You are my sunshine...

To my daughter, on her birthday....

I found your sonogram pictures the other day---five or six of them, stored in an envelope with your birth certificate and the name chart and growth chart from your stint in the NICU. The sonogram pictures were our first pictures of you---the earliest of them was when you were a whopping 4mm long. I was five or six weeks pregnant and terrified that I was having another miscarriage; my OB took pity on me and my fears and squeezed me in, somehow, for an ultrasound.

And that was when I saw you for the first time. I realize, if you read this later, that you might think that you looked like a really small baby, but you didn't, not then. You did look like the seed that gave you your first nickname (Sprout) before we knew if you were a boy or girl...but then, that early, you were just this tiny life who'd arrived in our lives against tall odds. I fell in love with you then---which you probably won't truly understand until you have a child of your own, but it's true. I saw you on that screen and I knew I'd fight for you, struggle with you, love you, no matter what.

It's four years later, four years since your birth and I don't quite have the words to describe how you've changed both of our lives---the terror and joy and hope and awe that we've felt as we watched you be born and grow. We're seeing more and more of you now, parts of me, parts of your dad, and parts that are most definitely just you, the unique presence that I first saw on that ultrasound all those years ago.

Happy 4th birthday, Róisín. :-) We love you, so very, very much.

From the mom of a preemie

Today, November 17th, is Fight for Preemies Day. Sponsored by the March of Dimes, it's a collaborative blog effort to promote and bring attention to the worldwide issue of premature birth.

In 2006, my daughter was one of nearly half a million babies born too soon in the US. I had excellent prenatal care, I didn't smoke or drink or use drugs. What I did have, though, (unknown to me) was a condition called incontinent cervix (IC) in which the cervix, for some reason, does not stay fully closed during pregnancy. Tragically, in many cases this condition is diagnosed only after late term pregnancy loss. I was one of the lucky ones; my cervix was seen dilating on an ultrasound when I was 22 weeks pregnant, and I had surgery just a few hours later to sew my cervix shut. I then went on bedrest for the next nine weeks.

When I was a little over 30 weeks pregnant, my water broke and I delivered my daughter at one day shy of 31 weeks' gestation. She was 3 1/2 pounds at birth and 16. 5 inches long. She went immediately into the NICU, where she stayed for the next five weeks.

In some ways, looking back, I think my husband and I were lucky. Róisín was our first child; we didn't have another child to compare this to, so this became our version of normal. And she--and I--had the best medical care we could have asked for. But all of this is not to understate the real risks my daughter---and others born too early---faced. Cerebral palsy, brain bleeding, intestinal and heart problems, blindness, developmental delays...these are all risks of premature birth. These babies are not just "smaller than normal"; they face a whole host of medical issues that full-term babies almost never deal with.

Today, my daughter is healthy and thriving and for all intents and purposes, perfectly normal. We were lucky, but many other babies born at her gestation or even earlier, are not. If you are reading this, if you are pregnant, are thinking about being pregnant, or know someone who is, please go to the March of Dimes website and educate yourself about the warning signs of premature birth.

Can I Take the 5th?

I have become convinced that somehow, I have given birth to the world's smallest defense attorney. Or prosecutor. Whatever. Today has been an endless round of questions, answers, more questions, more answers...and this, from the time she woke up at 6am until, um, now. I think she stopped when she took a nap, but I can't be sure.

All of which, I am told, is normal for a three year old. She's trying to start a conversation, and more power to her. But my ears are pretty much worn out and her dad is hiding under his desk upstairs (just kidding; he's upstairs playing a computer game) so I think it's a safe bet his ears are getting worn out too. The conversations have gone like this:

R: Whatcha doing, Mommy?

Me: Putting the dishes in the dishwasher.

R: What's a dishwasher?

Me: (looking at her over the tops of my glasses): What do you think a dishwasher is?

R: A dishwasher washes dishes!

Me: Very good. (Turning on the dishwasher.)

R: Mommy, what's that noise?

Me: *bangs head on counter*

It's not the first time she's heard a dishwasher, mind. And we seem to have the conversation about dishwashers and what they do at least once or twice per day, depending on how often we have to do the dishes. All of which taps into one of my pet peeves: having to repeat myself to someone who knows the answer.

I'm trying to be patient. I don't want my daughter to complain that her mom never listened to her, because that's not it. I know she knows what a dishwasher is, or whatever else the topic is, and is just asking because she's trying to figure out how conversations work, the give and take of things. And we're trying to teach her the rules of polite conversation too---not interrupting, not talking through or over the adults who are talking at the same time. I know it's all normal, and necessary and all that, but I think I'm about ready to plead the 5th and hush up now. Maybe then my little attorney will stop questioning me for a bit. :-P

And Our New Word for the Day is....

..."No." Or, "NO!!!!" Thus sayith the toddler.

Yeah. Everything we ask the toddler these days is met with a "No." (Or, if she's particularly in a snit---stomped feet, folded arms, lower lip out and the inevitable, "It's not FAIRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!" Yes, someone discovered the joys of Time Out after that episode, how did you know? :-D)

And yes, I know this is all normal for her age and stage, that she's acting like she's supposed to and it's our job as parents to make sure she knows what behaviors we will (and won't) allow. And I'm okay with that---the best piece of parenting advice I ever got was, "Don't become a parent if you're afraid of being the bad guy." (Personally, I think that advice should be handed out with birth control, but that's just me :-P)

But I'm getting awfully tired of "No." And don't get me started on "fair" :-)

To My Daughter, on Her Birthday

Today, at 2:45 am, you turned 3. (When you read this, I know you'll wonder, as I used to with my mom, how in the heck I could remember the exact time, but trust me. When your life changes forever, you tend to take notice of the time.) They dried you off and your dad and I waited for your first cry and there it was---thin, but annoyed as hell. You were a fighter---but then, after all we went through just to get you here, I knew that.

When I look at you now, the only sign of your NICU stay is the couple of IV scars you still have---you might lose them in time, but I sort of hope not. They're your history, symbols of how strong you had to be before you even knew what strong was. And, incidentally, how strong you made us. You were there for five weeks, and every day we saw you, every day we took pictures. I'm glad we did, because to look at those pictures now and remember, is to see a miracle.

You're walking and talking and trying so hard to figure out your world that you astonish your dad and I both with how much you're understanding. And you've discovered the fine art of pouting, lower lip and all. Your dad and I are doing our level best to teach you right from wrong in spite of the lower lip tremble, just so you know. (And by the way, it's very cute, that look. We can't give in...but it's cute, just the same.)

So this is my wish for you on your third birthday: that you continue to be strong and healthy, that you love carefully but fully, and that though you won't always agree with us (I can guarantee that) that you'll never doubt how very much you're loved.

Happy birthday, Roisin. :-)