tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79330848683997862732024-02-19T04:34:19.963+00:00Two Shorten the RoadTwo Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.comBlogger199125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-71826579697478738342012-02-21T01:59:00.009+00:002012-02-21T02:47:51.142+00:00One Year LaterIn many ways, I feel like we're in a new chapter of our story, one that is so normal that it's hard to know what to write about. I never wanted to be a "mommy blogger" -- what's incredible or beautiful or hilarious to me is likely those things to me only because Lexie is my daughter. I don't think they'd necessarily be interesting to anyone else. As Lexie gets older, I'm also starting to feel like it's inappropriate for me to post pictures of her on an open forum. When she was my little baby, that was fine, but now she's getting to be her own person. However, after receiving a few messages asking me to check in, I thought an update might be in order.<br /><br />My last post spent a lot of time discussing Lexie's feeding delays. The feeding therapies we've engaged in over the last year have made a huge difference. We did not end up doing any of the intensive weeks-long programs -- instead, we combined occupational therapy (for sensory issues) with feeding-specific therapy, first individual and then in a group with other kids. Lexie is on track to graduate from her last therapy - feeding group - at the end of March. She's still not a huge fan of fruits and veggies, and continues to have weak jaw strength so she can't deal with anything very chewy (like a lot of non-ground meat). But at this point she eats more foods than a lot of three-year-old kids, and we can often get her to try new things - at least a lick. We can take her to restaurants and be at least somewhat sure that she'll behave and eat some of her kids' meal. Her favorite food is macaroni and cheese. I'm still amazed that she has a favorite food - a year ago she wouldn't eat any food at all. No hyperbole - she literally could not bite, chew, and swallow solid food.<br /><br />It's hard to explain the euphoria we feel when Lexie sits down at the table and eats meat lasagna, eats a bowl of Cheerios in milk, or agrees to take a bite of a green bean (we've learned it's ok if she then spits it out onto her plate - the bite itself is a step in the right direction). We were under seige for a long time with her eating challenges, and through the course of this past year, the weight has slowly lifted. It was a long, slow process, but we're almost there. It is a huge relief.<br /><br />In most other ways, Lexie is a normal little 3-year-old girl. She loves books, drawing, painting, singing, dancing, and watching classic movies with her dad. I realize it's probably inappropriate for her to watch, say, Gone With the Wind, but it's good bonding time for them and they both love it. Any movie with a great soundtrack has her rapt attention. She doesn't really understand what's going on. When they watched Lawrence of Arabia, she kept asking about all the ghosties (her interpretation of the men in their white dishdashas). I make Steve fast forward when there are fight scenes and such.<br /><br />There is one last area in which Lexie is lagging her peers - potty training. Preemies are known for being behind the curve here, but I'm starting to worry a bit about it. She's the only one in her class who has never peed on the potty at school (or at home for that matter). If she doesn't get trained by May, she'll be held back in her class at school. I wouldn't worry about this, but Lexie LOVES her teacher, and she's a smart, observant little girl, and I do NOT want her putting it all together that as long as she refuses to pee on the potty, she gets to stay with Miss Roxana. If that happens, Lexie will be in diapers until she's 5. She does show all the regular signs of being ready to go on the potty - she just refuses to actually sit there. We need to get over the hump. So I'm planning a little 3-day stay-home potty training boot camp in April for her and me. Wish us luck!<br /><br />As for me, I feel like my little family finally has hit its groove. The daily panic and near-despair from the eating problems have faded away, and my work absences are down to a minimum as the various therapies wrap up. I'm starting to think about unsubscribing to the preemie mailing lists and message boards, because the discussions there now seems so foreign to me. I think my family is ready for a new adventure. No, not another baby - I have not forgotten 9 weeks of hospital bedrest and 6 weeks of the NICU. But a move south - way south - may be in our future.<br /><br />If it is, I think we'll have a new story to tell.<br /><br />For now, I leave you with this - Lexie at Christmastime on the steps of an old farmhouse... eating Nutter Butters.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDoCektKJIGI3sddDY8x-hItWjqh4X0zolk1E6K1cg0ogpZTBbHYLT8AlHlb_JQpsI2rxxcPdnBwr3Mj8pBQ6Ow3miwspWH9cOVuVyDJS7mkeeovb0RaPP5oPDKJKGnfv5NmSGAJDew6Z/s1600/lexie+xmas.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711414483016429586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDoCektKJIGI3sddDY8x-hItWjqh4X0zolk1E6K1cg0ogpZTBbHYLT8AlHlb_JQpsI2rxxcPdnBwr3Mj8pBQ6Ow3miwspWH9cOVuVyDJS7mkeeovb0RaPP5oPDKJKGnfv5NmSGAJDew6Z/s400/lexie+xmas.jpg" /></a>Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-47386204997774152262011-02-24T01:02:00.007+00:002011-02-28T08:32:36.510+00:00In Case You Were Wondering<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIoxHDWef4J6c_vCwpnXYGJ_kyQTXrrwgs20Sz29QEYAQtihHy5mVEzR2PeVU8CYZLYqj453IZPWJhvKciEmCyf2e3BnfsnnTQQLR8l7CY5EqCmoeV_H4moukVYb_FwyREZY8eDT-GRKF/s1600/hi.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIoxHDWef4J6c_vCwpnXYGJ_kyQTXrrwgs20Sz29QEYAQtihHy5mVEzR2PeVU8CYZLYqj453IZPWJhvKciEmCyf2e3BnfsnnTQQLR8l7CY5EqCmoeV_H4moukVYb_FwyREZY8eDT-GRKF/s200/hi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577019640452592034" /></a><br />Hello to the handful of people who may have been wondering how little Lexie is doing.<br /><br />Lexie turned 2 on January 14, and got her first haircut last month. She started daycare in September – we call it “school” – and she loves her little friends there. She is talking up a storm, bossing us around and working hard to make her wants/needs known. She talks in sentences at times and even sings songs. She likes to make up words to common tunes. Example: “Monkey, monkey, monkey, monkey, monkey, monkey, monkey, monkey,” sung to the tune of “Twinkle Twinkle.” In a similar vein, Curious George is a favorite. She also enjoys Sesame Street’s Bert and Ernie, aka “Ernie-Bert!” Below, Lexie sings “Twinkle Twinkle.”<br /><br /><object style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 146px"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SR3q_8wxKvA?version=3"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SR3q_8wxKvA?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="240" height="146"></embed></object><br /><br />She is on target or ahead of the game for almost everything.<br /><br />Almost.<br /><br />The one place she’s far, far behind is in her eating skills. She eats at the level of about a 10 or 11 month old baby. She still gets her nutrition from stage 2 toddler formula in a bottle, purees and baby yogurt. She has trouble using a sippy for any length of time (she seems to get tired), and she gags on any textures beyond purees. After about 6 months of speech therapy (for eating, not for speech) that went nowhere, I called the Kennedy Krieger Institute in Baltimore, which houses one of the top feeding disorder clinics in the country. Two months later, in early January, we drove up there for a consult.<br /><br />It was eye-opening. This is the first time we've encountered a full team of specialists who knew exactly what they were seeing. They totally listened to me and I felt like part of a functioning team. They asked very pointed questions and eventually came to a cohesive diagnosis.<br /><br />Lexie has hypotonia (also known as low tone – a neurological condition that impedes the coordination of muscles) in her cheeks and secondary sensory issues, which have caused her to fail to learn the regular developmental eating skills that normal kids learn. Fundamentally, her hypotonia has prevented her from learning how to chew and how to manage food in her mouth. In the short term we have a follow-up with an oral-motor specialist and a behavioral therapist at KKI, and they advised us to get Lexie a great OT in our area ASAP.<br /><br />For the long term, KKI recommended Lexie for their intensive 8-week program (which has a 6-month waiting list). It would require that I take a leave of absence from my job and we would have to live in Baltimore (possibly at the hospital itself, depending on some insurance issues) for that time. As you may recall, dear readers, I spent 8.5 weeks in the hospital prior to Lexie’s birth. I have no desire to do this again unless absolutely necessary. It may well be necessary, but we’re going to work hard in the meantime to make progress at home.<br /><br />Lexie has an occupational therapist now with extensive feeding experience; the therapist is working on her oral motor skills and is working to desensitize her mouth. She has been very motivated to eat by her daycare classmates. They cheer for her when she bites into a cracker or takes a sip of soup or something new. They all love cookies, so she’s started asking for them, even though she can’t chew and swallow them. She has made a lot of progress, but it’s very, very slow. She is on the waiting list for feeding group therapy – a weekly session with 11 other toddlers who have similar problems eating. And I’m looking into one more therapist, an oral motor specialist, just for good measure.<br /><br />I’m also looking into a consult at the Kluge feeding clinic in Charlottesville – their intensive feeding program is only 2 weeks or so, which seems worth a shot before going to an 8-week program.<br /><br />Lexie’s feeding issues also mean we can’t take her out to a restaurant. There’s nothing there she can eat, and she’s pretty likely to have a tantrum when food is around. We are looking forward to the day when we can sit her in a booster next to us and let her nosh on chicken fingers and French fries. We’ll work on the veggies later.<br /><br />One thing I’d like to note: we waited probably longer than we should have to move beyond the speech therapist. She was our second speech therapist and was better than the first (who we let go after 3 aimless sessions), and did help Lexie get comfortable putting things in her mouth. But from there, the speech therapist couldn’t get any traction. She tried several things and none worked, and Lexie started freaking out as soon as she’d see the therapist. It got to the point where, for about 3 months, the therapy sessions consisted of her sitting and watching us try to feed Lexie while Lexie screamed in her high chair.<br /><br />Everyone kept telling us that feeding problems take a long time to solve, and I obviously can agree with that, but I wish we had gone to KKI sooner to identify the underlying problem. Now that it’s clear, we can target Lexie’s treatment to learning how to chew, improving her behavior, and desensitizing her to textures.<br /><br />At Lexie's two year well-child visit, her pediatrician expressed amazement that a 30-week preemie could be doing so well developmentally, and she thought the feeding problems were not so bad, considering some of the issues she could have had to deal with. We agree, and when it does get hard to miss work for therapy appointments or when Lexie has a really bad day for eating, we try to remember how lucky we are that this is the only issue she has.<br /><br />We are very lucky.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVdQHuqveuVoswh3hlge81ZkVG37-iViqAT_D6I4FC6Awu9btuajLD2RtXXsNitGCrm6Z_ErTB1IvYC7DpQiHEIcC4cpxvUvvyfX-rW8oZb0Q-bPz3rhL3PEwZ0kBSTJTMLanD-PDrIiH/s1600/Lexie+running.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577018274907831538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVdQHuqveuVoswh3hlge81ZkVG37-iViqAT_D6I4FC6Awu9btuajLD2RtXXsNitGCrm6Z_ErTB1IvYC7DpQiHEIcC4cpxvUvvyfX-rW8oZb0Q-bPz3rhL3PEwZ0kBSTJTMLanD-PDrIiH/s400/Lexie+running.jpg" /></a>Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-65499519176233142162010-06-29T02:12:00.011+01:002010-06-29T02:32:30.230+01:00Beach BunnyA couple of weeks ago, Lexie saw the ocean for the first time.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gGYMnZwWnU0&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gGYMnZwWnU0&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />She crawled in the sand.<br /><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheBd9zielCnPAtg-cl67ofGM45TngFKt52LChUy7CTQDZdLm49RdyuYN852X4-flA9Vlt5EL2dUctg5bXeUpGsXN1uP3m-1BQeaCmMDREuSYczs9EhqCj8ObN-dYyKSpJESc7xlrhY52JZ/s1600/DSC01896.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488000931374794354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheBd9zielCnPAtg-cl67ofGM45TngFKt52LChUy7CTQDZdLm49RdyuYN852X4-flA9Vlt5EL2dUctg5bXeUpGsXN1uP3m-1BQeaCmMDREuSYczs9EhqCj8ObN-dYyKSpJESc7xlrhY52JZ/s400/DSC01896.JPG" /></a></p><br />And she went with daddy to the Beaufort Maritime Museum.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFErJxYtMYveMTqWSPmlQ-NAN7-fbM-JCVyW56IxujzGOZXm5A1ylWFzH8N7AiCwN_ijZPpDdPHOTZT5gohKuN8w7mXuteuDBVhEPb_-HdA8v9gSfOiXo-p_8wTskabbDKPgaWLrypF60/s1600/DSC01918.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488000603698113410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFErJxYtMYveMTqWSPmlQ-NAN7-fbM-JCVyW56IxujzGOZXm5A1ylWFzH8N7AiCwN_ijZPpDdPHOTZT5gohKuN8w7mXuteuDBVhEPb_-HdA8v9gSfOiXo-p_8wTskabbDKPgaWLrypF60/s400/DSC01918.JPG" /></a><br />More to come soon.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-44683708064794408472010-05-09T03:29:00.002+01:002010-05-09T03:29:00.552+01:00Feeding DelayLexie is almost 16 months old. She has never eaten a Cheerio, puff, or cracker. She won't eat pasta or rice. If anything other than milk or pureed food enters her mouth, she cries hysterically and/or throws up. Sometimes she does that even with purees.<br /><br />These are common problems for babies who were tube fed, as well as babies who have or have had reflux. We decided to get some professional help, in the form of an assessment from the state's Early Intervention program.<br /><br />A team of two therapists and a social worker evaluated Lexie during a two-hour appointment. They documented her strengths (she's advanced in communication skills) and they noted their concerns. The first sentence read:<br /><blockquote>Alexandra has a diagnosis of prematurity, which may affect her development for many years.<br /></blockquote>I felt both validated and saddened by that sentence. I felt validated because, when I tell people about Lexie's challenges, they often like to say something to the effect of, "yeah, but full-term babies have those problems too." I don't understand the urge to minimize the effects of prematurity. Yes, full-term babies have problems too, but how is that relevant to little Lexie? Maybe it's a misguided attempt to make me feel better about the situation.<br /><br />At the same time, it was hard to read that statement. I knew it was true, but seeing it in black and white made it seem very official. I'm still hoping that this is the extent of her issues (*hope hope hope*) and that she won't have any learning challenges when she gets to school. I don't like to think about that possibility, but I know we must be vigilant. Whatever happens, we'll get her the help she needs.<br /><br />The therapists estimated that Lexie is at a 7-month level in the area of "self-help skills: feeding," which qualified her for speech therapy. (It's not for speech -- speech therapists actually work with all manner of oral disorders in babies, including feeding issues.) They also diagnosed low muscle tone, but she is doing the right things on her own to build up her strength, so no therapy will be required for those particular issues.<br /><br />The assessment was a month ago, and we are still on the waiting list for a therapist. Wish us luck -- I'm really looking forward to seeing Lexie eat a cracker on her own some day.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-12356684041862126432010-05-05T03:21:00.002+01:002010-05-05T03:21:00.381+01:00Messages From BeyondThere's a song in my mom's family that seems to play during times of loss or other momentous occasions.<br /><br />It's called "When Will I See You Again" by The Three Degrees. It came out in 1974, and it isn't a song you hear often. And yet, in my family, it always seems to materialize on the radio as the soundtrack to major events. A message from above, if you will.<br /><br />My mom first noticed it right after her mom died in 1978. At the time, the song was fairly current. Nothing unusual there. It was just a song that reminded her of her mom.<br /><br />Eight years later, we were driving home from my grandfather's funeral (my mom's dad), and I suddenly noticed my mom was sobbing. And then I noticed the song playing on the radio.<br /><blockquote>When will I see you again?<br />When will we share precious moments?<br />Will I have to wait forever?<br />Will I have to suffer and cry the whole night through?<br /></blockquote>Through the years we noticed it playing at important moments: the day of my uncle's death ... on my grandma's birthday ... the first time in 15 years that my mom and her sisters had all been together, right as my mom was leaving ... there are more, but you get the idea.<br /><br />My rational self knows this is probably a case of finding a pattern because we're looking for it. But the timing is always so unlikely. And I, for one, rarely listen to channels that play that kind of music.<br /><br />On the day Steve left for Mississippi, his dad was on life support in the ICU but we didn't know what had happened, and we didn't know the prognosis.<br /><br />When I turned on my car radio as I left work the next day, "When Will I See You Again" piped through my speakers. My heart sank.<br /><br />I knew Steve's dad was gone.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-37104555883496670172010-05-03T02:39:00.008+01:002010-05-06T01:58:29.527+01:00Life Gets in the WayI missed an entire month.<br /><br />I have a good excuse. For the first half of the month, Steve was in intensive training that kept him working very long hours, so blogging time for me was nonexistent.<br /><br />And then, Steve's dad died.<br /><br />Steve's dad had been descending further and further into dementia over the past few years; he had early-onset Alzheimer's disease. He had trouble speaking properly and was very confused the vast majority of the time. He'd also been wandering, and had started walking around on the highway and refusing to come home. The situation had become unsafe. Steve's mom had checked Steve's dad into the hospital in the hopes of medicating him to calm him down to the point that he could go into a nursing home.<br /><br />He'd always said he didn't want to go into a nursing home. Most people who knew him actually thought he'd like it there once he got used to it, because he was very extroverted. In a nursing home with a good dementia program, he'd have people to talk to all day long -- fellow patients who wouldn't remember that he'd already told them something or who wouldn't notice if he wasn't making any sense. But he seemed to have an idea in his head about what it would be like, and it brought him to a panic whenever he thought of it. So Steve's mom kept him at home, and every day he wandered.<br /><br />For a couple of years, he had been walking miles and miles daily through the dirt roads outside his small Mississippi town. We had worried about him constantly. At his viewing the night before the funeral, several distant neighbors showed up unexpectedly. They said Steve's dad had been visiting them regularly on his long walks. One family said he used to come and sit on their porch. The first time, they called the police. But he came back again, and the neighbors realized he was just looking for company. They said they often sat with him and talked. Turns out, a lot of people were watching out for him.<br /><br />His demise was lengthy, but even still, we had expected it to take years longer. He was only 65 and was in very good physical shape, no doubt thanks in part to all the walking. The end, when it came in the form of a pulmonary embolism, was sudden and unexpected. I don't think it's callous to say that many family members were relieved at how he died. He never forgot his family. He never became incapacitated. He was able to meet little Lexie and he knew he was her grandfather (referring to himself as "paw paw").<br /><br />Lexie stayed in Virginia with my parents while I made a whirlwind three-day trip to Mississippi. Steve comes home tomorrow after what seems like a long time away.<br /><br />RIP, paw paw.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-10662451104908244702010-03-31T02:56:00.005+01:002010-03-31T15:30:33.132+01:00Spring, FinallyIn an attempt to try a new route from a client meeting to my office, I inadvertently ended up in downtown DC. As locals know, the traffic during the annual Cherry Blossom Festival is no picnic, and this little detour cost me an extra 35 minutes. Sitting in the traffic, I noticed small white flakes flying past my car window. My brain automatically associated them with snow -- we had so much this year, at times it almost seemed spring would never come. But of course, they weren't snowflakes.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnERumR9Zsu1AFZuNSpao1xWFibdPifhWRPH9vf6aXajCyFeGIHlsl6LA2zWBG319NQU51HfYgiWUXm0HA2mCcg7Q8WGlZK1PyL4hZ-WqxVAsoMjNTO21-keJTWEV3GjHz-HvHRHRhl88P/s1600/IMG00024.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnERumR9Zsu1AFZuNSpao1xWFibdPifhWRPH9vf6aXajCyFeGIHlsl6LA2zWBG319NQU51HfYgiWUXm0HA2mCcg7Q8WGlZK1PyL4hZ-WqxVAsoMjNTO21-keJTWEV3GjHz-HvHRHRhl88P/s400/IMG00024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454611836703043794" border="0" /></a>They were cherry blossoms.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-56978422165689779372010-03-20T02:17:00.007+00:002010-03-20T03:35:46.557+00:00More Gratuitous Lexie PhotosIf Lexie had been born on her due date, today would have been her first birthday. This makes her one year old, adjusted, and her progress is measured against that of a true one-year-old child. She's on target in most areas, but eating is still a big problem. She is stuck on purees and oatmeal. She won't put food in her mouth and throws up or cries like crazy every time we try to put something solid like a cheer.io in her mouth. She also won't use a sippy cup. We had her evaluated last week, and she has been approved for early intervention services from the state. I'm relieved that we'll be getting her the help she needs, but I do wish she didn't need it.<br /><br />In the meantime, she has learned to root for the New Orleans Saints.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUqDaE8fZ-YzkoneGBn6aawh3AGYF5XhtfblhXUiFS1H9h_4Mob-SzX1-aW0QWzRHxAtoKGglTZJm02ONW9w03Ul_0V_BHFKzgfWCAJ7XNl6XXCFO99U4zqKtQYGlvqQh_u8HYUW20OmU/s1600-h/DSC01683.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUqDaE8fZ-YzkoneGBn6aawh3AGYF5XhtfblhXUiFS1H9h_4Mob-SzX1-aW0QWzRHxAtoKGglTZJm02ONW9w03Ul_0V_BHFKzgfWCAJ7XNl6XXCFO99U4zqKtQYGlvqQh_u8HYUW20OmU/s400/DSC01683.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450535472628088370" border="0" /></a>And she has learned to root for the Syracuse Orange.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKPHW1ElLV5vKEd76Ph9oFcJcdnQyYErzSlq6MtFqLPdSnJjp2_I8jZJfn8_J-yBpFA0G45waZNUx9wcZkEPjFBJwEhXBzs_dyfgszAWBAoL08RUzoVWqJL33YS7YxXwN3L42YeXkBr36/s1600-h/DSC01653.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKPHW1ElLV5vKEd76Ph9oFcJcdnQyYErzSlq6MtFqLPdSnJjp2_I8jZJfn8_J-yBpFA0G45waZNUx9wcZkEPjFBJwEhXBzs_dyfgszAWBAoL08RUzoVWqJL33YS7YxXwN3L42YeXkBr36/s400/DSC01653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450535797945580146" border="0" /></a>She's also been playing her great grandma's piano.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_j3cT5KuQMscutjBfoxQgEHuTxQxtHI7U2wuHAJPnOW9UFv6eirQLF7HkJV_Xe5UH1Jq8bgYWISRM-mjNu5LFMpnSGJDyZM90jO4X8Pt7WRcNeJmqOHU8HptubfWNLxQY9rVxU6VDyhM/s1600-h/DSC01708.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_j3cT5KuQMscutjBfoxQgEHuTxQxtHI7U2wuHAJPnOW9UFv6eirQLF7HkJV_Xe5UH1Jq8bgYWISRM-mjNu5LFMpnSGJDyZM90jO4X8Pt7WRcNeJmqOHU8HptubfWNLxQY9rVxU6VDyhM/s400/DSC01708.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450536012547562002" border="0" /></a>I think she's doing pretty well, all things considered.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-21888683078959669032010-02-28T03:55:00.004+00:002010-03-05T18:14:32.920+00:00Another AnniversaryA year ago we brought Lexie home from the NICU. She spent 6 weeks there healing and growing. When she was there, we stayed informed of her status and the minor procedures she underwent, but I didn't get too deep into the details. I just mentally couldn't go there. That's why I don't know for sure about what happened to her in the hours after her birth, and I didn't know for sure what the possibilities were for complications in the weeks after her birth, and I didn't know specific details about how procedures like feeding tube insertions were performed.<br /><br />A couple of months ago the (in)famous Duggars welcomed a preemie into their gigantic family. I never thought I'd watch that show, but since the arrival of 19th child Josie at 25 weeks gestation, I've been tuning in. I'm not so interested in the family's activities, but I've been watching the NICU footage carefully. I've now seen a feeding tube insertion on TV, and I know how far down it goes (far -- to the small intestine). I've seen this little TV preemie encounter complications that we avoided, but now I understand how they occur, and I realize how lucky we were that nothing serious befell Lexie during her time in the hospital. I now understand that when the nurses said "we're giving her .4 ml an hour of milk, and we'll see how she does," they were watching for a bowel perforation or necrotizing enterocolitis, in which the intestine begins to die. We didn't dig any deeper and just happily accepted it each day when Lexie did well and her feeds were increased.<br /><br />I'm glad I didn't know that much about it at the time.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-27382553332431128342010-02-12T02:28:00.009+00:002010-02-12T17:05:37.316+00:00My Funny ValentineI don't talk too much about Steve in this space, but in honor of the upcoming cliche'd holiday I thought I'd talk about one of his best qualities, the one that drew me to him and keeps us close even while we seem to spend all our time working and taking care of Lexie. He has lots of great qualities -- he's intelligent, curious, and a great dad, to name just a few. But the quality I want to talk about here is his understated sense of humor.<br /><br />When we first met, Steve was the ultimate gentleman, and he kept his sense of humor under wraps. It was around our third date that he really made me laugh for the first time, telling a story about how he'd gotten to hold a friendly three-toed sloth in South America, ending with the opinion that it would be the best pet ever. When I asked why, he said, "because it hardly ever goes to the bathroom."<br /><br />He also re-enacted a later encounter with an UNfriendly wild sloth, which he and his officer friends were trying to poke at while they smoked cigarettes near a pier off the Panama Canal. That sloth tried to claw at their faces. But being a sloth, the attack went in super-slow motion -- snarling face, nasty-looking outreached claw and all.<br /><br />Steve has a talent for defusing my irritation. A couple of summers ago, he took to leaving his flip flops in the middle of the living room. I finally complained that they were making me trip. He looked at me solemnly: "Me too." I laughed. He started putting them under the couch instead.<br /><br />When I came home from the hospital last year, the house was pretty dirty. After a couple of weeks (during which I was recovering from an emergency C-section), I pointed out that there were dust bunnies the size of tennis balls under the dresser.<br /><br />"You think that's bad?" he asked. "You should see under the bed."<br /><br />Happy V-day, Steve. I couldn't imagine it with anyone else.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXCsSE_3buj65_zw5c1MOyFDmz1m46YCDZ3r7KNMVDK53E1eluAdNxiNAd_0EYxOh693fnXcrxHnrGl1MaHjr-OROjBEYtwjMJtj82mQYBG6Lv5HunxiFwz7ayTO4mSnJEEo4KBAZM07PD/s1600-h/meganandsteve.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXCsSE_3buj65_zw5c1MOyFDmz1m46YCDZ3r7KNMVDK53E1eluAdNxiNAd_0EYxOh693fnXcrxHnrGl1MaHjr-OROjBEYtwjMJtj82mQYBG6Lv5HunxiFwz7ayTO4mSnJEEo4KBAZM07PD/s320/meganandsteve.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437186031649710146" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwTNdppeyYjZ0uPMakSPv-sJ0chxqf55c8gefZiTy9J36k1dzbrq1QcdHMhk35SRU8sniO6ON4PwAjDPrrjoiAv0D9U-QkQe6mtS_mtnhuBnKcewKGdaSmY1-zGcb5fUBoJ_wjNM6yfpA/s1600-h/steve.jpeg"><br /></a>Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-18161831505571044602010-01-23T03:11:00.010+00:002010-02-12T01:58:15.407+00:00One Year Old, a Preemie BirthdayLast week, we celebrated Lexie's first birthday. She didn't really pick up on it, of course, but it was another milestone we weren't sure we'd ever achieve when I went into preterm labor at 22 weeks.<br /><br />We kept it all low key. I didn't want to make a big deal out of the day, because it's not the same for preemie parents. I don't think back to the day of her birth as a day of joy and expectation. I didn't have the Hallmark "honey, it's time" moment where the very-pregnant mom-to-be picks up her already-packed overnight bag and waddles out to the car for a quick ride to the hospital and a normal birth experience. I don't have memories of smiles in the delivery room and I didn't have my baby placed on my chest right after she was born. I didn't bring my baby home a few days later to a perfectly finished nursery.<br /><br />Instead, I waited in terror to hear whether my baby cried, waited prostrate and desperate for a report from the doctor on how she looked, knowing she wasn't ready to make it on her own after only 30 weeks inside me. I was so relieved when I heard Lexie cry after she was pried out of me (she was stuck behind my pelvic bone due to my unicornuate uterus). She was blue -- a giant bruise from the unusually violent c-section delivery covered three-quarters of her head and half her torso, which is why I won't be posting those pictures here. A few moments after she was born, I heard a nurse say "CLEAR!" and I panicked as I lay there paralyzed by spinal anesthesia. The first thing I thought of was the heart paddles. But everything was fine; it turned out that they were referring to her mouth and nose being clear of fluid.<br /><br />She did require extensive medical intervention. Her Apgars were lousy -- she started at 4 and moved up to 6. I'd had two steroid shots to boost her lung function at 23.5 weeks, but the effect had worn off by 30 weeks. I got another shot that morning, but it wouldn't have taken full effect that quickly. I believe she had surfactant pumped directly into her lungs once she was put on oxygen. I wasn't allowed to hold her for days. She was so tiny and jaundiced and limp lying there in her isolette. She cried like crazy under the jaundice lights for more than a week. All in all, it's not an experience that lends itself to celebration.<br /><br />Below, tiny Lexie a year ago today, at age one week.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbCBJnQg9FBWTkJz7Ji-jMlt1tM6LJf5bvqgWm0KTAZbFAHj4WkuuxxUC6SiXpVqcN0CVujeZKWslnTY_Dd0hvBFnJ2vrand_JOTtNJyBavRndjW_sXpKyRUfrPd7VUcBzi4-tXZoh06y/s1600-h/P1030791.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbCBJnQg9FBWTkJz7Ji-jMlt1tM6LJf5bvqgWm0KTAZbFAHj4WkuuxxUC6SiXpVqcN0CVujeZKWslnTY_Dd0hvBFnJ2vrand_JOTtNJyBavRndjW_sXpKyRUfrPd7VUcBzi4-tXZoh06y/s400/P1030791.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429773609946303138" border="0" /></a><br />For her birthday last week, my mom brought Lexie a balloon and we put a cupcake in front of her. She isn't able to eat anything solid -- anything with chunks makes her throw up -- but she messed around with the cupcake. She played with a couple of new toys, and we called it a day.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvqclRwwl2JIBS4v9VeRGlTsbly6UOYoNAqbxGTiBr0tMGgcl0uidT0RIlufgNdXrjgI4NIRJZnG3aSOE_t-PUh2m-jSlMvxugTmesRo86BtgvyLRqhSozaNWvVwldQrsuZa841KZSlR5/s1600-h/DSC01638.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvqclRwwl2JIBS4v9VeRGlTsbly6UOYoNAqbxGTiBr0tMGgcl0uidT0RIlufgNdXrjgI4NIRJZnG3aSOE_t-PUh2m-jSlMvxugTmesRo86BtgvyLRqhSozaNWvVwldQrsuZa841KZSlR5/s400/DSC01638.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429772956773935522" border="0" /></a><br />I'm so thankful to have her here and I'm thankful she is doing well. Next year maybe we'll throw a big party. But for now that's not something I can handle. Not just yet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqLKqz2_d1iNsWLRNXICefojWlSZxO0RymIqYrR1ajiyFR6kkUd2DumfRCdxZ_d-q0tp3j25SCDmfvnLQPgHfL8Fd-X2kFBDfN-XpG_Yqe6yOA6eYPU_Ni2WIGzibVN8LwqQdMtmFgffv/s1600-h/DSC01630.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqLKqz2_d1iNsWLRNXICefojWlSZxO0RymIqYrR1ajiyFR6kkUd2DumfRCdxZ_d-q0tp3j25SCDmfvnLQPgHfL8Fd-X2kFBDfN-XpG_Yqe6yOA6eYPU_Ni2WIGzibVN8LwqQdMtmFgffv/s400/DSC01630.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429775010915031186" border="0" /></a>Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-44800364277809120432010-01-11T21:05:00.006+00:002010-01-11T21:49:07.103+00:00Why I'm Not Voting TomorrowA few weeks back, I noticed we'd been getting a lot of phone calls -- maybe 5 at that point -- from the Dave Marsden for Senate (VA) campaign. (There's a special election to fill the seat vacated by the guy who won the Attorney General spot.) Some calls featured actual people, some were recorded messages, and some were fake polls that ended with a veiled question that essentially meant "Don't you think it would be a great idea to vote for Dave Marsden?" It was starting to get annoying, so the next call we got, I told the woman that if I got one more call from the Marsden campaign or even ABOUT the Marsden campaign, I was not going to vote that day.<br /><br />This is a big deal for me. My grandfather was a state representative in Massachusetts. I take my civic duty very seriously, and vote in every primary. I sometimes even get a little misty on my way out of the polls, thinking about how great democracy is. And what do I get in reward for this? Apparently I get my name on the list of "likely Democratic voters," and I get harassed. (I don't *always* vote Dem, but I skew in that direction.)<br /><br />It was only a few more days before we got another call. Steve answered this one and told the woman about my threat. And I yelled from the background that now I'm not voting. The woman then tried to find out from Steve if I was not voting at all, or voting for the other guy. (Does it matter that much?) Steve said he didn't know and got off the phone.<br /><br />Over the next couple of days, we got at least three more calls (we're up to 10 at this point in the story -- AT LEAST). Each call hardened my resolve to sit out the election. One call woke Lexie up. Steve's profane response to that person should probably not be repeated here. Then Lexie's nanny told us she had to keep the phone next to her all day because of the political calls for me -- when a call came during one of Lexie's naps, the nanny needed to answer the phone as soon as it rang so Lexie wouldn't wake up.<br /><br />I felt as if I was under siege. I started to consider changing our home phone to an unlisted number. We have it only for emergencies; we mostly use our cell phones. A couple of Steve's family members use the number, but we could easily fill them in about a new one. It occurred to me that it's ridiculous to be considering changing my phone number because of political calls. Has it really come to this?<br /><br />Then, yesterday, I had an opportunity to go straight to the horse's mouth. Dave Marsden himself came knocking on my door asking me to vote for him on Tuesday. I couldn't believe my luck.<br /><br />I informed him that I was not voting this time, because we received SO MANY calls that I felt harassed. I told him it was during dinner, during my family time, and he had alienated me. I mentioned that I always vote, but that I'd be sitting this one out. He looked taken aback and then started a spiel about it being an important election for control of the Virginia State Senate, threatened all sorts of scary right-wing things, and blah blah blah. I just looked at him, thanked him for stopping by, and said, "maybe next time your people won't call me QUITE so much."<br /><br />After he left, I felt kind of righteous, but I also started thinking that maybe an in-person visit from the candidate trumps excessive telephone harassment. Maybe I would vote for him after all, because the other guy is a far-right-winger who used his one prior elected office (school board) to make a public speech in favor of abstinence-only education that featured a personal story about the trauma he endured in losing his virginity before he got married. Seriously. Maybe I could vote for Marsden after all.<br /><br />And then. Then the phone rang. It couldn't be.<br /><br />It was.<br /><br />Just a friendly recorded call from Mark Warner supporting Marsden for Senate.<br /><br />FAIL.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-29702076890539631562010-01-07T01:00:00.003+00:002010-01-29T16:50:38.796+00:00Guardian AngelI want to tell you about Lexie's Guardian Angel. It's a cliche, I know. But hear me out.<br /><br />October 21, 2007, would have been the due date for pregnancy #1, our first loss. That pregnancy only lasted a couple of weeks, but we didn't know to be scared/wary/worried. We knew only that you shouldn't tell people about a pregnancy until 12 weeks or so, once you were past the risk period. (Now, the thought of this almost makes me laugh.) Nobody knew about it except for me and Steve and a couple of close friends. I spontaneously miscarried, and the doctor termed it a chemical pregnancy. When my brother called us a week after my miscarriage to announce that his wife was pregnant, he didn't know about our loss. To this day, he doesn't know. I didn't know what to say. We hadn't announced the pregnancy, and somehow it didn't seem appropriate to say, "Hey, congratulations! We were expecting too, but then I started bleeding like crazy! Our baby would have been born two weeks before yours! Isn't that a funny coincidence? Ha ha!"<br /><br />January 5th, 2008, would have been the due date for pregnancy #2, our second loss. With this one, we saw a heartbeat at 7 weeks, and the doctor smiled and said "it looks viable." But the egg had implanted way too low, and although that doesn't *always* mean things will go badly, it did for us. At the next appointment <a href="http://nutmeg96.blogspot.com/2007/05/its-all-over-but-bleeding.html">there was no heartbeat</a>. I waited to miscarry on my own, but nothing happened. A classic "missed abortion." I had a D&C a couple of long weeks later.<br /><br />I still think about the babies that weren't, especially around their due dates. My doctor said we'd just had bad luck. At the time, we didn't know about my uterine anomaly. I believed that our first miscarriage was probably just a bad egg, but the circumstances surrounding our second miscarriage were not normal, and we wanted answers. We fired that doctor and went to a specialist. After a barrage of testing, the specialist <a href="http://nutmeg96.blogspot.com/2007/11/stupid-unicorns.html">diagnosed a unicornuate uterus</a>. He noted that most women with this condition have normal pregnancies, but a higher percentage than normal experience preterm labor.<br /><br />I did my own research and became highly educated on the subject. It seemed to me that implantation in a good spot was key to making it through the first trimester; there is some evidence that the shape of a unicornuate uterus creates far fewer healthy places for implantation in the uterine wall. We'd have no control over where an egg implanted. I didn't know how many more pregnancies it would take, but we would keep trying. More importantly, though, we now knew to be hypervigilant for complications when we finally made it past the first trimester. That's where the new information would make a difference.<br /><br />If we hadn't had the second miscarriage and started investigating, my pregnancy with Lexie could have had a terrible ending. I wouldn't have already signed on with a perinatology (high-risk pregnancy) practice for all my OB care. We wouldn't have known to call immediately when I started having <a href="http://nutmeg96.blogspot.com/2008/11/ready-set-triage.html">symptoms of preterm labor</a>. A regular OB probably would have told me to lie down and take it easy for the weekend. Instead, my perinatologist had me report immediately to the hospital, where I stayed for 9 weeks. I was 22 weeks pregnant at the time. Without prior knowledge of my condition, we would likely have lost Lexie in devastating fashion.<br /><br />We couldn't save the baby who would have been due in January 2008, the baby who had no chance because of my unicornuate uterus.<br /><br />But by helping to lead us to the answers we needed, that baby saved Lexie.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-3674320934108817932009-12-22T02:48:00.000+00:002009-12-22T02:48:00.094+00:00Snow BabyEarlier this week we got some serious snow. It was notable even by the standards of my former home in Upstate New York. For my current home in Virginia, it was just short of apocalyptic.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdADduBdZTowMc7wsjNFzLqgN4OAqGThm4Qsy-8WTRW5rxXjb0qRqcX41VHUf2sMgNLu8gKjeIVOquUc6TXK0Ep5VYzEoGZ84FCXhowHp18qgYUMdKQFXzoEkLLzgn66HQ5yiPSa9FuwWV/s1600-h/DSC01587.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdADduBdZTowMc7wsjNFzLqgN4OAqGThm4Qsy-8WTRW5rxXjb0qRqcX41VHUf2sMgNLu8gKjeIVOquUc6TXK0Ep5VYzEoGZ84FCXhowHp18qgYUMdKQFXzoEkLLzgn66HQ5yiPSa9FuwWV/s400/DSC01587.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417516735622008274" border="0" /></a>We had about 20 inches when all was said and done.<br /><br />We took Lexie out in the snow so she could really experience her first blizzard. At first, she liked it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NdiEixNiNWfEPUDQFQkYEDizc8dfpkT4Y9f54-mNEfwa2ekWQrSjVUPfDs4LDV2pRSeoo4NelfHpcI54ZkeWwaynoh8qvEFCVQKyHIcO5FJjOlHcMIOapt1xVO9HvCQnOozWLt-Nl64w/s1600-h/DSC01582.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NdiEixNiNWfEPUDQFQkYEDizc8dfpkT4Y9f54-mNEfwa2ekWQrSjVUPfDs4LDV2pRSeoo4NelfHpcI54ZkeWwaynoh8qvEFCVQKyHIcO5FJjOlHcMIOapt1xVO9HvCQnOozWLt-Nl64w/s400/DSC01582.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417517195340573522" border="0" /></a><br />Then, not so much.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt62ruPioYiYULShiWnY2IquCCKenDTC2T3QRRWI4X9mp-MFWcQlynqgmBHbhKlc_gqMTkaFTA3bF2Xpo96Ns8hI88_dZyPYbCNdM1oVlrMT68BrNNfOpwvdKolQEwLbMKHt6ZAeXBPD2H/s1600-h/DSC01584.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt62ruPioYiYULShiWnY2IquCCKenDTC2T3QRRWI4X9mp-MFWcQlynqgmBHbhKlc_gqMTkaFTA3bF2Xpo96Ns8hI88_dZyPYbCNdM1oVlrMT68BrNNfOpwvdKolQEwLbMKHt6ZAeXBPD2H/s400/DSC01584.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417517340971031106" border="0" /></a>Maybe next year.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-6044341197488089392009-12-21T02:34:00.003+00:002009-12-21T02:48:38.977+00:00Too Much Navel GazingI've been thinking lately that my retrospectives must be pretty boring. I mean, they're even getting boring to me. This whole month everything has reminded me of being in the hospital last year. Even the Today Show's holiday programming reminds me of being in the hospital (and watching the show every day for four long hours). The memories permeate everything, to the extent that I don't even feel much like writing about them. So I've had radio silence here for more than a month.<br /><br />The New York Times recently published <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/25/health/25trau.html">an article</a> about NICU parents with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). When I read it, I thought it probably applied more to people whose children were at death's door repeatedly. I hate thinking about Lexie's time in the NICU, but after the first two weeks she was pretty much a feeder-grower (although not the best feeder), and there wasn't too much drama. But a while back I visited the beautifully written blog "<a href="http://afifthseason.blogspot.com/">A Fifth Season</a>," by a mom who lost her baby daughter after 11 weeks in the NICU. On her daughter's second birthday, the mom posted a video tribute with clips and pictures from the NICU. I was watching the video and feeling sad for this mom, when suddenly the unmistakeable sound of a NICU desat alarm blasted loudly over the soundtrack. I felt a sudden wave of panic, just as I had so many times when Lexie desatted as I fed her in the NICU. And I surprised myself with a series of sudden, gasping sobs.<br /><br />I have no idea where my reaction came from. I suppose any PTSD will pass, with time. I have no business being traumatized when so many people don't get the happy ending.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-82563710108208739152009-11-16T09:07:00.003+00:002009-11-16T09:07:00.186+00:00Hospitalization: One Year LaterOn this day last year I went into the hospital with preterm labor. I spent a terrifying Thanksgiving in the hospital, and a less-terrifying (but fairly depressing) Christmas there as time went on.<br /><br />60 days after I checked in, Lexie was born.<br /><br />Look how far we've come.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-Qs6PUAQmy3FNyrsd8nQPpxrvwJDA5fRpmd8g2pi9mgfgZW10JpdwkppxgDS33hRTz870ztfCoZ-03nbRYrw-QhMXz1N7zTZkWpjCDsfSTd3otwIyi2LV4bzcxjn1ScjMltdloYiJZaM/s1600-h/DSC01309.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-Qs6PUAQmy3FNyrsd8nQPpxrvwJDA5fRpmd8g2pi9mgfgZW10JpdwkppxgDS33hRTz870ztfCoZ-03nbRYrw-QhMXz1N7zTZkWpjCDsfSTd3otwIyi2LV4bzcxjn1ScjMltdloYiJZaM/s400/DSC01309.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404147945096435618" border="0" /></a>Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-53833349778309416092009-11-12T09:29:00.008+00:002009-11-16T14:09:33.012+00:00Goodbye WendyThe problem with dog stories is that they all end the same way. We knew this when we adopted Wendy. But we thought we would have more time.<br /><br />Wendy was billed as a 5-year-old beagle. If we'd really looked, we would have noticed her bad teeth, the touch of gray on her muzzle, her slightly creaky back legs from the arthritis that would only get worse. Her actual age at the time was probably somewhere between 7 and 10 years old. As the story went, a shelter in rural Virginia had found her wandering on the side of a road, starving. People have beagle packs down there, and when the beagles get too old or lose their ability to hunt, they're often turned out from the pack. It was a kill shelter -- her number was almost up when the rescue org came through looking for adoption candidates. She went to live with her foster family Robb and Jerry (and foster beagle brothers Barney and Andy). Wendy had been there for about a month when we met her and decided to make her part of our family. Her foster dads had cleaned and fixed her up as well as possible in that short time, and had worked to fatten her up. But she still had a long way to go.<br /><br />My brother called Wendy a "fixer-upper." She immediately needed to have her teeth cleaned, and a couple of teeth needed to be removed. Her front teeth were worn down almost to nothing in some places, which her vet said was a sign that she'd been in a wire kennel for many years, and had chewed constantly on the cage because she was bored. She had a bad ear infection, and some nasty stomach problems. The stomach problems didn't stop her from begging for treats, though. Her favorites included, but were not limited to, chicken, steak, hamburger, french fries, cheese, watermelon, pork, bacon, eggs, potato chips, crunchy bread, tuna fish, mashed potato, turkey... the list goes on and on. She was ALWAYS optimistic about the potential for treats.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2eOq3Fi8poITIpr9b6AdWiVSr69XBpAIt2_C4OIYTy7XlZRxz_kIXKVPuAsKU11btRIQhQstVUvMEiIljqVyvyS1Z4xP-sL1GoVjU0JPTlTR4QsS-pLKhCBl0OWKVxyDXkvFfnCwp2cgJ/s1600-h/P1020473.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403054725671553122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2eOq3Fi8poITIpr9b6AdWiVSr69XBpAIt2_C4OIYTy7XlZRxz_kIXKVPuAsKU11btRIQhQstVUvMEiIljqVyvyS1Z4xP-sL1GoVjU0JPTlTR4QsS-pLKhCBl0OWKVxyDXkvFfnCwp2cgJ/s400/P1020473.JPG" border="0" /></a>Wendy was cool with Steve, but she was really my dog. She followed me around all the time. When I went to bed, she went to bed (her little dog bed was at the foot of our person-bed). She always came to sit by me and came to me first for help. She was more likely to listen to me than anyone else, although as a beagle, she was never the best listener. She was not brave. She never barked when anyone came to the door, and was more likely to hide behind us. She fled in terror from tossed tennis balls. She could not do tricks. She never picked up the Washington Post from the sidewalk. The only command we were able to teach her was "sit," and she'd do it only if we were holding a treat at the time.<br /><br />We taught her her name by saying "Wendy" while crinkling a potato-chip bag.<br /><br />We went for long walks around the neighborhood. We quickly learned that if Wendy pulled on the leash with all her might, no good could come of letting her go in that direction. Without fail, something heinous and rotten -- but in her world, deliciously stinky -- was at the end of that trail. She enjoyed feinting at squirrels and watching them run away. She rarely bothered to actually chase them. Too much trouble.<br /><br />She learned that crowds meant more opportunities for treats. After my brother's wedding, we invited family members over for drinks and snacks. Wendy became increasingly excited as the guests arrived. Steve took her out for her walk as the last of the guests were showing up, including my dad, who always spoiled her with treats. Wendy moved very, very slowly as she and Steve walked away from the house. She did her business, turned around, looked at Steve, and took off at full speed toward home. Steve said our creaky little beagle, for once, actually outran him. Inside the house, I heard a commotion and a clatter of toenails and turned to see Wendy skidding to a stop in front of my dad, who then slipped her one of many tasty morsels that evening. I saw other family members do the same. Her stomach swelled to shocking proportions. It was probably one of Wendy's best days ever.<br /><br />Wendy was a known kleptomaniac, having once stolen a pig ear from the dog groomer's array of treats at the register. I took her back in and we paid for the item, but I don't think Wendy learned any lessons.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh95ClbzjuoolA0fayHkmNfz7rZt-T9TvkCGYy4mmsvI4dQZ_Z5Zh1yQ2TOXppFY-kgA2LEUSxtCoP4lshfr40hyRK3-eZ7r6pcQJeUU8DcAziGu-rI8yCxAN0fdpqhWvSN-WLgZYkFNYaf/s1600-h/wendybythewater.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403055948427559538" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh95ClbzjuoolA0fayHkmNfz7rZt-T9TvkCGYy4mmsvI4dQZ_Z5Zh1yQ2TOXppFY-kgA2LEUSxtCoP4lshfr40hyRK3-eZ7r6pcQJeUU8DcAziGu-rI8yCxAN0fdpqhWvSN-WLgZYkFNYaf/s320/wendybythewater.jpg" border="0" /></a>We took Wendy on vacation with us one summer, to a cabin on the north fork of the Shenandoah River. She probably thought she was at bootcamp. We walked with her down to the river, maybe 3/4 of a mile. Exhausted from the walk in the sun, she sat panting and refusing to drink, balking when I brought her to the river shore, terrified of the running water. She and I sat under a tree while Steve took an ill-advised dip. (We didn't know until a couple of days later that the river is badly polluted.) We headed back to the cabin, and Wendy sprawled on the floor, panting like crazy. It wasn't until we fired up the grill that night that she got back on her feet.<br /><br />Last April, Wendy became gravely ill. A tumor on her spleen was bleeding, and if we didn't remove it she'd die within hours. I handed over my Visa, and $2500 later we had a stapled-up dog with a new lease on life. (During the operation, the vet also looked in Wendy's stomach and found -- and removed -- a bunch of metal wire and two socks.) During her recovery at home, we tried to "crate" her in the kitchen with an attractive cherry wood gate. I came home from work to find the gate in splinters. Wendy hated being locked up and had chewed her way through it. We decided to give her the run of the house as usual, and everything was fine. Around the same time, we discovered Wendy had Cushing's Disease. Because the standard treatment could result in increased fearfulness (and some dogs had died of fright after being treated), we elected not to follow an aggressive regimen that kills off part of the pituitary gland. We treated her holistically with melatonin and flaxseed oil. The vet warned us that Cushing's would eventually kill her, but nobody could say how long it would be.<br /><br />Wendy healed remarkably well from her spleen-removal surgery, and we had a quiet six months or so. When I became pregnant with Lexie, she followed me around even more.<br /><br />When I went into the hospital last November with preterm labor, I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd deserted Wendy. Did she think I'd abandoned her? I'd wished I could tell her that I was coming back, that I hadn't wanted to leave for so long. I read "The Story of Edgar Sawtelle" and cried in the parts where the elderly dog searches for her master. Even though Wendy had been doing well, I worried that she would die before I came home. I made Steve promise that he would stay with her if he had to put her down. When I came home after 9 weeks in the hospital, I expected a joyful reunion. Instead, Wendy regarded me with a sniff and a tail wag, the dog equivalent of "oh, there you are."<br /><br />I have often heard stories about dogs who wouldn't leave their owners' sides when their owners were sick. This was not Wendy. A true pack dog, Wendy avoided me like the plague when I was unwell. Better to stay with the healthier members of the pack. So she stayed away for the first week or so that I was home, bandaged and weak. We slowly rebuilt our relationship and had a good nine more months together. As Lexie grew, she started noticing Wendy and laughing, sometimes reaching out to touch Wendy's fur. Wendy got used to Lexie, and even allowed Lexie to pet her (gently).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUR_hjGpaDRhn6ewLoKiihfACQLwmgbN4dAUqbR2n8ukVxRddGrc-kmmmWO6oz18rmNQGf1ILIlYf8cCIcTMY8gLF5IutOsGvt1ePRNOkY8n7Rtb2u18mVdPOlbvynJ9orXSv_34yNiL_7/s1600-h/DSC01299.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403058110134469570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUR_hjGpaDRhn6ewLoKiihfACQLwmgbN4dAUqbR2n8ukVxRddGrc-kmmmWO6oz18rmNQGf1ILIlYf8cCIcTMY8gLF5IutOsGvt1ePRNOkY8n7Rtb2u18mVdPOlbvynJ9orXSv_34yNiL_7/s400/DSC01299.JPG" border="0" /></a>But Wendy's arthritis continued to worsen, and the Cushing's caused her organs to begin to fail. She might have had several more months if that was the only issue, but her back legs gave out. She would walk a few steps and fall down, and her little body would shake, wracked with spasms. She could still rally for french fries or steak, but she lost interest in her dog food. It was becoming clearer and clearer that her time had come. The day she couldn't stand up for some bacon, I knew she'd reached the end.<br /><br />Wendy, keen-nosed hunter of fast-food bags, connoisseur of french fries and belly rubs, floor-cleaner extraordinaire, ate a bacon cheeseburger and fries last night before we took her to the vet's office and said goodbye. I stayed with her until the end, which was peaceful.<br /><br />We will never forget her.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-61015891929790053752009-10-31T02:33:00.002+00:002009-10-31T02:46:57.416+00:00This Time Last Year...This time last year, I was into my second trimester and thinking maybe pregnancy wasn't so bad. I'd spent a weekend at Cape May with some college friends and had had a great time. My biweekly OB appointments were going well -- no signs of the preterm labor to come. Our 20-week scan had showed that we were having a girl, and that all was normal. I was having a busy time at work, but it was set to calm down in a couple of weeks. I enjoyed singing really loudly in my car during my commute and I imagined my little girl was enjoying the tunes.<br /><br />Two weeks later, I was headed to the hospital with contractions and a short cervix, wide-eyed and terrified, where I would stay until January. I spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Day in the hospital. I didn't leave my hospital room for weeks at a time, and left my bed only to use the bathroom. It was a dark, scary time, and normally I don't like to think about it.<br /><br />But the time of year is making it impossible to push out of my mind.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-63319730640160507432009-10-29T01:06:00.008+00:002009-10-29T15:01:25.991+00:00Temporary Single ParenthoodI am pretty sure I haven't talked about this yet: Steve has been out of town for four weeks now, and I am tired.<br /><br />My mom was here for almost two weeks, which was helpful, because I was actually able to work a full 8-hour day instead of chipping away at my annual leave by 30-45 minutes each day. (Lexie's nanny works 9 hours. I live 45 minutes from work. That means if I leave as soon as the nanny arrives, which rarely happens, I've got a max of 7.5 hours under my belt for each day.)<br /><br />Time in the evenings is short. Lexie goes to bed around 7:30pm or 8pm, but I still give her a "sleep feed" around 9:30pm, and I have to hold her up for a half hour after she finishes eating due to her stomach problems. I've found that there is a very tight calculus to what one can accomplish in those evenings when caring for an infant on one's own. Here's how I've got the options figured out:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Group A (Choose one)</span><br /><ul><li>6 hours of sleep</li><li>4 hours of sleep and two additional items from Group B</li><li>Teething baby -- 3 hours of sleep and subtract one item from Group B</li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;">Group B (Choose two)</span><br /><ul><li>Make a dinner with more than two ingredients</li><li>Eat dinner with utensils while sitting at the table</li><li>Do one hour of billable work</li><li>Shower</li><li>Clean up house</li><li>Pay bills</li><li>Talk to Steve on the phone</li><li>Write blog post</li><li>Read newspaper/catalogs/books for fun</li><li>Fold laundry and put it away</li></ul>Aaaand it's almost 9:30, so I'm out -- off to get the little miss for her last bottle of the night.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-47370267643092363022009-10-27T21:00:00.004+00:002009-11-10T20:41:51.637+00:00Commuter TalesBack before the days of Lexie, I sometimes blogged about <a href="http://nutmeg96.blogspot.com/search/label/license%20plates" target="blank">personalized license plates</a> I'd see on my commute. Now that I'm pretty much back in the saddle, I've got the mental bandwidth to notice license plates again. I took note of two recent ones:<br /><br />I saw the "<a href="http://nutmeg96.blogspot.com/2008/08/two-plates-and-story.html" target="blank">P SOLACE</a>" license plate (possibly a urologist?) again last week. That guy must have the same commute that I have.<br /><br />And then, yesterday, I saw a license plate that completely cracked me up. It made me curious about the car's owner and it made me want to be his/her friend. Ready for it? It was this: KGB SPYTwo Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-40973485527286838982009-10-23T17:31:00.001+01:002009-10-23T15:50:30.747+01:00Lexie and Her DoggieI haven't written much here about our beagle, Wendy. We've had her since a fateful Beagle Adoption Day in 2005. She's a sweet pup, but she's pretty old (probably about 13) and the vet recently gave her a maximum of about 6 months due to a variety of illnesses and complications she's having. I think that's probably fairly optimistic, and based on some recent collapsing spells she's been having, it may be a lot sooner. We're trying to make her as comfortable as possible for now. <br /><br />Wendy hasn't been all that interested in Lexie except when babyfood is involved. She has allowed Lexie to pet her when Lexie has been gentle, but as soon as the fur gets grabbed, Wendy hobbles away to her dog bed. But Lexie LOVES her doggie. She finds Wendy to be absolutely hilarious. And Wendy stands there wondering what everyone is laughing at.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sSXdZ4hijTw&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sSXdZ4hijTw&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-69263590881030478222009-09-27T23:18:00.007+01:002009-09-29T02:06:54.744+01:00Spider Woman (or, Evidence That I May Have Gone Off the Deep End)We had a terrible mosquito problem this year -- they were eating all of us alive. So we purposely left up several spider webs that appeared on our small front porch. Spiders are good luck, anyway. We rarely saw the actual spiders, but we saw plenty of evidence of their effectiveness in the form of trapped bloodsuckers.<br /><br />Last week, this appeared.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglaDf6xDZ58QrDYcvikNO-2Ci-4gKptvrC5kimIsz7ivCH1ZRiHeyceQtkPAVFxNvSEAkSzbOhRAJiHMLFCDJjAC2YJGxujBDiIzgB3xakbQQJRAyLr25_gKTd5V0rrqMmUnigp0Vs9SCP/s1600-h/DSC01284.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglaDf6xDZ58QrDYcvikNO-2Ci-4gKptvrC5kimIsz7ivCH1ZRiHeyceQtkPAVFxNvSEAkSzbOhRAJiHMLFCDJjAC2YJGxujBDiIzgB3xakbQQJRAyLr25_gKTd5V0rrqMmUnigp0Vs9SCP/s400/DSC01284.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386276011911242082" /></a><br />It's a spider egg sac. My first instinct was to remove it -- to toss those suckers as far away from the house as possible. Then I looked more closely, and saw the spider. <br /><br />She was never openly visible in her web before the egg sacs appeared. Now she was perched just below her sacs, guarding them. I decided to watch for a few days.<br /><br />The next night I saw her spinning one more little bubble below the five pictured. The night after that, she started encasing all six bubbles in a thicker cocoon. Every time I passed the web, she sat vigil under her eggs. <br /><br />I started thinking about Charlotte's Web -- in the book, Charlotte died after the eggs hatched. I did some research -- for some, but not all, spiders, egg-laying is their last major act.<br /><br />And this is when Crazy came to town. I started relating to the spider. She'll do anything to keep her eggs safe, I thought. She won't leave them, even though this places her out in the open where creatures like me come stare at her. This could be her last shot. <br /><br />There is no way I will be the one to kill her babies. <br /><br />This may mean that we'll soon be overrun by tiny spiders. If they keep to themselves, we'll all be fine. If they start messing with my baby, that's another story. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.luckymojo.com/pcspidergl.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 374px;" src="http://www.luckymojo.com/pcspidergl.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a>Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-58139230082854142322009-09-11T02:28:00.013+01:002010-02-03T18:58:33.868+00:00Never a Sure ThingI went through a long period in my 20s when there was literally zero family/personal tragedy. The worst things that happened to me from around age 21-27 involved relationship breakups. The most stress I experienced was typically related to apartment moves. Nobody in my extended family died. Nobody got sick, had major surgery, lost a limb, lost a house, lost a baby, got divorced... nothing. Things were very quiet in the "major life change" department. I'd been at my job for more than 5 years. I took the calm for granted. <br /><br />As I left my office building on September 10, 2001, I walked across the street and past the World Trade Center for what would be the last time, although I didn't know it. As usual, I recognized a lot of the same people walking near me. I was on the same schedule with these strangers and saw many of them daily. "My life is like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Groundhog_Day_(film)" target="blank">Groundhog Day</a>," I thought. "Every day is the same. Something needs to change."<br /><br />I really did think that. Of course, you know where this is going. <br /><br />Change came in relentless waves after 9/11. I never returned to that office. After six months of professional limbo working in New Jersey with my colleagues at an alternate "temporary" site, I resigned and headed to DC for grad school and a job at a university that offered an uncompetitive salary and free graduate classes. <br /><br />The drama and change continued. My aunt and then my grandma died. Steve and I got married. My dad had hip surgery. I finished grad school and found a new job. My mom had surgery on her vertebra. Steve went to Iraq for six months. My uncle died. Steve and I started trying to have a baby and had two losses right off the bat. Steve's dad began descending deeper into chronic illness. In the last year, two of my <a href="http://www.themaybebaby.com/" target="blank" >real-life</a> <a href="http://therealbean.blogspot.com/" target="blank" >friends</a> lost their babies, born too early to survive. I finally made it to the second trimester and ended up in the hospital with preterm labor for 9 weeks. Lexie was born 10 weeks early.<br /><br />I've wanted to ask someone -- why does this shit happen? Why do babies die? Why did nearly 3,000 people die on the whim of some sick asshole on the other side of the world? But there is no "why." You can get into specific causes, but the big-picture "why" -- it doesn't exist. <br /><br />What this has taught me is that nothing is a sure thing. I didn't truly understand this before having some real adversity. I think it's good in some ways that I know this now, instead of sailing through life thinking it's a big deal if someone dents my car in the garage or the movers break my mirror. This knowledge can also be bad, though -- as in my earlier <a href="http://nutmeg96.blogspot.com/2009/08/uncertainty.html" target="blank" >aversion</a> to buying Lexie's wardrobe too far ahead. It's irrational. Chances are, now, she'll be alright. But who knows -- the world could end tomorrow. As long as we go together, I think I'd be ok with that. <br /><br />I really don't have any words of wisdom about this day. I'll be remembering the friends I spent that Tuesday morning with, remembering the ashes and singed papers floating down to the ground in Brooklyn, remembering the acrid smell, remembering how the gorgeous September weather seemed all wrong for that day, remembering the 13 worried messages I had on my machine when I got home after everything happened. Remembering waking up the next morning to a moment of peace before the memories flooded back like a punch in the stomach. Remembering the fat plume of smoke that rose from lower Manhattan for weeks afterward. <br /><br />Remembering how we thought things would never be the same.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-25659815863803989472009-08-28T23:11:00.001+01:002009-08-28T23:15:45.297+01:00Gratuitous Giggling VideoWe had Lexie baptized last week, and with the resulting deluge of family, we have been very busy. But we did have time to take this video of Lexie giggling in her pajamas. <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/AgkuNZaX9NA&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/AgkuNZaX9NA&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Every time I watch this video, I can't believe how lucky we are.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7933084868399786273.post-67096832972181051462009-08-14T02:08:00.011+01:002009-08-14T16:19:57.035+01:00UncertaintyAt a department store recently, I thought about buying some sale clothes for next summer for Lexie. I found myself hesitating, in the same way I hesitated when I didn't want to buy maternity clothes too early, and when I didn't want to buy baby clothes until she actually arrived. <br /><br />And I realized: I still am not 100% certain that she's here to stay. She's been in fairly good health, and gaining weight in spite of GI problems. There's no reason to think she's not going to make it at this point. But I still fear SIDS, and now swine flu lurks just over the horizon. I'm sure I'm not alone in my concern for my child, even among parents of full-term babies, but I do think preemie parents have stared a lot of serious, life-threatening hazards in the face, and it heightens our awareness of all that could happen.<br /><br />I'm not sure when I'll feel secure that Lexie's going to be okay. <br /><br />The first time I was pregnant, I purchased a onesie for the baby that never was. It was a silly little thing I'd seen years earlier and I was excited to buy it for our baby. After that first miscarriage, I tossed the onesie in the back of a closet, where it stayed for more than two years. Every once in a while I'd come across it, but I'd return it to the depths of the closet and try not to think about it. I hated having that reminder of how certain and happy we had been, and how little we knew about how long the journey to parenthood would be.<br /><br />A few weeks ago I finally broke out that onesie and tried it on little Lexie. It was already kind of small, but I did get one picture. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOy8atMTefB0mBP9i1zSCR1UCMRmV0CDbPDcWAB_a2U_CrnD4PD8ikKMTlL_8xB52BIRMuO_6vLqpOswoS5r0CZlodRLEgxik-6KbMfKPdloJ3oDntX_YkzMlGOhiY2m2_Qupe6P3LCEc9/s1600-h/DSC01217.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOy8atMTefB0mBP9i1zSCR1UCMRmV0CDbPDcWAB_a2U_CrnD4PD8ikKMTlL_8xB52BIRMuO_6vLqpOswoS5r0CZlodRLEgxik-6KbMfKPdloJ3oDntX_YkzMlGOhiY2m2_Qupe6P3LCEc9/s400/DSC01217.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369622747772434034" /></a><br /><br />She had just the right <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y97bWP33d8I" target="blank">Jennifer Grey look</a> here, too.Two Shorten the Roadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552869938010784108noreply@blogger.com8