Happy 3rd Birthday Mush: A look back

The crib has been converted to a toddler bed.  The stroller rarely sees its way out of the trunk anymore, and with every box of diapers I purchase, I wonder if it will be the last.

I think back to that hectic morning at 32 weeks and it still seems like a crazy blur.  Rushed into an emergency c-section, the words “VBAC” were replaced with “prepping the O.R.” and “have to get this baby out.”   There’s no talk of contractions.  Instead there’s “platelets dropping,” “liver failing,” “have to knock you out” and “won’t be awake…”

I remember being too drugged to hold him, too tired to open my eyes and look into his.  It wasn’t until the next day that I got to snuggle this fragile, teeny 4 pound 1 ounce nugget, holding him awkwardly so as not to pull out his feeding tube or disrupt the wires that were keeping him monitored.  He was the tiniest baby I ever held, the same size as the baby doll I picked out to give to Goofball when he became a big brother, which was still sitting in my closet waiting to be wrapped.  My eyes were still blurry, not from any drugs but from my body shutting down.

Five days later they send me home and now I am expected to be a mom to two, driving well before I was supposed to or ready to, back and forth to the NICU, preschool, preschool, NICU.  Pumping in between.  CPAP, incubator, bilirubin, jaundice, IV, feeding tube, cc’s, car seat test.

Seventeen long days later we are together.  They told me he is too weak to latch, so my life revolves around lactation consultants, pumping, latching, supplementing with formula, weight checks, weak suck, pumping, not gaining, supplementing with pumped milk, pumping, cleaning pump parts, failure to thrive, pumping, support groups, little tubes taped to my breasts, more lactation consultants, more pumping, reflux, gastroenterologist visits, medications…. Was I even there to watch my preschooler grow?

At 6 months old, he looks like a newborn.  At 9 months old he’s barely rolling over, and at 12 months old he’s hardly sitting up.  And then there’s evaluations, physical therapists, low tone, psychologists, core strengthening, early intervention, special ed teachers, IFSP meetings, coordinators, occupational therapists….

First year of life and we have a random seizure, freak high fevers, infectious disease consults, neurologist visit and an EEG.

This sweet little face certainly makes me work for my Mommy money, and on top of that he never sleeps (at least at night.)

Yet amongst the chaos of that first year, we had first giggles, sucking thumbs, stroller walks, spitting up all over when trying to play “Superbaby,” sticking his tounge out at big brother, baby sign language classes, stinky baby feet, happy squeals, babywearing, infant massage, singing “You are my sunshine” over and over and over, silly photo shoots, clapping hands, Mommy and Me, cake smash, slamming feet on the floor, wondering if his eyes will stay blue, sleeping in the baby swing, kisses, kisses and more kisses.

I just hung up a Happy Birthday banner for my little baby, although he doesn’t resemble much of a baby anymore. 

And instead of celebrating milestones such as finally making his way onto the growth chart, we’re putting on backpacks and heading off to preschool.

And instead of worrying that he’ll never walk, I worry that he’ll run into traffic.

It’s all changing, but it’s all good.  

Happy 3^rd birthday, little Mush.  You were worth every gray hair and I love you more than you will ever know.