The Fish Pond

The Black Veil

*Looking for Fishy Girl? She is at Laura's place today!*

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It was autumn. Leaves fell from the trees in hues of burnt orange, amber red, and golden brown. Fall has always been my favorite season of the year. Sitting alone felt strange. Surrounded by people, yet so alone. No one should be alone at a time like that. I soaked in the words of those around me. She was a good woman. She always put her family first. She loved her family. She was always there. She was strong, witty, and ornery. She always helped her friends. She was a friend to all those around her. What a pity. Life will never be the same.

The crowd giggled as one by one, mourners told their tales and shared their fondest memories. Even the most flattering phrases were hardly a comfort at a time like this. It was all so surreal.I tried to stand, but my body felt limp, lifeless, like it was not my own. I felt as though I could not breathe. I recognized the familiar faces around me. When I tried to reach for a hand, I could not raise it. I attempted to will it forward; it was rigid, fixed, and locked into position. I was in a state of shock, I told myself. I had read about this phenomenon before. Paralyzed by my grief. That is what it was. I was grief-stricken. The events of the past several days had drained everyone.

I continued hearing the beautiful words. I had so much to say. So much I wanted to tell the kids, the grandchildren, the husband; all so saddened, with blurry tear-filled eyes, and teardrop stained faces. So many kind people had come on this cold, windy day. I was grateful they were there. If I had a moment to compose myself, I too, would have lovely words. I felt my prose welling up in my throat. I chocked back tears, knowing it would all be over soon. I would have my time to let my teardrops fall one by one, streaming down my face. I would not have to be so strong, so frigid, so emotionless for long. I was frightened. It was ghastly. It was not supposed to end like this. I guess I had pushed the thoughts away before, refusing to focus on how it would be, how it would feel, although I knew some day we would have to say goodbye.

The ceremony continued and the preacher stood to speak. Be not afraid, he said. This is God's plan. Easy for him to say. My heart filled with sadness and pain as I had never known. Then, the self-condemnation washed over me. How could I think of myself at this hour? I questioned my motives.

I felt guilt for the things I never said, the things I never did, the work left unfinished, and the lives that changed in the fluttery batting of an eye. Would things get better? How would things turn out? Is there a force more powerful than regret?

I searched my soul for the righteous thoughts, the proper feelings, and how could I summon the volition to accept that this was how it was supposed to be? How could I not be angry? How could I forgive myself for the thoughts and feelings I was having? I could not command my thoughts to let go of the rage. It was not supposed to end like this. It is not the natural way and I would have it no other way.

The darkness licked my face, as the casket closed, and Amazing Grace began to play. I felt several jolts and knew it was high time I said goodbye. Goodbye to a life fully realized. Goodbye to happiness. Goodbye to my companion. We had a great journey together. My fate was sealed. Lower and lower I sank. The dirt began to fall on the casket. I had made the right choice. I heard the sniffles, the tears, and the sadness. It broke my heart.

My thoughts drifted to my son and his family: My grandchildren, nearly grown themselves. His beautiful wife and the beautiful life they created together. I thought back to the instant at the hospital when I had made the choice to give my life for him. They were happy and a son should outlive his parents. That turning point in time ended his suffering at the precise moment mine began. Thankfully, that agony was fleeting, and I would do it again. My wish was granted and I had to have thanksgiving for that.

My heart filled with love, joy, and relief, as I thought of the selfless act I had bid unto myself. The thought of my grandchildren growing up with their father was enough for me to let go of my own anguish. My love had saved him. I never knew there was so much power in a mother's love. The lowered, black veil draped my grey visage and I mourned the moments I would not be around: the important key milestones and celebrations.

I smiled to myself when my thoughts drifted and I imagined my son walking my granddaughter down the aisle. My sacrifice had preserved that precious, bittersweet day in time. I smiled to myself. Is there any mother that would not give her own life for her child?

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Stay-at-home mom, runner, disgruntled...Laura blogs at My Beautiful Life and lives in San Diego, California with her husband, 18 month old baby girl, two dogs, and a cat. She blogs about anything that comes to mind, which is often running, her adorable daughter and the occasional random rants.*You can find more info about the Blog Exchange and how to participate, as well as the October participants and entries, by clicking here. FishyGirl is at Laura's place today!*

Whaddayou Get...

when you combine a 7 year old with a tendency to, shall we say, breathe thinner air than the rest of us, with a T-ball bat, a three year old, and a six year old?

Yesterday afternoon I sat on my couch nursing Nemo, and the bigger kids were outside on our patio playing with Little Man's lacrosse sticks, specifically designed for small people who don't have control of their actions and/or are prone to fits of temper. They are well padded. The ball is super soft, and small, in comparison to an actual lacrosse ball. Little Man has no clue how to use the blasted things, since the coach was a no-show last week, but since there's a boy who lives a few houses down from us who is a freshman in high school and HE plays lacrosse and Little Man thinks HE's the shit, he's got just enough knowledge to be able to play around some.

At one point Little Man and Trout came into the house and got our T-ball net so they could throw the lacrosse ball into it. I reminded them not to swing the sticks near the house or to point the ball at the house (as soft as it is it could still break a window if weilded deftly enough) and not to hit each other with the sticks, and off they went.

A little while later Little Man comes in crying because they lost the ball ("It just disappeared, Mom!"), so he gathered up the T-ball bat, T-ball, stand, and gloves and went on out with them. I repeated my admonishments about how to use the equipment safely, and out he went again.

You know where this is going, don't you?

Not five minutes later, I hear them before I can see them. Little Man and Sunny are coming around the house, screaming at the top of their lungs. I put Nemo down, who promptly starts shrieking at the top of his lungs because how dare I take the nummies away. Trout is nowhere to be seen. Little Man is holding his chin and Sunny is holding her head, and I just thought for sure they had been arguing over whose turn it was and engaged in a bit of fisticuffs. How I wish that had been true.

Little Man is shrieking, trying to get a breath and tell me what happened (do your kids do this? scream so hard they can't breathe and start to panic? Little Man does it all the time), and I hear the words "Trout" "bat" "mouth" "Sunny" and "head" come through and I start to panic a bit. Little Man takes his hand away from his mouth and he has blood running down his chin from his lip, bright red blood emphasized by his stark, pale skin. As I lean down to look at him and see if he needs stitches, if his teeth are loose, trying to get him to stop sucking the blood into his mouth, Sunny moves her hand, revealing the worst hematoma I've ever seen.

My knees got weak, I felt like puking, and I still didn't know where Trout was. I dashed into the kitchen, grabbed two ice packs out of the freezer, ran out on my back deck and shouted for Trout. I had to shout four times before she answered me, she was hysterical and told me she was cleaning things up outside. I shouted at her to get in the house, that we'd have to go to the hospital and I needed her inside. I ran back into the living room, threw one ice pack at Little Man and told him to put it on his lip, and thankfully he complied right away (never, ever happens). I tried to put an ice pack on Sunny's head, but she shrieked and pulled away, yelling that it hurt. It was a soft gel ice pack. I ran back into the kitchen, this time with her, interrogating her about what day it was, what her name was, if she ever "went to sleep" after getting hit, and grabbing a flashlight to check her eyes. She answered everything correctly, so I relaxed ever so slightly because she didn't appear to have a concussion or other head injury.

I called BigDaddyFish, still somewhat weak in the knees, and told him I was going to take her to the pediatrician, since it was during office hours and I didn't think she had a head injury other than the hematoma. We promptly got into a fight because he told me I can't be trusted to judge what treatment is appropriate because I have a tendency to overreact. So I sent him this on his cell phone:

It's hard to see because of her hair, but it did the trick. He agreed that I should take her to the doctor's office. I called the doctor's office and then had to do the back and forth convincing them that she wasn't hurt badly enough to require the ER right away (why do they do this? If she'd been unconscious or delerious or throwing up or whatever I wouldn't have called them in the first place, I'd just have gone to the ER) and getting an appointment.

Add that to the two trips earlier this week for a wet-sounding cough for Nemo and a reevaluation of Little Man's asthma and I went to the pediatrician more days than not this week. Urg.

They're all fine. Ibuprofen for Sunny for swelling and the headache, and italian ice and ice cream for her soul. In fact, most of the swelling is down this morning, though she is welcoming the medicine. The doctor said it will turn all sorts of gnarly shades of blue, purple, and black, and will take a long time to heal. As long as she's not concussed? I can live with that. Little Man's lip is just slightly fat, and a few of his teeth are a bit loose, but I reminded him he's six and his teeth are supposed to get loose and fall out about now, anyway. Trout just gave him an unwelcome head start. (and as for the other ped visits, the baby is getting over a virus and/or teething and making a ton of snot, but he's fine, and Little Man is off to the allergist)

I had thought that Trout had swung once, glancing off Sunny and tagging Little Man in the mouth. Not so. Genius child missed the ball when she swung the first time and hit Sunny, but somehow her little sister's distress wasn't enough to make her stop what she was doing, so she swung again because "I missed my ball and wanted to try to get it again" and then hit Little Man in the mouth. She is barred from any and all sports activities that involve equipment other than her ballet shoes for the foreseeable future, and I'm making her pay the $20 copay for Sunny's visit from her own money. Frankly other than the initial terror about how much trouble she was going to be in, she hasn't shown much remorse, and I want to make sure she gets the message that she has GOT to pay attention and that the number one rule with sports is to play safely, THEN have fun. Any assvice on that is certainly welcome. The whole lot of them are not allowed to use any sports equipment without an older person's supervision - we have some older neighborhood kids, middle schoolers, who DO pay attention and are fine to play with my kids if they want to, but my kids will just have to wait until Nemo has been taken care of if they want to play with sports equipment and the older kids don't want to.

And the lacrosse ball that "just disappeared"? It rolled into an open bag of mulch. I didn't even need to bend over to find it, I just looked. So this whole thing didn't really need to have happened at all if they'd just looked for the damn ball a little better.

As for me, I'm fine now, but I hadn't felt fear like I did yesterday since the day I dropped Nemo on his head. I have two bottles of red sitting on my counter, but yesterday after the adrenalin surge wore off I just crashed. I nodded off during Ninja Warrior. I feel hugely guilty, because I shouldn't have let them play with that stuff if I wasn't out there with them. I would have made sure everyone was standing away from whoever was swinging the bat, just like I do when we do pinatas at birthday parties (what, you don't use a bat for a pinata? Those suckers are hard to open otherwise).

I could do without days like yesterday.

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My friend Carmen could do without months like she's having. She can't even blog about it, so please head over and give her some lovin', if you can. You can also find her here.

The Wheels of Justice Sometimes Spin Slowly, But At Least They Are Spinning

Remember my post about idiots and breastfeeding, and in particular the woman who was denied extra time to pump during her medical boards? Yesterday an appeals court judge in Massachusetts granted her the extra time she requested, saying the accomodations that the board had proposed would still unfairly disadvantage the mother. Unfortunately, she was supposed to take the test earlier this week; the mother has postponed it until October. I wish her the best of luck, and am happy that she stuck to her guns.

On that note, two of my online friends (and favorite reads) have started the League of Maternal Justice, aimed at harnessing the power of the interwebs to fight for justice in matters that affect all mothers. Right now, they are specifically calling for any Facebook users to deactivate their accounts and to make sure to let Facebook know why. They have also announced the Great Virtual Breast Fest to take place on October 10 at 10am ET. Be sure to check out these initiatives and show your support. Cancel your accounts. Flash your boobs, whether you are nursing or not. Write a post. Put up a button. Go see Motherhood Uncensored for a great post about why she's doing this, and then do whatever you can to support the League. Together we are Superheroes.

There's also strength in numbers. My friend and senior editor over at Props and Pans, Izzy, is one of the voices involved in Moms Speak Up, a place where moms can speak out about all kinds of issues, from breastfeeding to the environment to consumer safety. Hop on over there and make sure to add your voice to the din.

In other news, a woman in Russia has delivered a 17-pound baby. Ouch. Even with the c-section, ouch. Can you imagine what her back felt like for the last month of her pregnancy?

Angi asked what disaster Sunny requested OxyClean for, and I'm glad to report that there was no disaster, at least, not then. She happened to be watching Nick Jr. so I could do some dishes and keep an eye on her so she didn't paper mache the bathroom with toilet paper dipped in toilet water (one of her favorite projects of late), and saw a commercial for it, so she asked me if we had any. My answer?

"Of course we do. We have 4 kids - it's a requirement." Isn't it?

Guilty Pleasure - Iron Chef meets Nickelodeon meets Circus of the Stars meets...Oh, Just Watch It Already, You'll Like It

Have you all seen this? A couple of weeks ago BigDaddyFish was channel surfing and landed on G4's Ninja Warrior, and as I started my usual "What he hell are you watching?" I looked a little closer, and I'm hooked. After about the second show I said "You know, I'd love to see Paul or Morgan Hamm take that thing on." Late last week they aired episodes where they did. Fun! Today there is an all-day Women of Ninja Warrior marathon. As a result, Sunny has created her own obstacle course all over our family room.

While her enthusiasm is delightful, I'm so glad gymnastics class starts this week.

Words You Don't Want to Hear From Your Three Year Old

"Mom, do we haf any OxyCwean?"

Rut-Roh

All the kids were on the bed with BigDaddyFish this morning, rolling around and laughing and tickling and generally having a great time. Trout was still in the shrieky aftermath of a total meltdown about not wanting to layer her clothes (!) today, during which I was completely calm and every time she shrieked at me I took her face in my hands, kissed her head gently, and said "I love you, Trout." Every. Stinking. Time. She. Shrieked. And it worked great. I don't think she knew what the heck to make of it, but she stopped shrieking.

Anyway, I changed Nemo's diaper, lovin' all over him and kissy-kissing his tummy and making him giggle so he didn't roll away from me or try and wrestle his way to naked time on my bed. As I stood up to take the diaper to the trash and wash my hands, BigDaddyFish gazed at me with That Look in his eye and said "I wish we hadn't gotten your tubes tied."

I looked at him tenderly, lovingly, and said "Well, there's always IVF, but are you Out. Of. Your. Fucking. Mind?"

He said, "They're so cute, I want more" and then looked at me with those big, brown, puppy-dog eyes of his.

THANK GOD I got my tubes tied.

Breastfeeding Brouha - No, It Isn't Funny

Recently, the act of public breastfeeding has come under attack from both Facebook and Bill Maher, and whoever oversees the medical board exams in Massachusetts has demonstrated an astounding lack of support for something the medical profession purports to support.

For those of you who have been busy folding laundry or hiking the Appalachian Trail or just trying to avoid news media, Facebook has not only removed photos of women breastfeeding their infants from their site, but they have banned at least one woman from the site altogether when she questioned why the photo was removed. Bill Maher, in his comments about lactivism and and an upcoming nurse-in due to an Applebee's restaurant in Kentucky requesting that a mother cover up when nursing her infant, compared public breastfeeding to public masturbation and said that the woman should have planned better or stayed home, and seemed incredulous that promoting breastfeeding, i.e. lactivism, is actually a cause for some people. In another act of outrageous stupidity, the organization that oversees the administration of medical boards has denied an MD/PHD candidate and nursing mother of a four-month-old any accomodation to pump her breasts during her day-long board exam. She has sued to have arrangements made for the test she is due to take next week.

Now, Facebook certainly has the right to choose its own content, and if they deem photos of a breastfeeding woman obscene, then so be it. This is my site, and if I deem references to Facebook obscene, so be it. What someone deems obscene is subjective, and we all the option of not looking at something that we deem obscene. Close your browser window, turn off the tv, avert your tender eyes; there is no need to call for the removal of the subject of your discomfort. I do have to question, though, why images of women in revealing bikinis are not deemed obscene, or the existence of hundreds of pro-anorexia groups on the site are not deemed obscene.

Bill Maher? Idiot. Clearly. Breasts are okay in public only for your enjoyment, and not for the purpose for which they exist? Come on. Comparing breastfeeding, something necessary to the sustinence of life, to masturbation, something antithetical to the sustinence of life, if you take a purely technical perpective (which I am only doing for the sake of argument, mind you), is patently absurd. And you can't tell me this is a man thing - I am surrounded by men supportive of breastfeeding. And Applebee's really fumbled the ball there. The woman shouldn't have been spoken to at all about what she was doing, and when told about the Kentucky law allowing women to breastfeed wherever and whenever they need to, the management of that restaurant should have been falling all over themselves to make their lactating customer comfortable. If someone was discomfited by it, they could have relocated the table of the Uncomfortable One so that they couldn't see what was going on, or provided a blanket to put over the head of the Uncomfortable One, not the baby. Again, avert your eyes if you don't like it - we do still have free will in this country.

As for the call to lactivism, these incidents are precisely why lactivism exists. Because sexualized images of breasts are so prevalent in this country that despite my breastfeeding 4 kids my own sister still thinks breastfeeding is "icky." That despite irrefutable evidence that breastfeeding is the healthiest way to feed your baby (for both mother and baby), most women still choose to bottle feed for no other reason than thinking breastfeeding is icky, and it is deemed something shameful by our ridiculous puritanical society. In Europe it is not shameful, and no one covers up. As my grandfather said in response to the Janet Jackson incident "Why is everyone so riled up? It's just a tit - seen one, seen 'em all." They're just tits, being used to feed babies. Not only is it not something shameful, it is a beautiful relationship, something that should be supported and encouraged as much as possible in this country, for the betterment of our own society. Healthier babies, healthier mothers, healthier society as a whole.

When I had my first job back in the late 80s, I worked in a children's shoe store. One evening a woman came in with a child in her arms, a large child, I'd say about 2 years old at the time, and the child was sleeping. So I thought. She asked me to fit shoes on the child while she held the child, which I thought was odd, but proceeded to measure the child's size. I was shocked when I realized that she was breastfeeding the child while I fit the child's shoes. My 17 year old self was ridiculously uncomfortable, in part because I had never been exposed to a breastfeeding child before, or if I had been it was a tiny baby, not a toddler. But I didn't refuse to help her, I didn't ask her to cover up, and I simply made sure I maintained eye contact with the mother. With age and maturity I've learned why it is so important to breastfeed, and I'm glad I didn't let my discomfort get in the way of letting that mother live her life.

As to whoever governs the medical boards (is it the AMA? Really, I'd like to know and write a letter to support that student/mother), it is absolutely ridiculous that an organization that governs the very health care providers to whom we entrust our quality of life won't make accomodations for this mother. I seem to recall the Hippocratic Oath including the line "Do no harm." Does this board not recognize that not allowing this woman to pump they are potentially doing harm to both the baby and her mother?

Those of use who choose to breastfeed and make the commitment to do so have an obligation to support and educate others about the benefits of breastfeeding*. We need to demonstrate that public breastfeeding is not shameful, that we need not half-suffocate our babies by covering them up, we need not take them to unsanitary places to eat. We need to do what it takes to support women to make the choice to breastfeed, by providing time and places for working mothers to pump, by providing information and help when needed. By averting our eyes if we really feel it's necessary, and by giving mothers a warm smile and thumbs up when we recognize that it's not.

*Please note that I do not condemn formula feeders. One of my children has been formula fed for some of her life. I recognize that the reasons women don't breastfeed are widely varied, and include some people who just can't for whatever reason. Women who feed their children formula are not demons who are poisoning their children by any stretch of the imagination. But our society as a whole needs an attitude adjustment in regard to how breastfeeding is viewed in our country.

Fugue

Last weekend I dreamt of my grandfather.

I went to my uncle's office to meet with him about something or other, and then I left, but for some reason had to go back. I went back to the office, but my uncle was gone and the lights were off. There was a cube wall in the office so that you had to walk around the wall to the actual desk space where my uncle sat, and from behind the cube wall there was a flickering light, as though someone had left a tv on in an otherwise dark room. I walk around the cube wall, and there, on a couch pushed up against the cube wall, facing a television, was my grandfather.

I rushed to him and embraced him, held him, hanging on, weeping and laughing all at the same time. He felt solid, not ethereal, warm and solid and alive.

"Hanging on for dear life, huh?" he said. I nodded, too overcome to speak. I sat back a little, but continued to hold his hand.

"What I can't figure out," he began in his slow measured way, "is how to turn off this blasted TV. I can't get it to work."

"That's probably because you're gone," I said.

"So I'm dead, huh?" he queried.

"Yup."

Then he disappeared, and Nemo poked me in the eye in the process of patting my head to let me know he wanted to nurse, and I woke up fully, bereft that it had been just a dream; it had seemed so real. So real. My arms ached that he hadn't actually been there, that I hadn't held him.

Late last week I met with my uncle to actually do some paperwork pertaining to my grandfather's estate, and I related the dream to him. As I spoke, his eyes kept getting bigger and bigger, and he exchanged knowing glances with my Aunt. After I finished speaking, he told me that there is, indeed, a cube wall in his office, and a couch with a tv across from it. He had had difficulty turning it off lately, as someone did something to it and what he had always done to turn it off hadn't worked.

I've never been to my uncle's office in my life. He works for the Federal government, for an agency that is rather secret in its endeavors, and they want to keep it that way.

But my grandfather's been there.

FishyGirl, FishyGirl, What Do You See? I See a White Truck Following Me

Yesterday as I was walking in to the grocery store to pick up a little cake for Little Man, a wonderfully nice mommy with two kids in one of those truck cart things came out towards me and asked me if I would like her cart. Since I had promised Sunny a ride in the truck anyway I said yes, and she and I chit chatted as she loaded her groceries and kids in her minivan and I loaded Sunny and Nemo into the cart. We talked briefly about how it was a busy time of year for us and a challenge to shop with the little ones, and during the conversation she referenced preparing for the holiday yesterday (Rosh Hashanah began at sundown last night). We said a pleasant goodbye and I headed into the store.

Suddenly a guy appeared six inches away from my side, and saying "Happy New Year*" he flipped a business card between his index and middle finger at me. Startled, I took the card with a perplexed look on my face and he said "If you need a plumber, call me." He then walked into the store slightly ahead of us, but too close for comfort. He kept looking at me with a smile on his face, looking like he was going to start talking to me, or expected me to start talking to him, but he never did and I never did. It was quite unnerving.

Several times in the store he was in the section where we were, but I spent a LOT of time at the bakery counter and I didn't see him leave. I KNOW he wasn't near us when we left. We paid for our stuff, spent 15 minutes loading up the minivan with groceries and kids, and drove away.

As we left the shopping center where the grocery store was, I noticed a white pickup truck with a cap on it pulling out behind me and then turning the same way I went. This in and of itself wasn't a big deal, because the town where I live is heavily populated, big enough that if it incorporated it would automatically become the second biggest city in Maryland. But the truck turned behind me again onto a bigger highway, and due to the experience with No Boundaries Plumber I was disconcerted, so I slowed way down in the left lane so he could pass me.

Those of you who live in the DC metro area know what should have happened then. Slow in the left lane means people go flying past you, usually with accompanying horns and middle fingers flying, maybe a tossed cup of coffee or ice thrown in for good measure. That's what I expected. That's not what I got.

He slowed down to my pace. I sped up. He sped up. I nearly peed my pants.

I turned the corner to go down towards my neighborhood and decided he was, in fact, following me, and I didn't want him to know where I lived. So I turned and drove through a neighborhood and back out onto main roads. He stayed with me for 4 turns before he stopped following me. He never got close enough to me that I could see if it was No Boundaries Plumber, nor could I see the tag number.

I am officially petrified.

When I got home, after checking the rear view mirror eleventy million times, I got everything in the house and locked up. I didn't let the kids go outside, because it wasn't clear to me if the person was after me or Sunny or Nemo, but since I was dressed in my typical day-with-the-kids frump wear I have to assume that he was more interested in the kids than me. I still haven't let them go out front to play today, only out on our deck. I was very careful on my way to and from Sunny's school today to make sure I wasn't followed. I've kept the Plumber's card, and I don't intend on ever calling him. Ever.

I've also lectured the kids and made them watch the Stranger Safety video again and again, and we talked about this and how they are NOT to go outside without an adult escort until further notice. If I could just feel secure that they'll actually follow instructions I'd feel a whole lot better, but I may make them walk with me with leashes until they're 22.

I'm scared to leave the house. Time to move. To Mayberry, maybe. Or North Dakota would be nice, except for all that snow. Anyone know any vacant caves in good school districts?

*I had been super perplexed about why he said "Happy New Year" but a friend has since enlightened me that Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Year. So, that meant he heard me talking to the other lady and thought I was Jewish. I feel sick that he was obviously hanging around for a while and I didn't notice until he was nearly accosting me. BigDaddyFish told me if I'm ever followed again to take a picture of my rear view mirror with my camera phone, because even if I can't see enough to make out the tag, those in the business can manipulate it so they can.

Six Years

Six years ago at about this time I was laying in a hospital bed, and the neonatologist had just come into my room to tell me that my newborn son couldn't breathe and was being hooked up to a ventilator. To top it off, they didn't know what was wrong with him. I was exhausted and in pain, refusing to take the percoset they offered, due to bad previous experience with the drug. The nurses brought me a couple of polaroids of my baby, so little underneath the mask that was keeping him alive.

Earlier that day I'd had an uneventful c-section, which was a relief since I had gone into hypovolemic shock after the birth of my first child. The baby did fine with the surgery itself, but in recovery he kept turning blue/gray, and they sent him to the nursery for monitoring. After they got me to my room, BigDaddyFish went to get the baby, and he turned blue/gray again, so they had sent him to the NICU for tests, telling us to check back at around 2:00.

Two came and went and no baby, so BDF went down to check on things as relatives gathered from all over, trying to watch the coverage of the horror from the previous day, and my grandmother was telling me some sort of story about my cousin who is in the Navy. BDF returned about 30 minutes later, bearing not a baby, but a book. The NICU manual. Over the coming two weeks, it was my lifeline.

My full-term, 8 pound 3 ounce baby boy was the largest in the NICU, and also the sickest. We didn't know for the first week if he was going to make it. He was born on a Wednesday, I went home on Saturday, right after his baptism in the NICU. His right lung collapsed Monday night. One of his nurses, a huge man named Clarence who looked like he'd be more at home as a middle linebacker than taking care of the tiniest and sickest babies, told me not to worry. He said "These big ones, they get the sickest, but you'll see. When he decides to get better, he's gonna get better fast."

Clarence was a prophet.

They had to keep the poor thing sedated, because he kept pulling out his tubes. The regular vent wasn't working after a few days, and they had to put him on an oscillating ventilator, a huge thing that sounded like a steam train under full power was barrelling through the room. But after the lung collapsed and they put in a chest tube, boom! Little Man got better. Fast, just like Clarence said. We took him home when he was 15 days old.

My son is alive today thanks to the NICU staff at Shady Grove Adventist Hospital. He is a one in a million case, but there are lots of millions of babies born every year. He is not just alive, but alive. Full of life. I am forever and ever grateful for their expert care, for this precious gift.

Tonight, six years later, on a Wednesday night, our family gathered for waffles and grapes for dinner and cake for dessert. Tonight, instead of polaroids of a sick little thing under a huge oxygen mask, there is a bright, vibrant boy speeding down the street on his brand new Razor scooter. Instead of the NICU book, there are Ugly dolls to hug, fire trucks to play with, puzzles to do, Mighty World playsets to assemble. Instead of pain and sadness and terror with nowhere to turn to escape, tonight there is only love and life and calm.

And gratitude.

Happy Birthday, Little Man. May you have decades upon decades more.