kara

To help keep James warm during his longer stay in the NICU, my mom made this beautiful quilt for him, in, seemingly, a day. She went to great effort (including research and a call to the NICU) to make sure the specially purchased flannel backing was soft enough and appropriate for a preemie. Even though James has been home little more than a week now, we still wrap him up in this quilt—just yesterday it was used to shield him from the rain. Thanks, Mom.

“The best thing about doing needlepoint for very small children is that they are so uncritical. The don’t say things like, ‘I see you’ve missed some stitches over here on the leg, was that intentional?’ or ‘Was this creature blinded in a fight?’ They will clasp it in their little arms and love it besottedly, inseparably as the thing becomes more and more rancid.” —Carole Berman and Jennifer Lazarus

We are incredibly lucky. Every day our boys were in the NICU we passed by bassinet after bassinet filled with much smaller babies, babies needing much more help than our sons did. James and Owen, in addition to being treated for jaundice, simply needed to grow.

Early on a parent coordinator met with Andy and I, and gave us two calendars—one for each boy. She said the NICU was often a “one-step-forward-two-steps-back” experience, and no matter what happened on a particular day we were supposed to celebrate one thing, and write that one thing on our calendar each day.

Although we had every intention of doing so, our calendars are empty. So here I’d like to record the many joys—and few sorrows—we experienced while waiting for James and Owen to come home.

Joy: Holding each baby, skin to skin, for the first time, several hours after they were born.

Sorrow: Standing helplessly next to James’ incubator while he cried and cried, not knowing that we were allowed to put our hands in the holes in the sides and, with a firm touch, cup his tiny head to calm him.

Joy: Discovering there were two very nice rooms within the NICU intended for mothers who needed to pump breast milk.

Sorrow: After scrubbing in before entering the NICU one day, walking past a young mother and, who I assumed to be, her mom and dad, all crying softly. Throughout the day a silent parade of family members and friends walked in and out of a heavily curtained bassinet area. The sight of two empty bassinets behind those curtains the next day still haunts me.

Joy: Receiving generous help from several lactation consultants daily. Because Owen and James were so small, I’m not able to breastfeed exclusively. Instead I must pump and then add a high-calorie formula supplement to my breast milk, which I then give to them in bottles. This is quite time consuming at home, but when the boys were in the NICU, it also meant labeling and transporting milk every day from home to the NICU. The lactation consultants constantly reminded me what a great job I was doing all the while noting how difficult it can be. It is, in part, because of those women that I’m still pumping (and attempting to nurse) eight-plus times a day.

Sorrow: James running out of room in his hands and arm for his IV. Although it’s apparently perfectly normal for an IV to be placed in a baby’s head, this made me cry.

Joy: The wrapping of a tiny hand around my finger for the first time.

Sorrow: Getting sick and having to skip a day of visiting my sons.

Joy: Owen and James each successfully latching and drawing milk for the first time.

Sorrow: Developing an allergic reaction to the hospital’s hand sanitizer (only now are my hands returning to normal).

Joy: Taking Owen home.

Sorrow: Leaving James behind.

Joy: Driving myself to Good Sam after 42 days on bed rest and a week-plus recovery from childbirth.

Sorrow: Spending nine hours in the ER with Owen after his return home only to have him admitted to Children’s Hospital for catching the virus we all had earlier.

Joy: Discovering our room at Children’s was much, much nicer than the ER waiting room.

Sorrow: Not knowing where to be: At home with Sophie, at Children’s with Owen, in the NICU with James.

Joy: Learning Owen was going to be released from Children’s without having to have too many tests.

Sorrow: Discovering that worry over illness will always exist, even after the NICU.

Joy: Being surprised with the news that James could come home much earlier than we expected.

Joy, Joy, Joy: Holding both my boys at home at the same time.

“If you will call your troubles experiences, and remember that every experience develops some latent force within you, you will grow vigorous and happy, however adverse your circumstances may seem to be.” —John Heywood

Andy and James

Owen

Great Grandmas visit and one of our favorite NICU nurses (and the one who spent the most time with the boys), Kim

holding baby James

Andy feeding Owen

Grandpa Uhl and Owen

Grandma and Owen

Grandpa Gebhart and James

Nini and James

holding James

Owen’s saying, “Yes! No more lights! Finally in the same crib together!”

facing each other

Owen

sleeping under their Snoedels

“Of all the joys that lighten suffering earth, what joy is welcomed like a newborn child?” —Dorothy L. Nolte

Sophie got sick first, a week and a half ago. I was still pregnant. We were at my parents’ house. She woke up from her nap and calmly told us she sneezed all over her pillow. And by “sneeze” she meant “threw up.” It was on that day I learned two things: (1) toddler throw up is very different from baby spit up and (2) I never would have guessed I’d be so willing to cup my hand under her mouth the next time it happened.

That Monday seems like forever ago, given all that we’ve been through since. And poor Sophie still can’t seem to kick it. She hasn’t thrown up for almost a week, but every once in awhile she’ll have a low-grade temp. Or she’ll go almost 48 hours with no symptoms and then, a not-so-fun diaper.

The rule at the NICU is that any child must be completely clear of all symptoms for 48 hours before being allowed in. Sophie has yet to manage that. And as such, she has yet to meet her brothers.

She sort of gets it. No longer does she put her head on my belly (and I still have a belly) and “talk” to the babies. Instead she asks, “Are the babies in there?” all the time. And we tell her no, that they’re in the hospital, getting bigger until they can come home. We show her pictures of Owen and James on the computer—the first time we did this she sat and stared at the slide show on the screen for a good 15 minutes. And she’s fascinated by my pumping milk (and constantly wants to pump her milk, too).

Still, I wish it hadn’t gone this way. I wish she could see them, in person, in the hospital. Not only because I can’t wait to introduce them to her, but also because I think what has happened will make more sense to her.

This virus hasn’t been kind to my family. The first night I stayed at the hospital overnight, my mom stayed with me. She started to feel bad, though, and not wanting to get me sick she left early, early in the morning and sat in the waiting room, waiting for my dad to pick her up. Then Andy got sick. And now I’m sick. My temp hit 102.6 last night, and without going into details I’ll just say that I was miserable. Recovering from a VBAC has been much easier than recovering from the c-section I had with Sophie but still, I had Owen and James less than a week ago—throwing a virus on top of it just isn’t fair. And the worst of it is, I wasn’t able to see Owen and James at all today—I’m hoping to see them tomorrow. And I’m hoping my dad and Jill don’t get sick, either (so far, they’re the only ones who have managed to stay in the clear).

If I’m to look on the bright side of things, though, this virus would have been much more difficult to handle if both Owen and James were home. As my friend Michelle said, thankfully I was able to rest all day today while my boys were in the best hands possible at Good Sam. Thankfully I had Jill to take care of Sophie today. And thankfully the boys were well loved, with four visitors—Jill, my mom, my dad and Andy. Yes, thankful indeed.

Still, I hope these germs scram, and fast. Owen may be coming home at the end of this week (which makes me so happy) and we all have some germ-free baby loving to do.

“The greatest wealth is health.” —Virgil

monitor

beautiful baby Owen

Our little glowworm, James, being treated for jaundice.

Andy and Owen

“Never will a time come when the most marvelous recent invention is as marvelous as a newborn baby. The finest of our precision watches, the most super-colossal of our supercargo planes don’t compare with a newborn baby in the number and ingenuity of coils and springs, in the flow and change of chemical solutions, in timing devises and interrelated parts that are irreplaceable.” —Carl Sandburg

Wednesday I woke up around 3:30am and then woke up Andy by saying, “Oh no, oh no, oh no.” My water had broken. We called Jim, our next door neighbor, who graciously came over in the middle of the night and slept on the couch while Sophie slept upstairs. (The next morning, Jim’s son, Billy, watched Sophie as Jim had to work. Billy was so great, taking Tucker up with him to get Sophie once she woke up so she wouldn’t be afraid.)

We called our parents and our wonderful doula, Donna Luggen. I started feeling contractions once in the car and upon admittance I was 3cm dilated. My parents arrived around 5am and they, Donna and Andy were with me in the labor room as we all thought I had awhile to go. We found out Sophie was allowed in the family waiting room so around 7am my dad drove to Fort Thomas and picked her up.

By the time he returned I was struggling with the contractions and barely getting a break between them. I had given myself a shot of Lovenox at 11pm the night before Therefore I had to have blood work done to determine if my blood was too thin for an epidural or c-section. While we were waiting for blood test results no one checked my dilation out of concern that it would make me progress quicker than they could get the test results back.

Finally Donna convinced someone to check my dilation and to my and everyone’s great surprise, I was complete (which made me feel better about how I was struggling through those contractions!). Everyone was ushered out of the labor room, including Andy who had to dress in scrubs, and I was rushed to an operating room. We had hoped Donna would be able to join us in the operating room but only Andy was allowed to come.

The anesthesiologist was uncomfortable with my blood test results and wouldn’t agree to an epidural. So he gave me what pain medicine he could through my IV including propofol and ketamine, which, looking back, I almost wish I wasn’t given. Because of the drug I was extremely out of touch with what was happening. I’d fall asleep between contractions and then wake up, totally confused as to where I was and what was happening. All I remember were lots of people in blue scrubs (Andy said it ranged from 15 to 17 people), bright lights and the words “push! hold your breath! hold your noise!”. Andy said he had to remind me every time I “woke up” what I needed to do—breath, push, count to 10, breath, push, etc. As such, I become quite panicky and was not the poster woman for natural childbirth—there was a lot more yelling than controlled breathing going on in that room. I was so happy to have Andy’s hand to squeeze.

Eventually, though, the propofol and ketamine began to wear off and I had a better understanding of what was going on around me (in other words, I realized I was having my babies!). I began listening to Andy and did a (somewhat) better job of controlling my breathing (and yelling). After about an hour of pushing, Owen was born at 8:27am. James, who was breech for most of my pregnancy, flipped head down at some point during my labor but then flipped again—and the cord was caught around his neck. So with the (quite uncomfortable) help of my OB, James was born breech at 8:29am.

Both boys were sent to the NICU—Andy immediately went with them. Once Andy returned with an update, my dad went to the NICU with Andy to meet the not-yet-named Owen and James (while my mom stayed with Sophie). And then, as soon as I was able, I went with my mom and Andy (while my dad stayed with Sophie) to meet my impossibly small yet impossibly beautiful sons—and I finally got to hold them for the first time.

Owen Oscar Uhl (Baby A)
born: 8:27 a.m., Wednesday, May 19, 2010
weight: 4 lbs., 15 oz
length: 18.3 inches

James Orion Uhl (Baby B)
born: 8:29 a.m., Wednesday, May 19, 2010
weight: 2 lbs., 13 oz.
length: 15.3 inches

“Every child begins the world again…” —Henry David Thoreau

(For Part 1, August 2009, click here.)

“My alphabet starts with this letter called yuzz. It’s the letter I use to spell yuzz-a-ma-tuzz. You’ll be sort of surprised what there is to be found once you go beyond ‘Z’ and start poking around!” —Dr. Seuss

I spent Mother’s Day morning in bed, listening to the sounds of Andy and Sophie making me pancakes from scratch. My favorite phrases? From Sophie: “Uh oh” (several times) and “Daddy, can I have a towel? I made a mess.” From Andy: “Let’s not sneeze in the pancakes, OK?” (They were the best pancakes I’ve ever had.)

I got three cards: One from Andy, one from Sophie and one from the babies-to-be. And a fantastic present—a swing for our backyard.

We drove up to my parents’ house for a delicious lunch, which my dad made.

It was a perfect day (thanks, Drew).

“The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.” —Rajneesh

A couple Saturdays ago we celebrated Dirk and Jill’s baby son, William, with a shower and cookout at Dave and Danielle’s house. Congrats again, Dirk and Jill!

“Babies are such a nice way to start people.” —Don Herrold

My parents returned from Italy with many beautiful gifts—mine included a gorgeous scarf and Murano glass earrings. But the above handmade, one-of-kind hat, which my parents found at a store called Quisquilia & Pinzillacchera in Florence, is one of my favorites. Who wouldn’t want a cute little bird atop their head at the age of 2?

“If a woman rebels against high-heeled shoes, she should take care to do it in a very smart hat.” —George Bernard Shaw