And I heard nothing. Not one yell, not one squea
k, not one yelp. When they got him up on my chest he was blue. Scary blue. Too blue. And he was just staring at me, wide eyed. I kept yelling, why isn't he crying?! Why isn't he crying? Why is he so blue?! As the nurse tries to convince me that he is fine, as she places an oxygen mask on his brand new little baby face.
They took him, and Cory went over to the baby nest with him, and then I heard it. That glorious newborn baby yelp and I looked up and he was fine, just as pink as can be.
Here he is. Mr. Owl. 8 lbs 7 ozs. (TINY!) 20 inches. at 12:47 p.m.
So that's labor. You know the rest. Placenta, clean up, yada yada....
Cory and I go to bed that night with Mr. Owl. Everything is fine. Until he spits up. And then he spits up again. And again. Each time it is more and more, and I'm thinking, you know- he is spitting up more than he ate. This is not right. The doctor came to make rounds the next morning, just as she is discharging him, he vomits. PROFUSELY. Twice. All over himself. And it is this weird color and consistency. Read- not ok. So she calmly says to us that she is going to have to keep him for observation. We say ok, no big deal right. Until she wheels him into the NICU.
Cory and I packed for two nights in the hospital. We packed going home out fits for everyone. We packed his new blankie. We were ready. But how in the hell do you prepare for the NICU?
I will save you the details, plus I just don't want to recap them again. But it was terrible. To see him in there like that, with wires and leads, in an incubator, with tubes down his throat and nose, and a huge I.V. in his teeny tiny little hands. The nurses in the NICU were great. One just held me like a gramma and let me bawl my eyes out on her shoulder. Once he was off the I.V. and could eat again, they let me come in every two hours to breastfeed him and just actually hold him and touch him, which was hard because of all the stuff attached to him. But man, I loved just getting to hold him and feed him and talk to him.
Thank God he is ok. And now, in the grand scheme of things, and in comparison to some of the other families I met in the NICU, really it was nothing. He is totally fine. It was some sort of a G.I. obstruction. Now? He is eating, pooping, and peeing like a champ. But I promised him there that I will try my damnedest to never again let anything hurt him like that. Life lessons? Ok sometimes those sting a little. But those are good. But NICU pain? For me and for him? Never again.
Between that promise, and the fact that he is the youngest, I figure he's got it made.