On the 20th

Friday, March 20th, Middle child will be two-years-old. For some parents, reaching two is not as big of a deal as when their child reaches one. For us, it is somewhat different. Let me tell you why.

Two years ago, I lay in a hospital bed, 32 weeks and 5 days pregnant. My water had broke at 29 weeks and 6 days, and from that day forward, I lay in a hospital bed. My sole job was to grow a tiny human for as long as possible. I was in a city that I had never seen. I was away from my husband, my sweet daughter, and my lovable idiot of a dog. My parents were in a completely different state, and my friends could only come see me a few times, because I was just so far away. To say I was miserable puts it mildly. The quiet that lives inside a hospital is deathly scary, especially when you have an all consuming fear that your tiny human might die... because that can happen, even in the best of hospitals, inside the best of NICU's. It can happen, and it is freaking scary.

I kept middle child in, and growing, until I was exactly 33 weeks pregnant, and out he came that very night. I went from posting on Facebook about how all was well, to posting a picture of us holding the tiniest person I have ever held. He was more cables, cords, and wires than person. Two years ago, something inside me broke, and to this day I doubt it will ever be fixed. I delivered a four pound baby into the arms of strangers, and I was able to hold him for three minutes before I wasn't allowed to see him again for three hours. My son. The first grandson... Tucked away in a plastic case, with life support, and nurses, and doctors, and momma and daddy could do nothing. I prayed. I cried. I raged.

Magically, under the kindness and understanding of the NICU staff, I learned to care for a preemie. I watched him gain weight, keep his body temperature up, and learn to eat. He was feisty. My heart ached and yearned to take him home, but I never, ever asked the nurses when they thought we would be able to leave. I waited. And we only had to wait for three weeks.

Then suddenly we were home with a five pound baby that never stopped crying. I was heartbroken once again - every time he would nurse he would cry, but if he wasn't nursing he would cry. Our daughter was so used to hearing him cry, that it was always the first thing she told people about Bubba... "He sure cries a lot." I remember my amazing mother-in-law coming for a visit, and saying that she made an off handed remark to a co-work about "how bad could it really be?". She said she was sorry for thinking that, because after spending a of couple days with us, with his crying, she knew. The doctors put him on a special formula for milk allergies, and suddenly he was not crying anymore. He was still feisty, but not crying and that was amazing to me.



In the first year, we waited for smiles, for crawling, for walking, and for talking. He reached one and it was a HUGE deal for us. He survived the first year! We did a happy dance.

Then we began waiting for him to reach all the milestones - fine motor skills, gross motor skills, social/emotional... We waited for the day when the doctors stopped adjusting for age, and for them to tell us he didn't need any therapies because of his premature birth. Preemies have until age two to catch up - and he did! He will go off for a consult with Ortho because he has bowed legs, and that may have nothing to do with him being a preemie. He also has under gone some blood tests to see about his food allergies, but again that may have nothing to do with him being a preemie.

He is still my most difficult child - the one I worry about constantly, and find myself wondering just exactly who he is. I can't figure him out, not the way I have Girl Child and Little Baby figured out. He is naughty in an intelligent way. He rarely smiles for the camera. He loves Legos and things with wheels. He loves to eat. He hates being upside down. He screams louder than any person I have ever known. He throws up on me, bites me, kicks me, and then cozies up to me and says "Luufff yoouuu".

So, I have this to say to him -

Dearest Middle Child,

No. Little baby is not a step stool, and neither is the dog... either of the dogs. Sissy is not your slave, so please stop pointing at things and demanding them in one word sentences. Daddy loves you very much, try really hard to stop running head first into his junk - ouchie. Momma desperately wants to sleep past five in the morning, so please try really hard to stay asleep.

You owe me kid. Big time. I aim to collect. I will embarrass you and you will definitely think you will die from it... But you won't. I will always kiss you right on the lips, and I don't even care if you hate it or you wipe it off afterwards. There will always, always be more food - stop acting like you don't know when your next meal will be.

You are mine and I am yours and there ain't shit you can do about that. I love you, James T. Keep growing - keep getting stronger, faster, and smarter.

Your Momma


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Happy Birthday, buddy.