on by my mother, today ends in ruins, with tears and vomitting. With highly distraught children, screaming. With the Boy being concerned that his stitches just popped during the last cleanup. With me searching out the website for the hospital to just make sure that the urgent care clinic is open 24/7. With setting down the criteria that will be met before I take my second child to that clinic.

Not the way you want to start a week. Not the way to end a sunday.

Instead of an early, peaceful bedtime, I'm running two more loads of laundry, staring at a sink of dirty dishes, and praying that it will go better tomorrow. That there will be nothing but calmness tonight.

Because lord help us all if it's more of what we just did.

Parenting a preemie. So fragile at times. So precious. While babies are really hardier than a lot of new first-time moms want to trust in, I've heard it gets easier the second time around. The kid won't be harmed if you have to let them cry for a minute while dealing with the firstborn child, who is so clingy sometimes that they feel the need to sit in the exact spot their younger sibling is sitting in.

Among things I thought I wouldn't be saying for a while- Please don't sit on your little brother. You'll squash him like a bug.

Yet for all of that it's amazing how the experience of the first is coming back to guide me. It only took once of the old feed? reflux? fuss? quandary to remind us of the signs. Don't feed this kid more than a teaspoon or so right now, because he's going to puke. If you let him eat too much too quick, he will, and it's better to let that ickiness come up and out rather than fight it every feeding until it's passed through his system. We're not forcing the kid to eat the full feed every time. That leads to spitups, and other things, and makes everyone more stressed. Is it not easier to be laid back? To let it come in it's own time. The kid uses less of his calories snacking in a relaxed fashion than actively fighting the nipple for over half an hour. Not to mention that if he's relaxed and munching there's less spitup.

The sun has barely set. I'm going to bed now. Exhausted and tired and so are the kids.

I have washed the syringes, the tiny bottles, the child has been rocked and sung to and soothed and tucked into bed. Tomorrow is another day, today is now mostly forgotten.

Moving his feeds up to take more from the bottle. I try to meet every challenge as it comes, but how to take a full time out from everything else to spend an hour of every three feeding him? We tube more than we want to, we make an effort to make things happen in a good manner.

I'm wondering how the next week will play out. Granted, these are early days yet. It's hard to say for sure what's going to happen in a week when we're all really in the swing of things. I want to say as well that so far I'm getting more sleep with this kid than I thought I would.

Life as a parent of two preemies with eating issues. Hmm. I should have checked my sanity in at the door a long time ago, at least that way I'd have a claim ticket for it.

How is a baby like an oyster? If the baby in question is one of mine, they spend a lot of time in a shell before joining the party. Also: the actual product may be slimier than it first appears.

I mean that in a good way, of course. Really, I do. Oysters are yummy, and my babies are cute even when they are unexpectedly covered in spit-up first thing in the morning. One of the fonder memories from childhood is smelling a pot of my mom's oyster stew simmering on the stove. We loved it and wished the pot would last longer- there was seldom any point in putting it away at night because we would eat bowl after bowl of the stuff, licking spoons and running a finger along the inside of the bowl in an effort to get every last drop.

One thing that turns many people off oysters is the fear of what is kindly termed "food poisoning". That phrase covers a lot of ground, including the Vibrio vulnificus infection which is what someone at risk can contract from raw or improperly prepared oysters. Really, though, if you are not at risk there is very little chance that you'll get sick. That's why you don't need to fear eating Gulf oysters anymore. Dig out those recipes and before you know it you too can be enjoying this tasty treat. As with so many other feared foods these days there's a website set up to reassure you- BeOysterAware is a great source for both recipes and facts about just who is at high-risk for the virus, the symptoms, how and when to seek a doctor's help, and how to avoid the nasties while still enjoying oysters.

We are a family.

My mom is pictured wearing a mask because she was having a very sore throat with cough and had a fever last night. Maybe she's over-reacting, but this kid just got home from three and a half months in NICU. I'm okay with a little over-reacting right now.

The Toddler adores Robbie. A brother! Of her own! A baby! And he has feet, and a head, and a tube that comes out his nose that seems just perfect for yanking on!

Me? I spent an entire work day at the hospital getting things together and signed off on. Left the house before 0700. Left the hospital at 1630. Okay, so that's not a whole workday, but I had a 15minute lunch for crying out loud. This entire week is filled with the followup doctor appts for all of us, so I'm hoping to just keep everyone happy, fed, and wearing clean pants.

Heaven help us all.

I am still waiting on a baby. Three and a half months after he was born, I'm still waiting on a baby. I want him home already! I want to pick him up and cuddle him and be spit up on and have exploding diapers at midnight.

You mothers out there who read this, you know how badly I want this kid home. Yes, I'm actually looking forward to his exploding diapers. I'm not quite insane over it yet, I refrained from slugging a nurse today. That sort of thing just doesn't look good on the bottom line.

It's an endless cycle. We've got another new tentative discharge date, and I'm scared to say it out loud for fear of jinxing ourselves. I'm scared of a lot of things tonight. I want my baby to come home.

I want to sit with my little girl and my little boy together; I want them both here next week when their father, my husband, gets the Procedure done. I want to move out of this endless holding pattern and get back to blogging funny things.

Soon. Soon I will have some laughter to share with all of you. Just not tonight.

We got up to see the baby today. This morning was an upper GI series, this afternoon was a head ultrasound. It seems that my son does, in fact, have a brain. The Boy and I are making firm note of this, as we fear in the years to come we will have grave doubts. Pre-teen years, I'm looking at you. Also Adolescent years. And adult years. Gee, let's just call it the entire rest of his life.

The latest on Robbie is that he's outgrown even the open crib. We went from isolette, which is the highest level of infant containment, that nifty plexiglass box with portholes and special buttons, to a warming table, which is essentially a platform with a blanket-covered mattress and Serious Heat Lamps. Then we got him to take to the open crib, which is a plexiglass baby bucket insert that pops out of a little wooden cart. Think microwave cart, only holding a crib instead of a microwave. And now he's in a standard sized hospital crib, with a mattress that raises and lowers like an adult's except by crank instead of buttons.

All those little things that don't add up. The feeding issues. The growth issues. The slightly enlarged ventricle in his head. The failed hearing tests. It sometimes makes me want to question my sanity in wanting and having a second child, but then I remember that my sanity was lost a long time ago and who am I to second-guess the universal powers that decreed that this was the child I was supposed to have? All these little things that add to a bigger thing and we can't see the shape of the total puzzle yet. All I know is that he's my baby and I can't have him home just yet, but that if we're all very lucky he'll be home soon. I just have to be patient.

There are times I'm sick of patience. I rail against the unfairness of this. In the deep recesses of my heart I'm screaming that this ends soon. That the pressure is released, that my little girl overcomes her blocks with communication, that her disorder can find the right combination of therapies that will let her show us what she's capable of.

I'm running from one special needs child to another. I'm going to be doing this indefinately, with some level of intensity, for the rest of my life. Maybe someday I'll have respite, maybe someday I'll find the right person that I can feel safe leaving the kids with for a couple of hours so that I can leave the house without them. Right now the list of people I can trust them with is depressingly small. My husband, my mother. It's not just that I'm picky over leaving her, it's that when she gets overwhelmed and overstimulated there are only one or two things that work to get through to her.

This too shall pass. I just need to keep smiling and breathing and putting one foot in front of the other. Serenity. Now.

We got there to pick him up and found that the doctor had changed his mind. There are some other minor issues that taken individually don't seem like much but when added all up are enough to raise concerns. Certainly enough to retain the child in NICU and move him back to the main facility for more tests.

I miss him. I was all ready for bringing him home. The house was clean. I was ready. I made his bed and tucked in a lovey, and now there's no baby. The Toddler was the worst, still having meltdowns every time we turned around and clinging to everyone. Made it easier to keep our shit together, though.

I miss my baby. I want him home already. Is that too much to want? Even though I know it's better by far to have these little things worked out ahead of time, it's just so much worse to be ready and all psyched for this thing and then find out it's not happening.

Today is the day. After three months and a handful of days, this is the day my son comes home. It is marked by clear blue skies, partial sun, and warmth. Little songbirds are fluttering through our backyard. The Toddler woke up and was crying in my arms at breakfast time insisting that she was my baby- after all this time we still didn't know how much she understood what was happening. She doesn't like to talk to us, or communicate with us, and there's almost no way to tell what makes it into her head. But now I know that she knows, and as I wiped her tears away this morning it was crystal clear to all that she knows that there will be a baby coming here to stay. And she's a little unsure of where her place will be in all of this; yet I think that everything can be dealt with as long as there are tons and tons of snuggles and reassurances that she's still our baby as well. No one can replace her in our hearts and affections. Parents' hearts are big enough to hold all of their children.

Towards the beginning of the week I got samples in the mail. I love samples. I also love hair stuff. What I got was a little packet of naked naturals awapuhi and lavender shampoo. Smells wonderful, which is my main criteria in new shampoos. I mean, if I'm going to be spending that kind of time and effort on my hair -which is now longer than it's been ever before- it has to smell nice when I'm done with it.

In the next year or so I'm fully expecting to smell like formula and spitup most of the time. That's another reason why my hair is so important. And I don't fuss with it either. I just want it clean and tangle free without having to leave chunks of my hair on the brush everytime I go through it. A major drawback to long hair is the amount of time I spend combing and brushing it. Especially after a washing. When your hair gets long enough that it's easier to just wash it in the bathtub under the faucet twice a week, you appreciate the benefits of a good shampoo just that little bit more. I like using natural shampoo, especially one that makes those long hairs stronger and less likely to be left behind in the brush.

Something I learned about the Naked Naturals company in the course of this trial is that they don't use a lot of the harsher chemicals in their products. This goes with my philosophy of having non-toxic products in my home. I learned when my daughter was born that the more I could keep chemicals and toxic things out of the house the healthier we both stayed. Now I've got a son that has the same fragility problems that she was born with. It just makes more sense to stay away from products that poison the environment. Where does the runoff from our house go? I do not know, and I think I'm happier not knowing, but eventually it is going to dump out in the environment somewhere. What are all those residues going to do to animal life, to plant life? I don't consider myself a crunchy granola mom, but I do know all about the cumulative effects of stuff. The less I add to those accumulations the better, right? Which is why I might just consider switching my preferred brand of shampoo to this company.

It started like the opening shots of a horror film. Or at least, the horror films I might possibly be conned into watching. Not a slasher flick, just a medical horror thing. Her hands worked with puzzle pieces and suddenly we saw that they were moving from pink to red. Very red. Puffy red. My mom rolled the sleeves back a bit and saw it spread from her hands to her arms to the rest of her body. In the space of about an hour her small frame was covered in blotchy cherry-red patches of small white bumps. It covered her face with three groups. Smeared her torso with ugliness. Showed up behind her knees and in the curve under her chin.

Other than that she seemed perfectly fine.

Spent the afternoon at Urgent Care, watching the spots come and go. Come and go. We come and we go. Read a lot of Dick and Jane while waiting. Colored a lot of pictures. Tried to explain that we do not also color the floor of the isolation room.

Verdict came down- this is an allergic reaction. To something. The doctor lit up when I told him that she eats a peanut butter sandwich every evening before bed. Oh, well, then it must be that she's allergic to peanuts. I don't buy that theory. Not when she presented with this so suddenly and violently well after peanut contact.

My thought is that it's something in the air. She had just been on a walk around the neighborhood in a new direction. The air here- it's pretty bad. My own allergies which aren't that bad have had me itching and stuffily miserable for the past three days. My mom took a walk at the start of the rainy season, came home, and was in bed for almost a week unable to clear her lungs fully.

Either way, I have now completely made up my mind- no more allergy attacks are allowed here. It's freaky-scary, when she's in a program with so many other kids that have to be so careful of germs, and when we've successfully avoided most illness things in her young life. Like the first time a parent freaks out when their newborn has a bad cold. I lost my lid completely over blotchy, swift moving hives. Here's hoping that today brings a better story.

I can do it, five minutes at a time. If I don't think too much about stuff I can't control, if I don't second-guess my decisions constantly today, I can do this.

See, I ended my Friday coming to grips with making the decision to stop pumping. It should be an unqualified relief to give myself permission to stop obsessing over my milk supply. I don't like feeling like a failure because I "only" pumped for three months. Pumping's harder than nursing, and when your baby is somewhere else it can feel like a thankless task.

But enough of my pity party. It's been a weekend of guilt, compounded by a bad case of the sniffles. That's another thing I hate. Not feeling quite good enough to get off my butt and do something "productive" with my time, not feeling bad enough to justify taking Serious Cold Medication and trying to sleep it off. And what would I do with the Toddler if that were the case? She's not sick. She misses her mommy when I go and give into the depression like I've done. While I try not to let it affect her, it does, and I find myself getting more depressed over not being there for her in the manner that I want to be there. Make sense?

I'm going to go drink my tea, clean out my bulk mail folder, and work on the story of the Sparkly Shoes. Stay tuned.

I'd be blogging more right now, but things have been completely insane for me emotionally speaking. The family is still in a holding pattern around Robbie's discharge- we're still waiting for him to come home to us. And I'm weaning off the pump with a lot of hard and weepy feelings. And I just don't have the energy to deal with a lot of this right now.

Thanks for reading, and check back in a few days to see if this is resolved yet.

It should be a no-brainer by now. Get up. Listen for the sweet sounds of Toddler At Play. Decide if she's going to be alright on her own for five more minutes or if I need to haul my butt out of bed sooner and hustle over there to change the pullup, dress her, make her bed and feed her breakfast. Somewhere in there I forget to dress myself or make my own bed- those things may not happen until midmorning if at all. There's laundry to do, dishes to put away, a dishwasher to start reloading, and a dozen other things on my Get Around To It list.

Where to fit in one more thing? Where to start exercising? I don't need to set it aside as something new and different, I just need to get up and on my feet. I can dance around the living room with my daughter; she loves the attention, we both get exercise. If I keep my body moving somehow for fifteen minutes a day, where will that lead? Hopefully to better stamina.

This morning the sky is clear. The air seems, if not fresh, at least less yucky. We're at a middle temperature right now. Not cold anymore, not warm, just a bit chilly and damp. The grass is back to being mowed every weekend in this development. New construction is starting around us. The fields are being plowed and seeded. This is spring, this is a year since we've been at this address. Time to move? Maybe not. Waiting on orders, waiting on finding out where we'll be moving in a year or so from now. There is nothing sweeter than looking forward to a brand new year with new adventures. Nothing sweeter, that is, except maybe having my baby boy come home. Still waiting on that. Still hoping for that to be soon.

What's the old saying, home and hearth something? I feel so domestic when I'm sitting up after the household is in bed, watching something or other on tv and doing a bit of hand sewing. Tonight it's the finishing of a flannel nightgown. And yes, I know that this has only been on my sewing bench since July or so. I've been a bit busy this past 6 months.

My little boy is still working on eating and growing. He just doesn't seem able to feed all on his own yet. It's still every other feed through the nipple and the rest through the tube, and part of some of those nipple feeds he won't finish. I'm ready for him to be home. I'm ready to start this next chapter in our lives. Ask me again if I'm this ready in a month or so, after the sleepless nights add up and drive me nutty.

I just am so dead tired already. Can't sleep a whole lot in the morning, never past 6. Can't fall asleep before 11 this week. Keep telling myself to take a sleeping pill just to enforce some of that rest. I don't know how to make that happen. I tell myself to do it then don't because what if I'm needed? What if I've got to wake up and tend to the family? The Toddler? What if something happens?

I've got to stop. Really. I just don't know how to let go of things this week.

I know it's been a long time since I got over here. Sorry. It's just been, well, odd. Not odder than normal. Just odd. Thing is, I've been nesting the past couple of days. Very strange.

I realized that Monday was my due date. Monday, my little boy became officially "born". His adjusted age is now measured in real time instead of a negative date. In theory, this means he's going to be eligible for homecoming at any time. Rule of thumb with preemies is that they are discharged around 5 pounds, their due date, and when they are able to eat and breathe on their own.

Robbie's now meeting all but one of those criteria. He's not quite taking all his feeds orally. Which means that as soon as he eats on his own, he's home. Thus my nesting frenzy.

Diaper bag! Must be packed! Baby clothes must be sorted and folded and dreamed over. Bottles washed and ready to go. Boobs instructed firmly that they must either start producing more milk or it's time to get used to not being cosseted the way they are with pumping and massaging and compressing... Either breastfeeding is going to work out or we'll be hanging up the horns because I do not have it in me to pump and supplement when Toddler-wrangling and caring for a newborn. This morning I woke up thinking that this was the day that we were going to just not pump, but I decided to sit down at the pump anyway and lo- they produced about double what I'd been seeing for a week or so now. So I'm interested to see what happens next.

The rest of my life continues. The crib has arrived. The frenzied baby shopping of last weekend is starting to trickle in by way of delivery trucks. I'm psyched. It really won't be long now.

I won't have a lot of time then, I'm sure.

I am left wondering, What the Hell?

My daughter was just born, and now she's nearly three. Nearly three, and a big sister. Again I'm left wondering what happened here. Did I blink and miss something? Did I fall asleep? Or was I just trying so hard to keep up with everything and didn't quite notice.

Somewhere in the middle of the intensive speech therapy and interventions, my daughter has picked up the whole "language" thing. She's still not so keen on using her words, but she has advanced from never wanting to acknowledge us or communicate with words with us, to using words AND using those words to communicate with us AND when she feels particularly inclined it is not unknown to hear a sentence fall from her lips. I'm so proud of her when this happens I want to pick her up and cover her face with kisses and run down the street announcing this triumph to the world.

See! My Daughter! Mine! She can talk! Just like a normal child! My daughter, she's normal! She just said a word, she just asked for a cookie, she just told me that she likes bubbles.

How warped has my pride become, or my expectations, that this is now the thing I call a triumph? I invest the same level of excitement in this that I hear from other parents whose children have just been accepted to an ivy-league school on full scholarship. My little boy took three of his feeds by mouth today, and finished the whole of his feed each time. I want to snatch him from the crib and hold him up to the world so that everyone can see how brilliant he is. You read that and say "so?" A baby. He eats. A whole 37ml. Which, for those of you who don't care to do the conversion, is 1 ounce and 1 tsp.

But for a babe who has been fed the first week or so of life solely by IV, and after that for two months by a tube run down his mouth and into his stomach, this is quite a big deal.

Guess it just goes to show that I'm a preemie mom. We left most ideas of "normal" milestones behind us the day we saw our children in an isolette on a vent. We left it with the scrub-in and the stack of clean hospital gowns, with the double-collection kits when we collected the hospital grade breast pump or made the decision that we would save our strength and focus on recovering and learning what was necessary to best care for our babies. That's not an easy decision either. As much as I've stressed over supply, that's a personal choice that I made to try to pump and if I could try to nurse. There are plenty who decide that they have to recover first- these preemies often come at the end of a sudden medical crisis. Surgeries, medical stuff that has to be medicated and monitored and there are plenty of meds that mean you can't give the milk to your babies. It's hard and sometimes painful, and it sucks (pun intended). It's harder than learning to nurse a baby. I wish those ladies well. I'm glad I was lucky. I'm grateful for my miracles.

No, really, thank you to everyone for their continued support and prayers. From people on my forums, and the ones who check back through here for the news and to keep tabs on us- it's all been so supportive to hear. This helps me gather the strength to get up one more day with a positive outlook no matter how much my insides don't want to deal with it.

Like last night I lay awake for hours and hours thinking how my Robbie is not picking up on the feeds well at all, it seems, and this is now the only thing keeping him in the hospital, and I just wonder... is it going to happen easily or am I going to be fighting for his feeding the same way I've been fighting for my daughter's speech and naps for the whole of her life? This issue may be the Big One resulting from his prematurity, and if it is I will cope with that but this is definitely a Big One. So far not refluxing (thank God for small miracles) but just not eating. Eating is something I'll be struggling with constantly. Not like speech/language where I can throw up my hands for a day that seems too difficult and not be on my daughter's case and just love and snuggle her for endless hours. The eating will be an effort.

Right now I even feel fairly confident that I'll pick up whatever skills are needed to make it happen. I don't stress that I'll be capable of feeding him whether it's through a bottle or eventually breastfeeding -assuming my supply holds out that long. I just know that the support I've gotten until this point will continue and I'll see all those lovely pageviews climbing. It lets me know that I'm not invisible and I'm a real person after all.

I swear, these kids are more like their parents that I'm comfortable admitting. The older one- she's always been so expressive with her face. It makes up for the not communicating. People used to ask me how I would know when she was hungry/thirsty/etc when she refused to talk or look at me, and I'd shrug. You just know these things.

Part of it, obviously, that I'm her mama and thus have some sort of psychic bond to my child's brain. This is why I know instinctively when something's wrong or she's into something she shouldn't be. (Hint: the small giggle is a dead giveaway that she's into mischeif) The other part is her wonderfully expressive face as a small child. I can look at her and supply a whole conversation that fits what must be running through her brain.

The new one. Just like his big sister. Honestly, it makes me crack up to see him do this. I was holding him this evening and he had a lot of gas suddenly, and in a minute we went from placid sleepiness to bright red face and two eyes opening up as wide as they go in an OMG What is happening to me look. Confused and horrified. Then it was over. Same thing with a burp. And there was an incident with the feeding tube that I cannot put into adequate words right now. Tomorrow, probably, but not tonight.

I know this post is disjointed. I'll do better tomorrow. Right now I've got all this mixed up mess of joy and laughter and tears and exhaustion.

Peace to all of you out there. Thank you for checking in on us. Much appreciated.

Today he weighs in at 1995 grams. I asked the nurses if that was with tax or not- hey, when you're on a budget and preparing to bring a new baby home, these things are important to know.

My toddler had a wonderful day at school this afternoon. The center brought in a young baby goat for the children to "experience". It was like a petting zoo in the classroom. The goat stood in a big box of hay, the sides of which were high enough to prevent the overeager children from doing damage to the animal in their excitement. Also, the teacher to child ratio is usually one to one minimum. No harm was done, despite my daughter's repeated attempts to climb into the box after the animal.

You've got to catch her on the right days in the right mood. When all systems are go, she's the most eager, bright-eyed, normal seeming child in the world. Then there are the other days which I find myself venting about more and more on these pages. Those days I'm not talking about tonight.

The goat caused full body wiggles in her delight. She was so happy to pet the goat, to feel the straw, to make goat-like noises at the kid. Recently we've developed a love affair with Baby Einstein's MacDonald. She does love her some farm animals. Right now I'm limiting her to no more than four times a day of that video. It makes her drop everything and a smile of pure joy break on her face. That sort of smile and joy that makes my heart melt away to nothing.

I love her, and her little brother, and I am still waiting eagerly for the day when I can introduce them. For the day when I see them look at each other with understanding and a sibling bond of sorts. That day will likely not come easily, or often, but on those days when it will... that's why I do this. That's a bonus. That's why I am taking this challenge of parenting on with a right good will and a willing heart. The road is not going to be easy, but it is doable.

Is he not adorable? Time is ticking; it really won't be long now. I submit photo evidence of this. So small, and so wonderful.

Once again it is Rest Time at the homestead, and I have to ask all of you out there: What Gives?

I mean, I've given up on ever expecting a nap out of the Toddler, but she is expected to rest/play quietly in her room for the duration of said nap. Right now I'm trying to get through some laundry folding and bread baking. She's having a dance party. I've heard every musical toy go off within the past five minutes and she keeps giggling and climbing in and out of bed. This is definitely not resting.

I guess it's just the early phases of interpreting mama's instruction to her own advantage. I tell her to stay in bed. She's in bed. Granted, she's brought most of her room into bed with her, but she's physically in bed.

Yep. There was no mistake at the hospital with her. This is my child.

Will there come a time when my early morning thoughts stop revolving around milk and go back to revolving around “why can't the child(ren) let me have just five more minutes?” This morning I woke up again, all happy at the thought of pumping for one more day. Just one more day I tell myself. This is the pep talk that recovering addicts give themselves, trying to summon the courage to stay away from their drug of choice. Just take it a day at a time. This is the talk I give myself when faced with a dwindling supply and an adorable four pound baby boy who I want to thrive. I still don't know why nursing him is so important to me emotionally. Physically, he's doing just fine with the neosure and will continue to thrive. I just cringe internally when I remember how much is going against him.

Boy preemies don't thrive as well or as easily as girl preemies. I don't know why that's true, but it is. I don't even know if the doctors in their many years of practice know why this is. Boy preemies just tend to be smaller, to require more assistance, to be susceptible to certain infections, and in general not do as well. When our daughter was born and I was first learning all things preemie, I comforted myself with her femaleness. “It's a girl. That's a point in her favor.” And I would remember that in the middle of the night along with all those other things. While I was losing my mind with depression and fatigue I could remember it. For this baby? I don't know...

Which seems to be my mantra these days. I can say that over and over again without stopping. It puts my brain into a holding pattern without ever reaching a conclusion or a decision about anything. I can postpone anything if I just say that out loud. I don't know what I'm afraid of. I don't know what I want to do about it. I don't know how I'm going to be juggling both kids and their doctors, specialists, and therapists. I don't know how the Toddler will cope or regress when her brother comes into her life. I just don't know.

As complicated and scary as my first pregnancy was, it paled in comparison with the reality of a preemie daughter. As complicated and scary as the second was, I knew it would/will pale with the reality of a second. But this is not a trip to an uncharted wilderness. This is a journey back to someplace I've already been. I haven't been there in a while, and I don't remember some of the scenery, but I know that it will come back to me. I'm going to see old friends and places that are familiar to me. I'm going to have more than one moment of despair when I wonder if I'm completely lost and have forgotten to book a return ticket. I'm also going to know that this trip will be alright.

Do you remember way back when, when I would sit by the bouncy chair and cry because I couldn't see that those early days would ever end and could only have faith that somewhere, sometime, it would not be as hard? Now I have proof that they do in fact get easier. Now I can operate on more than blind faith. It's one more thing that will sustain me through the long days and nights of this upcoming year. Bring on the challenges. I'm ready.

I saw my Robbie this afternoon. It's the weekend, and this is what I do on the weekends. And guess what? He's in an open crib now. Wow! Right out there in the room air where I can see him at all angles and pick him right up and snuggle him! So I sat there and had our first feeding experience. He got about half his feeding through the bottle that I held for him. It was poky going because he refused to wake up and eat. Seriously did not want to wake up and eat. We finally gave him the rest through his feeding tube, but this is getting so close to having him come home that I'm starting to feel on pins and needles. Really.

My preemie is coming home.

I'm finally going to be an official mother of two, not just a technical mother of two. Now comes the challenges. The feedings. The diapers. The laundry.

Oh. God. The laundry!

And you know what? The most miraculous part of that homecoming that I can see is that there is a very very good possibility that this child will be coming home medication free. Is that legal? I mean, is it really possible to bring home a child of ours without medication? Just his special formula, and his regular newborn needs, and not a huge bag of medicines and eye droppers and special instructions? I could swoon at the freedom that will give me.

Not sure if that sort of freedom will make sense to other parents. Does it? You'd think that fragile newborns took away a lot of freedom as it is. But then.... the Toddler came home on two meds and they had different dosing schedules, and it finally came down to having one person (me) in charge of the whole shebang because we got so worried about coordinating it especially in the middle of the night. Anyway.

Got to go hug said Toddler. She's adorable today. More so than every other day. I love her so much and I love her brother so much and I'm getting all mushy and maternal right now.

I heard about ElectionQlips, a new blog designed to give more of an interactive approach to all this pre-election stuff. The best part that I can see is the multimedia approach. A person can comment in text, in audio or video clips, or upload their graphic responses. Just goes to show, doesn't it, that the Net is getting better and better at reaching out to people with all sorts of talents and abilities, unifying them around specific topics so that we can all learn from one another. Just because you may not agree with someone else's point of view doesn't invalidate it, and someone else may have points that open yours up to new thoughts.
Press Release:
QlipMedia (http://www.qlipmedia.com) has just launched the public beta version of ElectionQlips (http://www.electionqlips.com), a new destination to discuss all that is Election 2008. Readers can share their comments with the community and leave comments on Presidential Election themed video posts using their recorded voice, free-hand drawing, and images to let everyone know what they think and how they feel about every point in the posted debates, ads, punditry and stump speeches.

As the nation’s attention increasingly focuses on the outcomes of the ongoing primary elections and the general election to follow this November, viewers of ElectionQlips can stayed tuned to all the exciting action, including voice and video comments of their fellow citizens. And anyone can bring their wit and wisdom to bear on the debate of the moment, commenting to their heart’s content with their own voice and images.

The blogosphere has always been about giving a voice to common ‘netizens’, while democratizing the dissemination of the news and opinion. But heretofore that voice has been confined to the two dimensional world of the written word. The broad appeal of video has added a third dimension, a layer of contextual relevancy just not possible with the written word alone. Blog commenting has been similarly constrained by the same technical barriers. ElectionQlips brings multimedia blogging full circle, giving blog commenters the ability to post live, multimedia comments right on the videos they’re viewing in their own voice, using their own doodles and images.

• 100+ million blogs in existence
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• 1 blog with multimedia commenting capability

ElectionQlips users can take their election debate with them by sharing the link and embedding the player anywhere. On the video timeline, it’s easy to bring out all the facts with every detail of the debate through point-by-point analysis. The density of comments at every point let’s one see what’s hot and what’s not in every debate.

The goal of ElectionQlips is to make it possible for everyone to participate in any debate, discussion and controversy using their own voice. Commenting on blog posts is a common enough, ElectionQlips gives an edge over other contemporary election blogs, especially with respect to sharing your comments and opinions.

About QlipMedia:
QlipMedia makes QlipBoard, a tool that combines videos and images with drawing, highlighting and adds your voice is the easiest way to talk about anything and turn any video into an instant discussion room. ElectionQlips is produced by QlipMedia, Inc. and designed by OuterJoin. For more information, visit www.qlipmedia.com

You know, as a parent you spend so much time wondering if you're doing the right thing, so much time second-guessing yourself, and then you just have to keep on keeping on. Case in point: my daughter. Her early days were fraught with uncertainty for all of us. (Wow! I just used fraught! In an actual sentence!) Between feeds, reflux, development, and my own little issues, it was so easy to get lost in a cycle of never ending anxiety. I took every hour as it came, every day and every night, and it all sort of blended together in one big massive balancing act of laundry and doctor appointments. Now I'm inching my way closer to bringing a second child home with similar issues, and what the hell am I thinking?

Socks. Tiny little socks. Great big socks. I'm thinking about socks this morning, and bananas (you don't want to ask. Trust me on this one.) and I'm thinking about that call last night which is reminding me gently to get off my ass and do some more of this getting ready business.

See, they moved my Robbie again. For a micro preemie who hasn't gotten the hang of nipple-feeding reliably yet, this kid sure gets around a lot! He's now about 3 miles from me, in the local hospital, in a satellite NICU that has two beds. That's how small it is. This is the last move before his homecoming, and I'm thinking that it's definitely not too far away now because he just moved over the 4 pound mark.

Yep, that's right. Four pounds. Still less weight than a sack of flour, but that's cool because I haven't done those strength exercises I've been meaning to get to and this means I can use my baby for weightlifting. You think I'm joking? I did it with my Toddler when she was that small; it was a great bonding experience to get down and do a few leg lifts and knee lifts while bonding with the baby. Nothing too strenuous, but it was a lot of fun.

My little boy is coming home real soon now. Eep. I think I'm ready. Really ready this time. Stay tuned for the “what the hell was I thinking, bringing another preemie into my life, but he's so adorable” post. Probably around April.

I was looking into new ways to help promote my work (blogging, the e-books, etc) and came across Buzzfuse. The way it works is as I understand it, is a group-sharing and expanding format. They use the word “viral marketing”, but it does not have a virus that can harm your stuff (or your friend's stuff). First thing is to register for free. Part of that process is to add contacts. You can easily send an automated invite to everyone on your contact list, or target the people who might want this the most. Again, that's free. After that you add a piece of content, like a blogpost you've done that seems pretty nice. This item is then sent out to everyone else on your contact list, as a “hey, check this out” thing. They check it out, and maybe they'll agree that it's cool enough to send on to their contact list. And so on, and so on, and before you know it that one post will hit a whole lot more people than you know personally. It would inspire someone like me to make my writing better and better so that those new readers decide to hang around. New traffic, new regular readers, and who knows where that could lead one day? I'm willing to give it a shot. Couldn't hurt, right?

This morning I woke up listening to legos bang together and thanked God for a gray sunrise. There are a few benefits to having these dull, gray, peasoup fog mornings, and one of them is that it convinces my daughter that it is earlier than it really is. Today that meant that I was able to close my eyes again and bury my face in the pillow for a few more minutes. Just a few minutes. That's not too much to ask, is it, and those extra minutes can mean the difference between being forced to consciousness and a foul mood for the next twenty hours or a slow rise to acceptance that yes, I have to open my eyes and tend to my family.

I do love them. That is why I accept the forced waking when it's needed. That is also why I have yet to run away from home.

Sunday night on my way out of the NICU I had a flashback to college days. I remembered what it was like to walk outside just after sunset in chilly wet weather, walking from building to building and climbing endless half-flights of concrete steps under equally chilly flourescent lighting. The ground is wet in the manner of springtime; petunias still survive in their flowerbeds and the rain is keeping everything just ready to explode with new growth. In another week I'm going to be hearing lawn mowers everywhere we go, and smelling that heavenly aroma of newly clipped grass.

It will be February, and seem like May in the small Eastern town where I grew up. Late April, even, but surely not the middle of winter. I'm experiencing seasons again after three years in Paradise and although I surely do miss that land of no real climate and timeless season I'm learning to accept the slow progression of time again. The land wakes up, is moist, grows. The mowers come, new sounds and smells. Summer lands hard on our heads with an equally endless time of oven-like heat as we're all baked dry and dream of water. Fall brings cooler nights and our thanks. Winter comes again with rain and fog and slow gray mornings.

Once again let me thank everybody who's been adding their clicks to the Goldfish Fund. It does make a difference, and I've been sleeping a little easier by knowing it's there. I promise to come up with something really whitty and funny later on, just as soon as I get Toddler lunched, changed, wiped, and decongested. Toddler-sized colds? Not horribly awful, but very sticky. And if you don't stay on top of a small, glazed, human child, they make an awful lot of laundry that doesn't have to happen.

I have a picture of another weekend in my head while I'm writing this. I'm dreaming of a weekend when the household isn't sick, where my Toddler is the bright-eyed hellraiser that I know she can be, when there's giggling and laughing going on all over the place.

Not this hushed quiet.

Since my mom and the Toddler both have this sickness I know it's a matter of hours/days before I get it too. I will write "return to sender" on the front with a large sharpie and that should be the end of it, right? The Boy is taking a well-deserved nap right now and then I get to drive into the city to take frozen breastmilk to my Robbie. Should I stay home? It's likely. Likely that I may be carrying some germ that will survive the scrubbing in procedure at the NICU, that I might deliver it unsuspecting to my precious baby laying there.

Is that risk worth taking so that he can have the breastmilk, as he is currently on the high-strength formula that is making him gassy, constipated, and miserable, and if I don't take it today I'm not going to have the window of opportunity to take it in until next weekend? I'd rather run that slight risk to make his known discomfort less.

But please, universe, I want to go do the milk run now while the Toddler is blessedly asleep. So that I can return to find her just waking up, or eating dinner, and so that I can sit up with her fevered little body while she settles off to sleep for the night.

Another sleepless night, tossing and turning and dropping off to sleep only to wake in a cold sweat from larger-than-life dream sequences. Have I been to the doctor yet? No. Should I get up off the butt and get the call made and go? Uh-huh. Can I summon the ability to do this yet?

It occurs to me that if I did get around to starting that serial novel like I've been promising myself I'd do, that it would provide a reasonable outlet for my drama needs right now. That pesky BPD diagnosis is pushing me for High Drama right now, and I don't want to be bothered with it. -Hey, that's actually pretty healthy of me! Way to go, me! When my subconscious starts acting like this, with the acting out in my dreams every night and somewhat in my imagination during the day, I've got to find a way to let it go before it spills over. Whether or not that's going to be in the therapists' office this time or on the Net, I don't know yet. Maybe I'll turn to my blogging for more cheap therapy.

One of the high points to having been so thoroughly therapied for so many years of my early adulthood is that I know that my particular flavor of PTSD responds well to the constant rehashing. For that I don't need to necessarily share it with the world, as long as I get it done in a safe environment. These days I can quite nicely get the work done wrapped up in a quilt with my knitting needles. And that need for high drama? Let's explore that some more from a different angle.

I can step back and look at the life changes we're going through right now. Micro preemie at the end of a highrisk pregnancy, emergency delivery, special needs toddler and special needs infant coming to join the circus, adjusting to having the family complete at this point. Those are pretty big changes. Some of them are fairly high drama all by themselves. Do I really need to upgrade that drama? Would it not be better to take that step back with a hot cup of tea and reassess my reactions?

At this point I've reached the following conclusions, subject to change at any moment. Keep looking on the upside. I already try to do this on a daily basis. Let's just make it official now. Fix firmly in my mind that this will not be forever, that the entire next year will just be an arbitary timespan that has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Before I know it both of my babies will catch up to their full term counterparts, and they will hit their teen years and want nothing to do with me at all. Maybe then I'll catch up on that elusive sleep. When I feel myself spinning out of control, take a breath. The Boy will appreciate a calm reaction because Lord knows he's going through a mess of the same depressive thoughts himself. Let's not add to his burdens with concerns about my stability when he could be concerned about his children (normal, and laudable to be concerned with his children. Not necessary to make him walk on eggshells for the mother of those children who provides their daily care.)

My Robbie is in the neighborhood of 1565 grams at the moment. 3 pounds, 7 and 3/4 ounces. He comes home at just about 1800 grams. That means that at the rate he's been going we're looking at a come-home date of days from now. It's not in the mythical realm of "eventually around his due date". His due date of Feb 11, which come to think of it is not that far off either.

The Toddler seems to have no concept that this is going to change her world forever. We don't know what she understands, even though she "speaks" of Robbie while going through her books and toys. She knows that Mommy pumps for Robbie, that certain changes to the old routine are for "Robbie", and beyond that? Who knows.

I'm not overly concerned at this point. Robbie looks like a Real Live Boy right now, except that he's really small and tiny compared to full term babies, and when I look at them I wonder how anyone could handle a baby that large as a newborn? My reality is warped by my two tiny babies; as I said often through my pregnancy I wouldn't know what to do with a baby larger than 5 pounds. I know how to handle a preemie, extra floppy with low or practically non-existant muscle tone. I know how to shoot the medicine into their mouths so they swallow it instead of choking. I know how to deal with the endless comments on how small my child is... some days more gracefully than other days.

Let's just keep on keeping on. Keep faith. Serenity Now.

Toddler who doesn't want to nap. Add a long day and you have the screamfest that started out as bedtime and ended up as a half-hour event whereupon the sobbing toddler tried to tell mommy that she didn't want to go to sleep.

I feel like such a lousy parent when I have to enforce bedtime when she's still crying. The more so because whatever words she has are forgotten in her distress. We're back to the communication of infancy. Is she thirsty? Hungry? Gassy? Is she afraid of something in the dark room or is she just too tired to remember how to sleep? Does her head hurt? Is it something else? Too hot, too cold? If she would be able to let me know this... it would be so much easier for both of us.

I'm earning my sleep tonight. Can I hope that tomorrow will mean more milk in the freezer for my little boy so far away from me? I'm starting to get so hungry again. The hunger cycle seems to come and go spiking slight increases in supply.

Yet another post about my boobs has been brought to you tonight by One Tired Mama. While I got away with relatively light toddler wrangling, I cooperated with the Boy and got a massive amount of paperwork and scheduling done. We're getting closer to D-day. Delivery. The Small Boy will come home.

Three pounds, three ounces. Today we settled down in the rocking chair for kangaroo care. The nurse positioned Robbie on my chest and drew the privacy screens close. Immediately he started fussing. Arching his back, throwing his head around. If his lungs were capable of it he'd have screamed to bring the house down. I figured out what he wanted.

I laid him down flat on my inner arm, cradling his head by my elbow. He opened his eyes wide, looking all around for the circus. Poor child, there was no circus. No party, no balloons, no elephants or clowns. Just his mama and his Gram. He still had to check though. After several minutes of looking for them Robbie figured out that they weren't coming. He closed his eyes again and let me position him back up on my chest where he fell asleep.

While I was gone his sister ran around the house. She poured rice from her sensory table into my shoes and destroyed one of my tapes. She tried to ignore me completely for the next two hours. Remember when I used to call her a little puppy?

Some things, I'm afraid, are just a natural for young mammals. At bedtime she brought her milk to me and climbed into my lap with her blanket. We snuggled. We cuddled. Then Mommy tucked her in and kissed her goodnight.

My two babies are sleeping now. I'm all relaxed again, with a cup of tea and a belly full of pizza, icecream, and the promise of midnight chocolate. That hopeless feeling I had the other night? Gone for now. The little newborn on my chest, fingers not much bigger than a mini birthday candle, his face pressed against my skin. That's why I'm driving myself nuts with this pumping. This is why I'm doing all this to keep whatever milk I have left coming. For him. Because this will help him continue to thrive, will lessen his reflux, will strengthen his immune system. Sure, it might save some pennies as well. As long as that's still secondary to all the other benefits.

One of the neat things that happens in a slowing economy, when people are being more careful in how they spend their money, is that lenders have to compete more for business. If, for example, you are looking at a Florida Refinance of your home, you can visit a website that brings multiple lenders together to offer you a bunch of different offers. One stop shopping with the benefit of your fuzzy bunny slippers. You don't have to call each one individually and listen to fasttalking customer service reps trying every verbal trick to get you talked into signing with them. I like the online method; it takes so much emotion out of a transaction. I can look at stuff objectively with the criteria that I choose foremost in my mind. So easy to be sweet-talked into options that really don't apply to your situation. And if my experience is only with car insurance which can be easily changed twice a year, think how much more important it is to get exactly what you're looking for when refinancing your home!

I wonder why I'm still depressed, and then I go to pump. I just spent the past hour pumping, one side at a time so that I could collect the milk in the same graduated nurser bottle. I like doing it in those, because the shape is narrow and makes my output look more than it is.

One hour, for 10ml.

Are there mothers out there who know how that makes me feel right now? I try and I try and I'm getting up twice a night all this past week because our schedule this past week has me going sometimes four hours between pumping. For what? 10ml. Oh, sure, this morning I got 18ml in a bottle. That's not making me feel much better. I know this is the best thing for my boy and I can't convince my body to give up the milk. He's probably getting two days of breastmilk a week now before they need to break out the formula again. I know it won't hurt him- he'll thrive on it like my girl thrived on her formula. You remember, the $15/12.8 oz can formula?

I don't know if this is the point at which I'm going to hang up the pumping horns.

I want to cry it out, but I don't think I should give in to it because I start being afraid that if I start crying tonight I won't stop. We've got to get up early tomorrow. I have to drop the Boy at work, and drive into Fresno to get Robbie's birth certificate. My little boy weighs 3 pounds this week and I want to have the chance to try and nurse him once before I lose my milk completely. I don't even know anymore why this is so damn important to me. I just know that it is, and that this is why I'm so freaked out at losing the supply completely, and I'm going to bed tonight scared and afraid.

I still lay in bed praying for the milk to increase. For one more miracle to happen for us even though I'm sure I've used my lifetime's supply of miracles. I don't deserve any more miracles. I should just be happy that I have two living children and a good marriage that can survive two preemies and my depression.

Tonight it's dark and cold, and I feel more alone than I've felt in months.

This morning started in one of my favorite ways. The Toddler has a large rubbermaid tote in her bedroom where we toss her legos and blocks, and when I went in to get her up for the day I found her sitting inside it burying her toes underneath the blocks. What a sight! Then she just had to wear a hat while getting dressed. Why is this? I don't know.

After the getting dressed she snuggled on my lap and ate breakfast. Isn't that a wonderful followup? Smell of cute toddler in the morning, soft warm head nuzzled up under my chin, warm body pressed up as close under my armpit as it was phsyically able to go. When she was finished she wiggled her way down to play. So long, Mom, I love you but you're cramping my style today.

The little one is doing well, he's just over three pounds now. Every day brings us closer to a family of four. Better load that car seat now, just in case. Am I ready? Am I really ready to bring him home? About as ready as any new mother is when her body goes into labor. This homecoming will be sudden, with very little warning, and I've got to get ready for it.

Where other climates get snow, we get rain. Where they get rain, we get fog. And yes, this means that it's foggy outside again. Peasoup fog, of the sort that I only dreamed about whenever I used to read descriptions of London's weather. It's so thick right now that I could cut it, only around an hour past daybreak can I see the tops of the houses just across the street. Earlier I couldn't even see that far.

I'm trying to get my routines in place this morning. A few of them that are designed around helping me get my mind ready for a day. Make the bed. Unload clean dishes from dishwasher and reload with dirty that have been soaking in the sink. Swipe the kitchen floor with a cleaning wipe. Dump the used coffee grounds from the Boy's morning pot. Dish out the Toddler's breakfast as much as possible so it will mean less steps when she finally awakes.

As my mother calls it, “The Robbie Report” is as follows: he now weighs 2 lbs and 10 oz. He is on room air, although it's being fed to him via cannula. This is a good sign. I've also now changed two diapers. Two diapers, in 6 weeks of life. It's reasonable to expect that this is the last time I'll ever be so lucky. Especially as neither of those diapers were dirty ones, they were “only” wet.

How am I doing? Today I decided not to call the doctor, in favor of getting the midmonth bills triaged and written out. Fun. The best part of the month for every household that lives check to check, right? This is the day where you almost have a nice chunk of change in the checking account and have to figure out which bills get paid and how much can be paid on them. After the fiasco with the electric company last summer this is nearly at the painless spot it was at a year ago; there's only one bill left that I am still trying to catch up on. Unfortunately I can't just pay the whole balance off at this point. I wish I could. I really wish I could. Then it wouldn't make my stomach all jittery. Unfortunately, that's not an option right now. So I'll put up with jittery stomach and work on my knitting. Or my blogging. Or staring at my boobs willing them to produce more milk, like, NOW.

Is it not incredible that one minute you can feel so defeated, and the next moment everything comes back into perspective? The world is not a horrible place, and although this winter has been gray and dull and damp more often than not there really will be a whole year full of bright sunny and clear days in front of us.

I don't know why I feel this burst of hope. Underneath the sadness is still a very real and hard load to shoulder. It's the knowing that it won't last forever- I remember that this will not last even though I can't see an ending to it. I know there will be sunshine again even though I don't believe it will ever return. This is one of the reasons I like the spring so much; the ground melts and flowers come back. Grass shoots are brilliant in the mud underneath my feet and new life is whispering that all is not lost. Do not give up hope. There will come a new day for you, for me, and the depression will not be this bleak forever.

I just feel so sad. I don't know why, other than that it's the product of my depression, hiding away in the back of my brain for so many (?) months. I don't count the situational depression, because I've got a fair grip on that. I mean the pervasive sadness depression that just is. It doesn't go anywhere, it just springs up one morning out of nothing and lays a blanket over my emotions and thoughts.

Guess it's time again to call the doctor, to get on some meds that will help lay this sucker down for the next few months/years. I don't want to be on them forever, and indeed it's when I'm going longterm on something that I run the biggest risk of waking up and having them stop working.

My baby? He is still well. My supply? Starting to taper back off. The past three days haven't helped; no chance to pump regularly, no contact with the new baby other than a brief phone call, and I've been stressed by sudden evaluations and the re-emergence of Female Issues that normally don't happen when you're pregnant.

My Toddler? Still cranky. She's tired and this evening we couldn't even try to feed her anything resembling a meal. Too tired to accept anything, including her beloved peanut butter. We ran out of store-bought bread so I baked, and the homemade bread was not the familiar texture or taste so it was flung aside with a wail. By "fling" I really do mean fling. With the violence you'd display if someone shoved a venomous snake in your face. Same with the sippy cup at first. Almost with the poppysicle. I started with the poppysicle then, moving slowly to a piece or two of the peanut butter alone on my fingertip. There were graham crackers in the pantry, so we tried them. Success! Graham crackers for dinner it is! Not long after that she calmed down enough to drink her milk.

Then she went to sleep. And me? I'm sad. So I'm having some water, some bread and butter, and trying to go to bed now. I don't even have much faith that I'll sleep. Is it possible to be too depressed to sleep?

While searching around in my copious (hah!) spare time, I looked into new glasses. My mom's frames broke earlier this summer, resulting in an odd fix with a spare arm off a way-different pair. I'd like to get her a new pair of glasses this spring, as a "thank you" that comes long overdue for everything she's done around here in the past year. Come to think of it, my own glasses could use an upgrade. I've had these since 2004 or so. Remember the superglue incident of my first pregnancy? Great Discovery: www.ZenniOptical.com which offers glasses very cheaply. They can do it because they only offer the frames that they manufacture. I don't care who makes my frames as long as the price is right.

Have you heard the news story about how phone companies have ended wiretaps not because of faulty warrant info but because the FBI didn't pay the bill? I mean, they can tap anyone they feel like (apparantly) but if they're late on the bill it's a case of "no tap for you!"

There is just much political stuff out there. What happened to the days when I could bury my head in the sand and be blissfully unaware of current events? I want those days back. I want my ignorance back! But no... I found that it's a lot easier to keep mildly aware of these things. I get the email daily digest from two papers, and even though I don't always have the time to read them it does take less room than two daily papers. I browse the headlines, I read the articles when I have the chance. If something annoys me I can fake ignorance of it for a while. If something strikes my interest I can keep current on it.

It's like the church issues that we're getting mailings on every Sunday. Our diocese broke away from the main church -I think, because I'm deliberately keeping fuzzy on it- and the church I go to did not break away, and now we're in some sort of limbo land. South America is involved at one portion. It was brought up at meetings, and church councils, and surveys and letters came out and there was a vote. Or several votes. And my position continues to be that I do not want to know. What the heck is wrong with wanting to just go to church every week? I do not want to get involved with beaucracy and church politics. I just want to attend in peace and be mostly left alone. I realize that attitude brings it's own set of responsibilities; that I give up my right to complain about future paths this church will take or how money gets distributed, and all of that- I can accept that. Just leave me alone to keep my head in the sand.

Now that the Boy has his license, we're one step closer to eventually getting a second car. But where to start? He says we'll just get a clunker that can get him from one point to another; I think we should get a car big enough to carry the two kids plus their gear plus a passenger or two. Yeah- me, a soccer mom with minivan and two kids? We've even got a fence around the backyard here. Bring on the station wagon!

One place to explore car leasing is a site that lets you search by various options. Stuck on a certain make or model? Search by that. My favorite is to search by budget. If you know you're limited by what you can afford, don't even let yourself see those options when you're doing serious shopping. If you don't see it, you don't get tempted to sign for a car you can't afford. And wouldn't it be really neat to have a car show up at your house, delivered? Ah. The benefit of the Net. To be able to do so much from the comfort of the fuzzy bunny slippers.

Where does all this guilt come from? Lately I feel so off, like there's more I should be doing. I want to keep the house spotless, be totally involved with the Toddler, and drive up to see the baby eight hours a day. I can't; it's physically impossible to do and be all these things at the same time. It's driving me nutty.

About the only thing I can do to alleviate all of this is to pump milk for the baby, try to love the Toddler, try to squeeze in a few chores and a load of laundry around the edges. This is where those routines are coming in handy. An added bonus: when it's written down in black and white I know when something is starting to become an unreasonable expectation. For someone with the inability to let stuff go, with the risk factors for a mild case of OCD, this is a blessing.

There's another article in my newspaper about weight loss and gain and the struggle that much of the population is struggling with. So many people don't know what is really healthy for them. Our perceptions continue to be slightly warped by our own reality. Advertisements, tv, magazines, the skinny neighbor who should wear more clothes before she gets pneumonia... all these things contribute to not knowing. Then you add in the food pyramid and fad diets, weight loss experts, diet pills. Who knows? Some things work, a lot don't work, some work some of the time and then stop leaving you with rebound pounds. And then there are the people who just can't lose the weight that they need to lose for health reasons. They suffer from so many issues and no amount of dieting or exercise is helping. If you've absolutely got to lose that weight and keep it off and nothing else works, consider a lapband procedure. It's reversible, unlike stomach stapling or procedures that alter the physical structure of your insides. Sometimes you just have to go with what works for you.

My Robbie was transferred across town earlier this week, and ever since I've been fighting the depression again. I don't know just why; the move wasn't bad, as such. It was good. It means that he's stable enough to be transferred to an equal care-level facility due to need for his space in the feeder/grower unit. I would say "bed space", but technically that's not true. He was not moved from the bed. The bed went with him. The transit made him fussy and cranky. He lost two ounces. Which is not a huge thing for a lot of kids, but when he started out so small this is really a big deal. I'm stressing over gas prices again. In specific, gas prices as they relate to the increased driving, having to visit my boy in the NICU on weekends, not having much of a choice about that whole issue...

Plus we're getting sick. The Boy already is sick. My mom's fighting it, I'm ignoring it, and the Toddler appears to be unaffected so far. We'll see how long that really lasts.

The second to last job I had before staying home to be a mother was over in Torrey Pines. It's a place famous (or infamous, depending on who you ask) for golfing. I must admit that I'm far more into the miniature golf game than the "real" golf. At least I used to be. Lately I'm starting to really come to terms with the features that draw people to fight over getting the best golf tee times. Part of it is the skill. There's something almost magical about being able to take a breath, center yourself, and make the little ball go from here to there and land as close as possible to the goal. Meditative, even. It makes me feel a yearning for this game as a good way to reclaim my own peace. In the middle of the busy day, when toddlers are screaming and newborns need tending and constant vigilance, where does a parent find their calm? I know it's easy enough to lose that calmness, but how do we find them again? And once you take up a hobby that allows you to have that, isn't it only normal to need the appropriate gear to go along with it? American Golf is a great site to visit to find out the courses near you, to give the gift of a game to a friend, or to find accessories.

Yesterday in class the Toddler played with markers, leading to a close encounter of the purple kind. It is moments like this that lead us to fully comprehend her habit of brushing her right hand back from her nose and around her ear, not caring which item is currently in that hand or what kind of mess will be created. This is the behavior that leads to a peanut butter facial every evening. This is the sort of thing.

I love my little girl, never more so than when she's doubled over with laughter. And if her nose is purple? So what? There's soap in the house. Or it will eventually wear off. She's two. This is a normal thing. So be it.

It's no use crying over spilled milk.

Last night I pumped a fairly decent amount. Got up to put the milk away; I had enough in that little bottle for one more addition to the freezer stash. I don't freeze it until I have half an ounce in the bottle, because it looks so depressingly small at anything less than that. I mean, if it doesn't cover the bottom of the bottle by more than a few drops, what's the point? It'll melt in the car on the way up to Children's, no matter how much ice I pack around it.

So I was standing up from the chair and my balance slipped a little and I dropped the bottle. The lid was not on. The milk went down, sideways, got my skirt wet and a little of the chair.

When I think of all the work it takes to get that much out (just about a quarter ounce, which is slightly more than a teaspoon for those of you who need a comparison to fully feel my pain) I could have cried. I mean, really. I sit there with the pump for about half an hour on both sides just to produce enough drops to make that. And then I lose it all. It's a very sad thing.

Either I was feeling relaxed at the time, or I've been learning to let go of my supply issues. When this happened I was able to instantly shrug it off. This morning I'm feeling the pain of it though. This morning I'm really noticing how much that was in the larger scheme of things.

Did you ever wonder to yourself how you ended up living out bizarre cartoon sequences? During a failed attempt at naptime, my daughter smacked me in the head repeatedly with a small yellow duck. The first time it was accidental. The remainder of the time it was to hear the squeak.

If you like this story, support this site through learning more about one of our featured products found on the lovely sidebar. Who knows? It may save me from the Duck.

More stories will be forthcoming if this child ever eats her dinner and goes to sleep.

This is a day to organize. To plan ahead. To do... something. I forget.

Do you ever have those sorts of days? They start with good intentions but go downhill so incredibly fast. I maybe should be asking is there anyone who does not have those sorts of days. It seems to me that it's one of the prerequisites to humanity. Especially when you've got little ones who delight in throwing all your careful plans to the wind.

Today I'm flying. So far. For me it comes down to routines and lists. I've always been on the compulsive side. This is directly related to having the inability to ever let anything go. I've worked on it and been in therapy for this, and although some things are easier than others I freely admit that during moments of stress and exhaustion all the old habits come back. Routines help me start and end the day- every night the dishwasher gets run and the sink is empty/nearly empty. Counters are normally cleared and ready to receive a whole new crop of Stuff in the morning. Every morning I sit down and start by checking email over breakfast. It's when these routines fall out of sync that I start losing my brain- and once it's lost it can be several days before I feel back on track with myself. I think it's having those routines that has let me survive motherhood, and it's those routines that will help me do well with having another little teeny one with all the associated doctors, specialists, therapists, and social services involved.

I remember way back when, when the company put out their quarterly meeting videos. It was a big deal for us. We'd all be able to sit in; I could put the phones on automatic (although hardly anyone ever did accept the automated voicemail system). They sent out for lunch. Fabulous. And then there was the video link itself. Movie time! I didn't even mind the blatant corporate imagery, the motivational aspect that was so embedded into it.

Of course not every company does that sort of thing. Some don't go with live video. Some go with animated motivational stuff. These short cartoons teach things like customer service skills in a fun way. Marastar is a company that specializes in these short video cartoons. One of the things that makes them truly special is that they include humor as well as the basic skills and gentle reminders to your staff. If you're the one in charge of planning company-wide meetings and training sessions, consider cartoon humor as a good way to motivate people. It does make an impact. Personally, I felt much more motivated by our quarterly movie and lunch than I did by the coffee mug or service pin. With a little thought behind the planning, you can spark something fresh in your team. This of course has to be based on the people who work for you. If you've got a bunch that can be fired up by a logo on a mug you might want to consider a different sort; the sort who bring a spark of humanity back into the workplace. We've long suspected that drones don't really accomplish much. If you can engage the person, instead of the contracted business services provided by a human-shaped entity who is just there for the paycheck, that's a great first step to making a business that will last longer than 5 or 6 years.

Have you ever had a day where, when you left your toddler with someone so that you could run and do a critically important thing outside the house, they decided to channel a tornado instead of a sweet little cherub? We had such a day. A day that ends with parents returning home and wishing for a moment that they could turn right around and leave again. Let me rephrase that- I can't speak for my husband, the father of this child. I can only say that my first instinct was to turn on my heel and disavow any and all knowledge of this child.

But I do love her, and I am a good parent, and I will admit that I knew something like this was imminent. I picked up the mess and tried to get the rest of the house into something like order. I changed her into a clean nightgown and convinced her to eat part of a half of a peanut butter sandwich. She drank a few sips of chocolate milk. Eventually, she suffered me to hold her and I informed her that she was going to sleep and when she wakes up tomorrow she will turn into a mild-mannered and polite child again.

I wish.

So many things I wish tonight. I wish that she did not have these mild delays and sensory issues, as well as a resistance to napping and resting during the day that leads inevitably to a meltdown of epic proportions. She's going to be three in only a few short months. Isn't she supposed to be talking in sentences now, and potty-training, and doing more to communicate her needs and desires than this incessant eh-eh-eh sound coupled with a smattering of real words? Isn't she supposed to follow directions more consistently than not?

I need to be more grateful for small things. Like, she's not sick. Like, this is a language/communication delay and she's in treatment for it. Like, this is just a really horrible day for us. It will pass.

In the meantime, I think I need a hug.

I held my baby again today, after I found him. This kid really needs to stop moving around, getting out on his own, changing locations without warning me first... See, I arrived at the NICU this evening and innocently went to his room. Instead of the familiar isolette in space "b", there was an open warming crib containing a baby about three times the size of my baby, with a thick mess of black hair. Also, the name tag indicated it was a female baby.

Turns out that Robbie got moved to the feeder/grower unit late yesterday. This is what happens when I miss a daily call over there. Fortunately I found my baby fairly quickly. This is good for all our blood pressures.

He's not quite three pounds after all, despite my hopes and positive thinking. But it's not that far off. I did get to hold him a long time, watching him sleep. That tiny little body held in my arms. He's getting better at holding his body temperature. Granted, we didn't have him outside the isolette for very long, but it was still a very positive thing. He slept most of the time. Was a bit cranky at being moved and semi-woken.

So how was your Saturday? Do anything fun? It's raining here. Again. After not raining for enough months that I thought it would never rain again, it's raining. The ground is turning a brilliant emerald green; beautiful.

A friend of mine, older and diabetic for many years and suffering the foot problems that many diabetics get at this point, went to her doctor the other week and learned that he wants her to start wearing wool socks. 100% wool socks. No elastic, no "fillers". Just wool socks. Something about breathability I guess. Now, I know wool or cotton socks are wonderful things. Personally, I don't go for wool. Cotton, though, makes me drool from time to time. This friend was talking to my mom and wondering where on earth they expected her to find these socks- with no elastic or fillers. Simple, my mom says. Just ask Mary to do it. She knits socks, is currently into knitting socks, and would be happy to do it.

And I am happy, of course. I love the opportunity to sit down and knock out a few more pairs. It's the chance to perfect my technique. Also the excuse to buy new needles. I picked up a set of wood double-points for this project, and the wool, and I have to say that I'm completely sold on the combination of pure wool and wood. A drawback for me in working with socks thus far is that there is inevitably a point at which all my stitches try to escape on a tight corner. The wood needle is "sticky". The wool is also sticky. The two sticky things are making the socks easy to work. Easier to fold into my purse and expect to stay together.

If only the sleep that eludes me could be trapped like this wool on the needles. I could catch it and force it to stay on my brain, and then I would lose a portion of this zombie-like wandering through the rest of the next day. So far this week I'm choosing to look at it as a tailor-made opportunity to pump. I needed to start pumping at night to increase supply. Well, here we are. I'm awake, so I pump. And while I'm pumping, let's work on balancing the breastshield against my bent knee so that I can have both hands free. Then I can keep working on lovely wool socks.

Multitasking. Is there anything a mother can't do, when she's motivated enough?

As y'all know, apart from my previous life as Mary Poppins (professional receptionist, admin, and all-around "fixer" of certain researching things) I trained in library science. Which isn't just a tight-lipped person with wire-rimmed glasses, a tight bun, and the ability to SHUSH people wordlessly. I wanted to go into something like corporate record management, which is a big fancy term for Librarian to the Suits. Technology changes at record speed. These days a corporate librarian almost needs to start with a minimum of a Masters, and loads of extra IT classes. She needs to know what it is, how to fix it, how to categorize it, and how to maximize for the user base she will ultimately support (and all without mussing her hair or wrinkling the suit).
SFTP Server, SSH Server, data, metadata. How do you keep everything going and secure in a world that increasingly demands security? At the same time as demanding access from anyone, anywhere, anytime -as long as they're authorized? It's enough to make someone rip their hair out. I couldn't keep up with it, though I went through school with people who did and who dreamed of this as their highest goal. And even though I fell off-track in the quest for this type of position, I still keep up with things. Maybe it's in my blood at this point? I dream of simplifying my home network and tech responsibility even though it's limited now to just this family. I browse technical journals and sites to keep current on one-stop solutions for businesses- and I wonder often at how soon I can win a lottery to afford one of these to play with. Someday. When the kids are grown and in school and I go for that masters.

So it's another new week. A new year. A new chance to blog about my boobs. Again. And if you feel that this is getting redundant, it's at least as normal as blogging about who has a crush on whom, or who's the latest hollywood celebrity scandal, or who is sleeping with a sheep.

The three seasons of Ballykissangel that the Boy gave me for Christmas have now been watched, some in the middle of the night pumping sessions that I've started to incorporate into our lives, the others with the rest of the family. It's been a challenge, the mid-night pumping. The boobs are grudgingly being convinced to give up more and more drops of milk. I'm still nowhere near to filling those little 4oz bottles, but half an ounce every 2.5 hours is feeling pretty damn good to me. Mostly. It's good, because little Robbie is now out-eating me. He was on formula again yesterday when the Boy and I went up to see him. Perhaps it was the knowledge that we had brought him more milk. Maybe it was something else. He came to us to be held and the first thing he did after opening his eyes and taking a good long look at his daddy was to throw up.

Every baby is different. Every mother is different. Every breastfeeding attempt is going to be different. If I can just keep supply up, if I can just make it last until Robbie comes home, it might turn out well this time. Maybe he'll latch on. I'd really like to make this work. Anything is possible.