Flash Forward - Dinner is Served

I am sitting at the computer.  My older daughter is on the couch.  The twins begin to scream at her.  She yells back.  They cry louder. I am disturbed.  My husband is outside conversing with the neighbors.  I look around.  I see a mess.  I begin picking up toys at a furious rate.  I am trailed by two screaming toddlers.  My older daughter runs to her room.  I hear her bedroom door slam.  I begin to make dinner.  Pots clang.  Pots bang. One toddler reaches up.  One toddler rolls around on the kitchen floor.  A glass crashes.  Fragments splatters.  Time-out ensues.  Wails continue.  Door opens.  She returns.  Then…Hushhhh. One Fish, Two Fish.  Water boils.  Red Fish, Blue Fish.  Aromas waft.  Dinner is served.

Beep, Beep, Beep

After 3 months in the NICU we finally made it home under the stipulation that we bring a little of the NICU with us.  The twins still required oxygen but more notably they required an oxygen monitor. The oxygen monitor is an 8”X 4” box of noise.  It connects to the infant’s foot by way of ONE cord (anyone who has ever seen a preemie in the NICU will understand the significance of having only one cord connected to the child- awesome!) that is secured by an adhesive strap which holds the monitoring device in place.  In the NICU, the continual beeping of many monitors can be alarming but it is also reassures you that your baby is active and that if something is wrong everyone will know.   There are plenty of well trained nurses in the NICU to deal with the consequences that cause the monitor to alarm.  In my home, I am the nurse.  Leaving me with two major problems:

1)      Fear that I will not be able to save my babies if something goes wrong.

2)      Lack of sleep and consequently patience

Given these two problems, that fact that I am about to complain about the beeping of the monitor seems ridiculous, even to me and I lived through it.  But, let me tell you, cohabitation with an oxygen monitor attached to an infant- or two, is a cruel way to end a long stay in the NICU.  But mostly, I am going to complain because out of all the things that could have gone wrong- I got stuck with two stupid oxygen monitors.  

Beeping Rant:

The beep when you put them on, they beep the baby moves-every time the baby moves, they beep when they loosen, they beep when they fall off, they beep when you pick the baby up, the beep when you put the baby down, they beep when you are in the bathroom, they beep when you are sleeping, they beep when you are awake, they beep when you are at the doctor’s office, they beep when you are at the grocery store, they beep when you are visiting family, they beep when you are alone- they beep all the time. 

Promises Made in the Little Things

There is saying that, “if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.”  There is nothing truer, to a woman holding life in her belly, than these words.  Perhaps for some, it is the inconvenient morning sickness that makes you bail out on yet another meeting or the incessant swelling in your feet that turns a walk around the pond into watching the ducks swim around the pond-from a bench.  But for many women, as it was for me, the variation in plan comes in the form of premature birth. 

What is the plan when your baby or babies come too soon?  There isn’t one.  When it happened to my family I wasn’t ready.   But there was nothing I could do about it. There were some previous plans: I had planned to go to work for another month, I had planned wear the black maternity dress I just bought, I had planned to act surprised at the baby shower being planned for me.  But my plans had changed suddenly with the arrival of the twins at 24 weeks gestation.

Unfortunately, I have been down this road before, my older daughter was born at 36 weeks.  But this was different.  Doctors of all sizes and specialties swooped down and manipulated my lifeless babies into existence while I lay stunned, wondering what to do next.  As if I hadn’t had enough of planning, I planned to see my babies and touch them but premature birth changes parenting.  Right when your soul thinks it is time to nurture, the plastic incubator and a gloved nurse remind you that it is not your time.  

As parents you’re fighting from the beginning.  Mostly with yourself, because you want what you can’t have. I wanted my children to be healthy.  I wanted my choices to be between pink and blue not whether to resuscitate or not.  But most of all I wanted everyone to leave so that I could be alone and hold my babies.

 In this moment in time I learned something. 

I learned that parenting teaches in little bursts.  Sometimes they are painful and you think you’re too tired to fight.  But then you know that without ever saying a word, you have made promises to your children that cannot be broken.  Not the promises of play dates and iPods and birthday parties but promises made in the little things:  like kisses that say I will love you and rubs that say it will be OK and looks that remind them that you will  be right there and on the occasion of me standing in the florescent glow of two incubators, I made the promise with my presence that I would not leave them alone. 

Parenthood is about balance.  It is about juggling the unexpected while straddling the planned path and in mid stride remembering to sprinkle a little love into the soul of a growing heart in need.  I could not touch my children with my hands but I could with my love.  And I touched them indeed.