Nine and a half years later

It was where my son spent the first fifty eight days of his life. No, I was not ready for his arrival. No one was. He was twelve weeks early, kicked his way out of his mother and has not slept since.

One of the early pictures.



We took a tour of the facility and birthing area and were supposed to start lamaze classes three days after he was born. Little of it made any sense to me at the time. He was not supposed to be done until Thanksgiving.

The one thing I was sure of, along with his mother, is that he was going to be ok. We had some rough patches in there, seeing him on the c-pap was very traumatic, but we knew we'd all come out of there at some point. And the nursing staff was wonderful, except for one of them. He did have quality care when he stopped breathing at 3AM several times during his stay.

It's not a place I want to stop at red lights, look in all directions, then plow through to get to at 1AM ever again. I do not want to run through the parking garage, be out of breath by the time I tell security what's happening as they send me through. An NICU is not a place I want anyone I know to ever be, unless they're taking their healthy child home.

A quick update on his eating: Last night I crumbled up half a graham cracker in my son's pudding and used the iPad as a reinforcement. For every bite he took, he would get some time with the iPad. He was not happy, tried pushing the bowl away, protesting but he did not turtle or stop eating. He finished the pudding. We did this last week in OT and I was stunned that he ate the pudding. It was the most solid food he's ever eaten. Last night was the first time it happened at home.