...And in the air, the fireflies, our only light in paradise. We'll show the world that they were wrong, and teach them all to sing along; singing Amen I, I'm alive. Amen I, I'm alive...

- Nickelback, If Everyone Cared

For All The Right Reasons Album

And I'm singing Aaa-ayyy-men, I'm alive!

William Leonidas November 12th, 2009
My only regret is that I cried so many tears while I waited for you.

"...I'll try ~ but it's so hard to believe. I'll try ~ but I can't see what you see. I'll try and try to understand the distance between the love I feel ~ the thing I fear ~ and every single dream. I can finally see it. Now I have to believe all those precious stories. All the world is made of faith ~ and trust ~ and pixie dust. So I'll try ~ because I finally believe. I'll try ~ because I can see what you see. I'll try, I'll try ~ to fly..."

Jonatha Brooke "I'll try"

Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God; I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. Isaiah 41:10

Now the word of the Lord came to me saying, "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you..." Jeremiah 1:4-5

For Thou didst form my inward parts; Thou didst weave me in my mother's womb. I will give thanks to Thee for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; wonderful are Thy works, and my soul knows it very well. Psalms 139:13-14

Monday March 5th, 2010

So Why Stinkerie?

It's simple, really. It's the first thing I whispered against my newborn little Dumpling's temple as I held him alone for that very first time. "There's my Little Stinkerie." And all was right with the world as I brushed my lips across his delicate dewy soft newborn-pink skin and sniffed at his sparse smattering of downy soft hair. Corny and sappy, huh? I can't help it when describing my new Little Puppy. But don't get used to it - I have been told I am "irreverent."

Anyway, it just came out and he's been Stinkerie ever since. As well as Stink Pie, Stink Pot, Stinkey Pete, Little Stinks, Stinks, Puppy, Ducky, Baby, Baby Head, Baby Head Jenkins, Jack, Jack-Jack, Jackie Boy, Jax, Snork, Snorkis, Snorkle, Billy Boy, Billy Bob, Bobby Sue, Billy-Joe-Jim-Bob, Will, Willie, Willister, and the name given by my mentor turned friend Beth - Snake. When I write to her I call him either The Snakester or Slither! And of course, Dumpling, because he is my Little Dumpling - warm and soft and comforting. It's alright to combine comfort food with baby names, right? Have you ever watched the movie Where the Heart Is? If you have, you'll know why I mention this in my defense!

Long story short, you're likely to encounter any one or more of these names in a single post. Because I can. It's my blog!

Something to Consider

Bad decisions make good stories.

Something to Think About

With any pregnancy, there are concerns. With any child, there are worries. When you have a diagnosis of Down syndrome, you know what to worry about. You know what to look for. You have a plan of action. With your typical child, there is no limit to the things that can 'go wrong' or 'happen.' There's no place to focus your worry and concerns. 'IT' will always be out there, waiting. You'll always be on guard. Even when the child is 55 and has grandchildren. With Down syndrome we have a battle plan. With Down syndrome, there is a finite number of things that can go awry. With a typical child, there's isn't. It's a crap shoot. I'm sticking with the Ds and taking the other two back to the hospital for a refund.

Head Above Water

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Monday, November 16, 2009

Day Four

Late in the afternoon yesterday, the magic potion that chased away the monsters chewing on my insides was discontinued. I was grateful for an oversight that had me getting it for that long. The nurse informed me that it should have been discontinued sooner, but someone had made a mistake. Consequently I was in sheer misery. The night nurse had seen how miserable I was and had taken Will's 3 am and 6 am feeding upon herself, waking me only to swallow pain medication. Bless her!

The day nurse today however was very brisk and rather nasty. She was very young and perky. I'm sure she wasn't old enough to have even started her periods yet, nor to have allowed her bouncy little body to have been marred by a pregnancy, much less her sanity and ability to focus to be rattled by the demands of a newborn for crying out loud! She didn't greet me the way most nurses greet the patient they're meeting for the first time. No, her version was more like, "Hi, I'm Perfect, your day nurse I understand you let the night nurse feed your baby overnight but that isn't going to happen today You're probably going to go home today and that isn't going to happen unless we can see that you can handle it evidenced by your being able to feed your baby for at least two consecutive feeds in a row before they will release him to go home with you" All of that was delivered with zero pause for punctuation and many smirks for emphasis on some words. And then she was gone. She disappeared. Poof! Apparently I was the worst mother on the planet because the night nurse had let me rest. How dare she show kindness to me? How dare I accept it? What was the world coming to?

So the day started rather pleasantly. That was sarcasm. A lab tech came to poke Jack's poor little much bruised heel and then squeeze his last remaining few drops of blood in his body out of his body and into a little vial. The band aid she applied went from his outside ankle all the way around and up over the inside ankle. Poor Little Peanut!

So I dutifully handled the nine am, noon and three pm feedings all by myself. My worth as a mother was tentatively re-established at the 3 pm feeding when I was able to provide Jack-Snack with 40 mls of pumped breast milk! Nurse Perfect went off duty at 3pm. Good riddance to her. A nurse named Bambi took over. That was really her name. Now I've been really careful to protect the anonymity of every one I've spoken about here. Even Dr Skeevy. But Nurse Bambi was a real piece of work. She was the one who informed The Beloved and I that Jack's bilirubin was back down to the safe range and we could go home! Today!

Once that news was had, the process of explaining my discharge instructions was started. By Bambi. I sat upright in my bed, Bambi sat in another chair next to The Beloved. At one point in my discharge instructions, she actually got up and scooted her chair closer to him. And she spoke mostly to him throughout. She occasionally glanced in my general direction. Apparently I was not to be trusted with information. And then her posture changed. The Beloved and I had already exchanged at least a few eyebrow raising glances with each other. But now Bambi was sitting with her upper body curved toward The Beloved, and she was leaning over the arm of her chair, almost touching him. She crossed her legs. And then crossed them again. What the heck...? When she reached out to place her hand on his arm to emphasise a point, he leaned back while looking at me like a deer caught in headlights! Clearly I was not imagining what I was seeing. Did she just flip her hair? Yes! She did! She flipped her hair! The Beloved's amazed glance to me confirmed that she had! Nurse Bambi was on the prowl! And she's at least my age, so I think the term Cougar is more than appropriate! When she stood to leave she spoke only to The Beloved, "If you have any questions," she circled a phone number, "just give me a call! I'm off at eleven." Big beaming toothy smile. Bleached blonde hair. Extremely tan skin. In the middle of November. And she handed the papers to him and sauntered out without a last glance at me.

The Beloved and I sat there for a few beats. We both wore small slightly entertained smirks. Then he shook himself off. Literally! "What just happened?" he asked. "I'd say you've been propositioned!" I said. "She was flirting with me, wasn't she?" "I'd say so!" I said. "How do you feel about that?" he asks. I say it's skeevy and unprofessional, especially given the circumstances. "Yeah," he says, "You've just had a baby and you're her patient, but she was hitting on me." While we started packing me up, a mischievous thought occurred to him, "Hey, you're obviously out of commission for a while, maybe Nurse Bambi..." with a goofy grin. "Well," I said, "You have until 11 to find out!" And then he went on about how she said "I'm off at eleven. Not I'll be here until eleven." And he says no one ever flirts with him!

I've since decided that Nurse Bambi had fallen under the olfactory affect that a feather clad John Travolta angel cast over all those women in the movie Michael. After all, The Beloved's pipe tobacco quite often has him emanating an aroma that smells just like baking sugar cookies. I must be getting old. Rather than pissing me off, the whole Bambi thing was rather entertaining.

Once out to the van, thankfully with an aid and not Nurse Bimbo, the Beloved said Nurse Bambi might be lurking to get our plate number so she could stalk him. The aid very quickly assessed the situation inside the van. It appears that in our haste, Miss K and I installed the car seat incorrectly. The aid popped it out, corrected the situation, popped Little Snake into the seat, and then snapped the whole thing, baby and all, into position! And we were off! Soon we would be home with our Little Bundle!

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