14 February 2011

Ahh, the Good Old Days

It's a long story, but here's the reader's digest version:
1.  Sarah Morin sent me a message on Facebook
2.  The random photo album that Facebook selected to be in the right column during said message was Kasey's from when we went to Grant Park when Obama was elected
3.  Sarah didn't know that about me until last Monday, when it was randomly brought up, so...
4.  I sent her a link to the (blindly optimistic, ahem) post I wrote from that night and then found
5.  This gem of a post that I'd forgotten about (the post, not the moment because it really was one of the most awkward of my life).  Do read.  It cracked. me. up.

10 February 2011

In the Shadow of the NICU

First of all, Ainslie is doing so incredibly awesome.  She laughs and smiles and explores and is so interested in having adventures and seeing people that she often refuses to take naps unless I lay down with her in a dark room and convince her that I'm not having any fun without her and therefore it's okay to take a nap.

But I'm still living in the shadow of the NICU.  

It's not that I'm not gradually coming to terms with everything, it's just that sometimes, especially at night and especially when I'm alone, my mind wanders back there.  And tonight, as Kip and Ainslie are asleep in the next room and I'm up checking Facebook for no good reason, that's where my mind is.  I could still walk through that ward blindfolded: past the sinks to scrub in, past the refrigerator where we put my milk for Ainslie's feeding tube and bottles, to her isolette (the second in a row of many, on the left side of the room), on the surprisingly dirty floor, across from the nurse's table, next to the spot on the counter where they let us put her Piglet blanket and the book we read to her every night before we left.  The smell of soap and medical plastics and every once in awhile the whiff of a dirty diaper.  The sounds of a dozen different alarms going off for a dozen different reasons--medication injectors finishing, O2 levels going too low, monitors coming unplugged--and the tiniest little cries coming from the beds of every other baby there, since they were all preemies except for Ainslie.  

I didn't write about it at the time for a lot of reasons.  I was exhausted.  We were busy.  And I just didn't know how to explain it all, how it felt to feel like a visitor at your child's bedside.  How it felt to have the nurse be the authority on your child's behavior and schedule instead of you, to never get five seconds truly alone, and to have all your first-time parenting mistakes witnessed by baby care professionals with monitors and clipboards and charts.  I know it should be assumed, but I'm going to say it anyways:  the NICU is hard.  And no amount of "Oh, but she's okay now, focus on that!" changes that.  And we get the joy of going back to Anchorage next week for Ainslie's follow up with the NICU doctors.  Fab. 

03 February 2011

My Honey's Losing His Wisdom Today

We already knew that, based on the amount of complaining, Kip needed to get his wisdom teeth out soon.
On Monday when his jaw started hurting too, we found out he needed them out soon.
Like, this morning.
Eeek.


So today I am dropping Ainslie off at Mary's house for a few hours and swinging by the grocery store for puree-able foods and Percocet (woo!) while Kip's in surgery.  Luckily, we haven't even taken the shrink wrap off the Blu Ray version of "The Pacific" that he got for Christmas, so I'm thinking we're all going to be learning a lot about WWII according to HBO in the next few days.  Kip is also looking forward to pain medication-driven games of Ticket to Ride: Nordic Edition.  I'm thinking it'll probably be even more ridiculous than average.

Oh, and we just got THE MOST AMAZING box of Julius Meinl tea in the mail.  Literally a box...like, a wooden box with the Julius Meinl logo on it full of Julius Meinl tea.  I'm taking hosting Tina's baby shower tea as an opportunity to stock up on things that I've always wanted, like a tea chest and a three-tiered dessert display.   I'm thinking that there's nothing a nice brew from Julius Meinl can't fix here, even a husband with chipmunk cheeks and four less teeth than before.