Due dates and other musings

So turns out there is a small, albeit vocal, following of this blog here in Dili (and yes, of course the family abroad are yelling out!) who implored me to keep writing.  While I realize the initial draw for most readers who were not somehow related to us, was perhaps something of the intrigue of the whole ordeal, and that - in all fairness, that has since pretty much worn off.  Which, after fourteen months, I have come to appreciate as a good thing.

Luka 22 March 2012,
Visalia CA

By way of a preface, I should point out that today, May 27th, is and was always supposed to be Luka's due date.  Of course, 'they' tell you that due dates are all a pile of smelly stuff, which in my enlightened state of pregnancy led me to respond to the big question with 'oh somewhere toward the end of May' - but secretly, every first-time pregnant woman hangs on to the notion of a due date like she last did for good weather on her wedding day even though 'they' tell you rain means good luck.

So, here we are, a whole two months and one week after we celebrated Luka's 1st birthday in the US with the extended US and South African families, and we have so much to be grateful for.  Chris and I recently reminisced about how much Luka has changed (matured if you will) in the past two months from this young man playing with his legos in grandma's house, to the toothy toddler rough-housing at today's bub club.

Luka, Dili 27 May, 2012

Of course, people point out what an amazing little creature he has become, and what a miracle the whole story is.  Which just reminded me once again over the past few days how incredibly, and indescribably fortunate we have been.  In thinking back to the dreadful day where we boarded a 70-minute flight to our future family, and measuring the difference between March 22 and May 27th, I am just blown away when I think of the whole thing one year ago.  I was not quite as able to take in the whole 'due date' anniversary last year as this day last year also coincides with the day that Luka was released from his second stint in the NICU, for his emergency surgery in Cape Town.

Consider that Timor-Leste, one of the poorest countries in Asia and where we currently live, is not the best place to be a child.  According to Save the Children, at least 54% of Timorese children under five have stunted growth due to malnutrition. In addition, it seems to me that most families I come across know first-hand the pain of losing a child(ren) at some point.  For most Timorese women, even the option of hospitalization is not always there, let alone one with the kind of care one would need for a premature birth.  My recent discussions and guidance to a colleague who's friend had a premature baby in the national hospital a few weeks ago and was being kept in a separate room in the hospital, away from the infant, with no instruction to touch, care for, or hold the small creature, alerted me to the breadth of support one needs in a situation such as the one we had.

Of course, I had a credit card and could access the internet to book a one-way ticket out of here.  I also had a US passport and health insurance to evacuate and get the care that my child seemingly deserved to give him the jump-start he needed.  As a result, I can't help but feel somewhat guilty when I bounce a healthy 11kg former preemie who more closely resemble 3-year old Timorese kids.  When I say 'guilty', I don't mean it in a melodramatic sort of way - but just that I can't imagine what I would have done without the caring instructions, guidance, support and encouragement I received from my midwives, pediatricians, nurses, lactation consultants and every other single person that guided us through that time in our life.

Today, we love watching Luka as he finally figures out this 'walking' thing, click his tongue, point to the light and hug our cat Gus.  I live for, and relish in his recent rediscovering of hugging and lap-sitting, especially at night, after his massage and bottle, when he decides he has had enough milk, hands me the bottle, sits up on my lap - throws his arms around my neck, and nuzzles his face, snuggling in secret  for a few seconds before pointing to his bed.

On his due date, all these many weeks after his actual birth date, I say a small prayer for all those who go into premature labor without the support network, care, encouragement and resources that I had at my disposal.  I also thank, once again, the doctors, midwives, nurses and administrators at the Royal Darwin Hospital in Australia, as well as my birth and antenatal coaches, and the staff and doctors at Vincent Palotti Hospital in Cape Town.  Luka is a product of his strong-willed parents, but he is also a testament to the difference world-class medical care make in our lives.

Back on 'the' boat

...kinda like back on the horse.

Today, Chris and I took our first boat dive trip out to the island of Atauro since, well - that day on 20 March 2011.  It was my dad's 60th birthday, and I had chartered the newly arrived dive boat on that Sunday to surprise Chris for his birthday with a group of friends for a dive trip.  I was just 30 weeks pregnant, and joined on board by a friend about 2 weeks behind me in her pregnancy.  While our husbands and others dove, we had a lovely time relaxing, snorkeling and catching up on all things pregnancy and birth planning-related including when we would leave, what route we are flying, and how we both upgraded to business class for the long flight.  Little did I know the 'cramps' I started feeling at the kitchen table a few hours after returning from the boat would result in an emergency evacuation to Darwin the next day, and the birth of our beautiful boy the following day, nearly 2.5 months early, - just in time for his daddy's birthday.  I think you know the rest of the story.

Not to be nostalgic (well, I guess this is sort of a nostalgic blog), but today was somewhat significant in that it was the exact same boat where I was last happily pregnant before it all came to an abrupt end, with me, Chris and poor Luka unprepared in so many ways.  Sitting on that fly bridge, looking out toward the islands surrounding this vast ocean world we live in, motoring next to a pod of whales, it all seemed so similar, so amazingly recent...yet it is almost a year, and this time I had my boy waiting for me at home.  Incidentally it was the longest I had ever been away from Luka since his birth, apart from nights he spent in hospital without me by his side for a few hours....

In many ways I think it was an important trip.  The boat has always sort of signified the start of our journey with Luka, and I like to tease our skipper that 'he put me into labor'...so it was not without remembrance, humility and thankfulness that I boarded the same vessel today for a similar destination under wholly different conditions.

On another level, it was also important to have the time to connect with Chris doing something we both love.  We had two spectacular dives.  Those 20+m viz, no current, thousands of fish (including a 200+ school of barracuda), serene, 70+min dives that remind you of why we love this sport.

We got home to Luka having dinner with his nanny and her sister-in-law - he squealed as we walked in the door, arms outstretched - then immediately snuggled his face in my neck as I hug him in close and tight.  What our lives are, have forever been altered by the events that originated on the very same boat I just stepped off.

So grateful.  Such an unbelievable journey.  

Marking 11 months today.

I suppose when you are a new parent, every new experience is exactly that, an experience.  But more than that really, it is also a milestone.  And so it is today that Luka celebrates his last birthday counted in 'months' (at least in so far as it is the last one prior to one being counted in year(s)).  If this does not quite make sense, today is Luka's 11 month birthday.

For his birthday today Luka got an extra 200g for the past month, which means that he officially (we double weighed to make sure) topped the scales at the big 1-0-k-g this morning.  That's right, our little bruiser is now officially freaking heavy!

To say that he is a joy in abundance, is to lack the words to describe the sheer pleasure we derive from his reaction when we walk into the house from being out for some or other reason.  More often than not we will come home and notice his play room door is slightly ajar, knowing that he is in there playing with books, musical toys, and other stimuli with his lovely nanny, Michelle.  Yet, when he hears one of our voices, he is like a bat out of hell, climbing over the local Timorese-made throw pillows, swings the door open, and leopard crawling at light-speed to get to one of us.

There is perhaps not a more incredible feeling at the end of a long, hard day at the office, than to have 10kg of adorable, smiling, cooing (squealing, really) baby boy come charging in your direction when you walk through the door, demanding to be picked up, cuddled, then promptly put back down so that he can resume the game of annoying the cat by endlessly chasing him around the dining room table.

Pouring the batter into what will be the final installment
of the 'months' cake series

For some reason this eleven-month mark has been quite emotional for me.  I found myself today thinking about our time in Darwin, about the baking, the long hours in hospital, and eventually about how Chris and I used to have to strap our (then still premature) baby to our chests, in bed, shortly after arriving in Cape Town, to ensure he is kept warm, secure and safe from slipping off.  Which, as you can imagine, meant that neither one of us slept for a good few months.  And, as per the tradition, I baked a cake.  This time a simple Vanilla Bean Pound Cake (hey, I'm a full-time mom that does not even have time to buy my own eggs - thanks honey!)  It was not so much for the cake, but for the act of baking that I simply had to be in the kitchen tonight.

The final product 

Chris said tonight that if we did this again, he would surely need amnesia - but I thought it comes with that automatically, hence why I don't remember the 1.5-hourly breastfeeds, or the entire month of October at all for that matter.  And as we enter the last month of his first year, I cannot help but feel incredibly sentimental about our time together in Darwin, Cape Town, Oxford, Scotland, Sri Lanka...and soon to be California, Arizona and elsewhere.  How blessed we are to have been given the privilege of guarding over this little person for a few precious years, how I wish the next few won't go quite as quickly...

Countdown to Luka's 1st birthday family extravaganza starts now....

A love that's bursting at the seams

I think we have pretty well established that parenthood is not easy.  No really.  It is hard.  What with adapting to having something constantly depending on you (as in every waking, and well yes, most non-waking moments) for food, security, developing, as well as protecting them from themselves (for instance introducing the notion of what goes up, must come down - including your newly-standing self), it is not for the faint-of-heart.

But then, every so often, you get a day where you just have to step back and go wow.  No really, WOW.  Thinking secretly to yourself, how did I get this lucky to have the honor of being this amazing creature's mamma?  Today was such a day.

Mr. All Smiles donning his 'amber teething necklace' said
to relieve pain and inflammation associated with teething,
or, well - it just looks cool!

While we've had a few rougher-than-usual nights (seems the Temple of the Tooth is making room for the Temple of the Teeth), and we actually had to revert to a steady dose of paracetamol last night with the requisite ungodly wake-ups.  Nonetheless, his mamma's 3-hour sleep last night notwithstanding, someone was bright-eyed and bus(h)y-tailed at 06h30 this morning (at this point I feel it necessary to disclose that we did not in fact get to bed until after 01h00 after hosting a few folks for pizza and wine).  I was brave enough to try last weekend's strategy of bringing him to bed to 'play it out' for an hour or so, and then hopefully he would fall asleep again for two hours like last Saturday - but by the fourth time he was practicing the drums on daddy's (sore) head - I decided to get up and get going with him.  We jumped in the car with nothing but his breakfast in his little travel cooler (no nappy, no anything) and headed out to a local beach bar for mommy-and-Luka breakfast.  While mommy nursed a cappuccino, Luka sat every-so-happy in a big-boy chair, no restraining device, no high chair, just lounging with his arm on the arm rest, happily eating his yogurt, fruit and breadsticks, while gaping at the people, televisions and sights around him.  He was all smiles, to the general amusement of the staff and patrons alike.

At home, Luka took a standard 30-minute nap  (while mommy dashed off to pilates) to prepare him for the next adventure of the day - Swim Lesson #3 at a local hotel pool.  He had a marvelous swim class and was able to finally relax a little bit on the back-floating exercise,  and did remarkably well in the submerging section (cannot believe how these bubs are going to be swimming in no time!)  With Luka squealing with delight all the way, we changed him, and had lunch at the lodge.  He (for the first time in...I don't know, months!) sat happily on my lap for over an hour, feeding himself raisins, a teething biscuit and his macaroni, bean, mince lunch.  We took him home for another quick nap (while mommy got a pedicure this time), before his next big adventure.

The exhausted hasher kips on the mountainside above
Dili.

At 4pm, Chris loaded his Chariot Cougar I in the car and set off for the local Hash House Harriers club (while Luka might not remember this, he actually participated in a Hash run in utero). Chris probably should have known from the host that it would be hilly - but didn't put 2 and 2 together until they set off from the Co-Operativo Cafe Timor (CCT) compound and started heading up, up, and more up.  According to Chris, it took about three guys to haul the chariot and its passenger up the hill, and some careful braking on the way down. But it was all worth it when Luka was honored in the circle with his very own Hash t-shirt.  Someone clearly has been following his growth trajectory, since despite its adult S size, we're convinced he'll be in it before Christmas!

After the hash it was home for dinner, a bottle, a bath, followed by mommy's nightly full-body massage (something I have done since birth - for which he actually laid fairly still for once) and he was asleep before he even hit the bed....

Luka receives his first
hasherdashery.

What an incredible day to be a parent.  They're certainly not all like this, but boy do they make it worth it....

Toes, tooth, treks and tonnage

It's been a bit hectic at work, so pardon the radio silence.  I know everyone is asking for recent Luka pics, which I promise to take, just as soon as I can find the camera charger in the last boxes from our recent move.  That's right, we figured that returning to a highly undeveloped country after an extended period away, without any preparation or setup ready, and me returning to work for the first time since March, just wasn't stressful enough, so we added a move into the mix just to keep it real.  Fortunately the move entailed a shift from an (albeit looooovely) hillside house far outside the hustle and bustle of Dili, to basically the equivalent of the 'burbs.  That's right people.  Your bleeding heart friends have now joined the dark side and moved into a semi-compound-like enclave of overpriced expatriate-occupied residences where the only Timorese around are those we employ in our houses.  Sounds awfully South Africa circa 1980 come to think of it.  And you know what, despite missing my hillside home where goats roam on my porch and Bon Jovi ballads wake me more frequently than a nursing infant does, it is rather pleasant to have 24-hour power (with more ACs than I can shake a stick at), enough water pressure (and water) to do more than one load of laundry every other day, and be within walking distance of multiple nannies.

So, 'oh, our baby, he will never change our life' rings extremely true (noooot), but hey - let me tell you, at least the move has merely encouraged us to maintain our life in that we are all packed to go up coast for two dives tomorrow, Chris ran Luka over to my office yesterday and we all ran him home in the super stroller (to the jaw-dropping awe of all the locals), we're walking out the door right now (borrowed baby monitor in hand) to go across the drive way to our friends' for after-dinner drinks, and have a nanny lined-up to sleep in tomorrow night so we can go to our first grown-up party since he joined our party nearly eight months ago.  So if that is what it takes to maintain fun and activity - then I would like to welcome us to the dark side ;)

In addition to the move, and perhaps much more importantly has been the progress and general coolness surrounding the little man.  I have come to realize why it is in fact possible to write a baby book espousing all manner of development and other goals.  Without having read one in a while (work's been a bit hectic) I am constantly asked whether Luka is doing A or B yet - and I can happily report to all interested parties, that yes - he has in fact discovered his toes - only now he won't let go of them, making nappy changes and bath time a lot more complicated than it used to be!  He is also an avid roller - preferring to cut tummy time as short as humanly possible by immediately rolling over and giggling profusely.  He is also very close to sitting, managing to balance himself (toes in hand) quite well, but seems to still be a little top-heavy - I am thinking it is imminent though.  And then, of course, the big news this week - the tooth!  I will try my best to get a photo of it tomorrow, it is soooooooo cute, little bottom left center toothy, all poking through.  Frankly doesn't seem to be bugging him all that much, though I am sure his tiny tots sunflower rattle who has been taking the brunt of the chewing will gladly disagree.

So we're off for a dive trip tomorrow, just Chris and I with Luka and his new nanny, a lovely young woman named Michelle.  Let's hope this one sticks around, or I might have to get the hint and quit my job.

Lastly, for those asking, he clocked in at 8.4kg or 18.5lbs this morning - unbelievable that he now weighs more than allowable hand luggage on Emirates airlines - when he started out as a big T-bone.

More (and photos I promise) soon!

Expat Babies

I'm often reminded that our lives are not considered the 'norm'.  Where we live, it is completely normal for one household to boast three nannies for three babies under the age of fifteen months.  It is also quite par for the course for three boys from three different families, none older than seven months, to collectively boast seven different nationalities and be learning as many languages.

Nanny blues

While not necessarily fair, in the places we live and work, including here in Timor, we are able to afford full-time help with just about everything in the home.  Before you think spoiled brat, consider that not everything here is that easy - for instance, you will likely have to visit at least 2-3 supermarkets for the most basic ingredients for a half-decent pantry where a 1kg tub of yogurt will cost you anywhere from $9-$15, and cereal run about $8, on top of having to stop at two local bazaars, one for fresh vegetables and one for fruit (where, on the plus side I am happy to report that avocados run about 5 for $1).    Add to that the general lack of fresh dairy and bread that has not been frozen, thawed and re-frozen a few times during the long journey, and remember that there is often a lack of crucial items like cat food (and ice cream) for months.  Much of this we can mitigate, as our general frontier-esque production of both home-made yogurt, ice cream and bread can attest to - but I still don't have a cow to milk for the cream for said ice cream.

Alright, back to the point about household help.  So yes, we have a cleaner (she looks to be about 80 and stooped over, yet with the life expectancy in Timor is likely much closer to about 50) who comes in somewhere between 10 and 10:30am, washes the dishes while we have power, then disappears for about two hours for lunch, returns in the afternoon when there is no power to not iron my work clothes (we have tried, and tried to get her to iron when the power is on, and wash dishes when it is off - no luck).  In addition, we employ her equally geriatric-appearing husband as our 'guard'.  Not much 'guarding' going on here, but he does open the gate for us with a huge smile and I think he confuses Chris with Arnold Schwarzenegger or someone equally idolized, for not even I greet him quite as enthusiastically when he returns home (my name on the other hand, he can never quite remember).

So it was inevitable that we would employ a nanny to care for Luka while I am at work and Chris runs the household (remember the 3+ stops it requires for basic grocery shopping, not counting the fact that the Timorese drive 15kmph when they're speeding, and that the roads generally resemble what most 4x4 enthusiasts refer to as a 'jeep track'), all a way of saying that while he is an excellent cook and capable house manager, there is no way to do it alone.  Enter the nanny.  There are generally two options in Timor (that is after you tried to convince your mom to stay on indefinitely and she politely declined), a local nanny, or a Filipina nanny.  They both have their upsides and benefits, though for a variety of reasons (literacy, English) we are probably more likely to go with a Filipina for ease of communication, mostly given that we have had our fair share of challenges early in the young Master's life.

And so we embarked on the standard round-robin asking around if anyone knew of a nanny that would be available, a few recommendations from friends' nannies came in, I did the interviews (some in my car in front of the ANZ bank downtown during lunch hour for lack of other time/place), and quickly eliminated the cleaners posing as nannies, and others asking ridiculous salaries.  We ended up interviewing one particular woman twice.  My biggest issue with her had been that it was hard to check her references - apart from a short stint as the babysitter to the current New Zealand Ambassador to Timor-Leste's nine-year old, her previous job was as the caretaker to the mother of the Queen of Brunei - I mean, what is protocol, to Skype a Queen?

Long story short, we gave her a test run for a week - my mother was here to supervise and train her, deciding early on in the week that the objective grandma approach to training is much better than the overly sensitive/nervous demeanor of the mother - and promptly sent me back to work full-time despite the fact that I had half-time work approved.  Turns out it was good as there was certainly enough fires at work to keep me busy.  All seemed to go fantastic.  Lucy loved Luka, Luka love Lucy - he was napping, eating and smiling all with equal enthusiasm.  On Thursday, before the last day of Lucy's trial, Chris and I discussed the offer we would make - which was on the high side from what we had been told others pay, we decided to include overtime pay, some paid time off, and even try and get her accident and disability insurance.  As we sat down on Friday morning to discuss the offer with her, I was ready to head off to work, and thought it would be a great end to a week.  That's when her demeanor changed - she suddenly seemed very uncomfortable and I knew something was up.  When we told her Luka wanted her to take care of him, if she still wanted the job, she shifted in her seat and started with "actually ma'am...." and I knew - back to square one.

While I am happy and do not for a minute deprive her of the opportunity to get involved with a business that could potentially be more profitable for her, it is not easy welcoming someone into your house and entrusting them with your most precious possession, so it is a huge relief when it goes right - and I don't even want to think what happens if it does not - but be that as it may - without being overly dramatic - it was a bit of a blow.

So, we are back to emailing friends of friends, and calling nanny's nanny friends to see if somewhere there is another person available to interview that we have not already heard of, been advised against, or informed that she already has a wonderful nanny job (and she is the best!)  So as my mom prepares to return to South Africa  next weekend, Chris is readying himself to be Mr. Mom for the time being.  We know our perfect fit for Luka is out there somewhere, by the way, if you are reading this, it would be really convenient if you could give us a ring!!

A painful proximity to poverty

One of the less appealing things about being an expat in a poor foreign country is the constant reminder of the inequalities in the world.  Since looking out for an infant I have become more acutely aware of the disparities that exist between the us and the them.  Compare a single, clean, vaccinated, insured, white baby in a sea of multiple, health and education-deprived local kids content to play with whatever is discarded as un-useful from their local malai family.

As we watched the DHL truck haul up six perfectly packed boxes of 'necessities' for our precious bundle this past week, I could not help the intense feeling of guilt in my own prosperity over the reality of those in who's neighborhood I am a guest.  Unpacking seemingly essential items including a specially designed chair to ensure comfort, ventilation and safety in this warm climate; followed by a specialty backpack to save my precious back from having to return to the chiropractor once more; to the UV hats and sunglasses to prevent the harshness of the equatorial sun; augmented by an array of mosquito nets and repellents to protect our bub against the devastation of mosquito-born disease that is par for the course here.

It is all sometimes too much.  How is it that human beings can live along a divide that means a single item deemed necessary to raise my child in comfort (not opulence) could equal the equivalent of a monthly income of my cleaning lady?

This is not meant to be a righteous post, but as we continue to strike a balance (or try to) between good and bad, necessary and waste, and in basically just doing the right thing in raising Luka, one cannot help but stop and ponder the realities of geobirthing-economics.  

God bless every child tonight. Rich, poor, every one.

Shop'a Thon

Here's a thought - don't take a 4/6 month old shopping in a huge mall for eight hours for pre-departure necessities like work clothes that actually fit and bottles he actually likes.  Alas, this is only one of potentially dozens of life's little lessons that we will still come to learn and accept as we stumble along the way.  I think partly it is our affinity for doing all things together that has us struggle with parting ways to get things done.  Perhaps it has something to do with getting married so young that we never really had separate adult lives, or just the fact that we love each others' company, but yes - we do shop, cook, eat, read, work out and pretty much do everything else together - so it was only natural for us to head off to the mall.  Well, Luka had other plans when he decided that Monday this week would come on Tuesday (we had a fabulous Monday with him btw), and he let the entire Canal Walk Mall in Milnerton north of Cape Town (mind you, a 40+km drive for us rural dwellers).

After throwing a number of tantrums and wanting to feed pretty much non-stop (making trying on nursing bras particularly challenging), we got home and the little dude actually gave us a good nights' rest - Chris put him down with a bottle while I made dinner and said Luka was actually staring at his cot at the end of his feed.  Poor little dude, maybe we'll take turns at the mall next time.

Haunted in the 'Hood

Alright, this post is probably waaaaaaaaaay overdue, but part of the reason for this post is also the reason why it hasn't happened yet - no one tells you exactly how hard it is going to be!  That's right.  For fear of labeling myself a 'bad mother' or 'not cut out for this' and all the other jazz us newbies believe to be true when we are honest (heaven forbid), there I said it - this is bloody hard!  Yes, I know, I've been to graduate school (twice), been to Iraq (and Afghanistan mind you), and been on a solo short final - and this is, hands down the HARDEST thing I have ever done.

Thanks to the lovely folks at my favorite radio station in the US, National Public Radio (NPR) for highlighting this* - and also for questioning the reasons why no one ever admits that it is not all sunshine and roses.  In their recent article "Parenthood Got You Down? You're not alone" they question this notion of new mothers feeling the need to project themselves as living in new-found infant-clad domestic bliss, simply loving her perfect baby (who, of course, reaches all her milestones way early).  Well, BEE-ESS (to keep it family-friendly here).

Yes! it is wonderful when baby smiles at you and adds a new sound to the 'cooh' chorus.  Yes! it is a great feeling when you walk around town and everyone tells you how cute and adorable your bub is, and no, they do not believe that all babies are this cute.  But, and this is the kicker, it is also DAMN HARD WORK.  Thank heavens we forget, or I suppose humanity would die out, and god bless our parents for also putting up with our sleepless nights and fussy spells.  But for some reason, there is a taboo on talking about how hard it is.  Don't get me wrong, I am not whining here, and I know, 'toughen up' right, 'you have so many more resources and knowledge than we did in our day' - fine, the Internet helps, but it doesn't get up at 2am to breastfeed, and it doesn't teach my baby how to self-soothe.

Fair enough, we (by that I mean the Marx-Serjak household) does not exactly make it easy on ourselves with traveling, moving and generally living in not-your-run-of-the-mill suburban sobriety, but that fact notwithstanding.  If it's not kindergarten waiting lists that you have missed because you did not put Peanut's name on it in your sixth week of gestation, then it's the constant bombardment with whether you need to raise him in a bilingual home, with or without television, in a pram or kangaroo caring...I mean - jowzer, the kid can't even wipe his own bottom yet!

Okay, getting off point here.  Yes, it is wonderful to have a baby, and yes, the smiles, coohs and laughs can melt your heart - but this is a good thing, because the sleepless nights, fears and frets over breastmilk supply, when to introduce solids, why is he not rolling, sudden fear of strangers, and the constant lack of time for yourself, can also melt your spirit.

So new moms unite.  Admit, it's awesome, but its damn hard work.  We know we'll survive (I mean, folks with way fewer parenting books than I seem to figure it out right?) but it is a constant battle of insecurity, worry, indecisiveness, exhaustion, guilt, self-blame - and that's just before 9am.

Today I salute all the dozens of new moms (both my friends who have been indescribably supportive) and those I don't know who read this blog for lack of anything better to do.  I know you are amazing, strong, resilient.  And yes, I know what you are going through.

There, I said it.

*  (h/t Rachel for posting on FB) 

5am Musings from a hospital bed

They say you find out what real fear, worry and pain is when your child is sick or in trouble (yes Pa, I know, I know....after all I put you through), and I am coming to realixe that first-hand. While we anticipated yesterday's surgery (unlike the last adventure) and even came properly prepared (I am donning my pj's afterall), watching your infant being wheeled into surgery is not something you can ever be quite prepared for.

We are close to going home again, and as I lie here in Room 6A with Luka asleep in my arms, I cannot help but reminisce about some of the realities and milestones of this experience.

I put Luka to bed in a infant incubator in the neo-natal intensive care unit at 6PM, by the time we got back from dinner at 8pm, he had been moved outside the brightly-lit, always-buzzing humdrum of this most sacred spot where special people care for our special babies. Feeding him I looked in on all those tiny babies and realized that Luka will likely never be in the NICU again...heaven forbid he comes to hospital again, he will go to the pediatric ward.

By 2am I changed and fed him in the nursery, and by 5am he is lying withme in bed, fast asleep and peaceful. What an experience you have given us, perhaps enough for a while?