It’s only 2 weeks until my baby and second and last child is off to kindergarten. Two weeks until I give him over to another woman with whom he will probably fall in love. Only two more weeks that I will have him all to myself. Soon he will join the big wide world.
He was a sickly runt when he was born- only one and a half pounds. He was ‘pre-viable’. A ‘micropreemie’. A ‘23 weeker’. A 50/50% chance of survival. An 85% chance of major damage to the brain, eyes, lungs. He was the ugliest baby I ever saw. His eyes were still fused closed. He looked a little like a baby rat-all red and wrinkly- but instead of a tail he was covered with tubes and wires and plastic wrap and patches. Some of them went in throught his naval stump- you know- where his umbilical cord would have attached him to me, or if he had been born later, where his belly button would have been.
I cried every day for two weeks because I had failed him. I had spit out a fetus. A miscarriage caught in the act. I was afraid he would die. Then I cried because I was afraid he would live.
After a while I realized he probably wouldn’t be O.K., but I loved him anyway. I could do it! I would get him the best equipment, the best therapists. I’m a nurse. Who better to take care of a handicapped child. I quit my job (well, not completely). I got to hold him for the first time when he was 40 days old. Then I held him for, oh, about, the next two years. I called him ‘The Chest Monkey’ and ‘Little Big Man’.
But he surprised me. He grew and developed. We started shedding doctors. Goodbye cardiologist. Goodbye endocrinologist. Goodbye surgeons and pulmonologists and opthomologists. He did things at his own pace- walked at 17 months, talked at two and a half years. He wasn’t what you call a ‘good’ baby. He didn’t eat well, sleep well, or play well, at least for a while. He was kinda cranky (except when he was on someone’s chest). How I hated comparing milestones with other moms. I didn’t want to make excuses for his delays and got tired of explaining his special circumstances.
But at around three and a half, he began to blossom into a regular boy. Whodathunkit? And so handsome! I said goodbye to the developmental team. I was tired of hearing “he should be”, “he needs to”, “you should be doing it this way”. They didn’t want us to go. We struck out on our own. He had a cool big sister to guide him (and me, of course).
And now it’s kindergarten time. He’s excited. He’s wearing his school clothes already and says he wants to be a ‘school boy’. He knows kindergarten is cool because we went there when his big sister was in K. They have blocks. And books. And cupcakes.
We’ve been extremely fortunate in that he seems to have little or no deficits… at this time. Other preemie moms have told me we really won’t know what is long term problems will be until he’s in school. They say something will come up. They say the other shoe will drop. You learn to live like that with a preemie. Maybe thay are right. I do think he has a fine motor weakness in his hands and fingers. Plan for the worst and hope for the best. Don’t let your expectations get too high (…or should I?).
I hope he’ll do O.K. He’s done better than I ever hoped. Exceeded all his expectations. I have the feeling I will know the Kindy teacher pretty well by next spring, but I was planning on that anyway.
So I find myself both saddened and excited. When I report in to “Cheers and Tears” in two weeks after dropping him off in Miss Heartwreckers room, I will probably both laugh and cry. It’s a new era for us all.
