…And Bells on Her Toes

Caity, you’re growing up, and it’s making me sad.  Not really, really sad like I want to cry or anything, it’s just that you’re my little one and you’re not so little anymore.  I noticed today that for as long as I can remember, you haven’t been sucking your virtual thumb anymore.  That actually made me almost cry.  It was always the one endearing little thing you did that I absolutely adored.  Yes, I made fun of you for it, but now you don’t do it anymore and I miss it … can you please do it again for Mommy?  Even when you were first born and in the hospital, it seemed like you wanted to suck on your thumb but couldn’t quite figure out the mechanics of it.  I tried to help you, but you were satisfied with almost sucking it.  As soon as your hand would get close to your mouth, you’d make this little suck-clucking noise that was cute.  From the very first hour, you wanted nothing to do with a pacifier.  Try as we (Me and the Nurses) might, we’d no sooner put one in your mouth and it would end up getting spat out on the floor.  After a few attempts, we took the hint that you were perhaps a self-soother.  But boy did you have a set of lungs on you.  It turns out you needed them.

You tried to leave me just after you were born.  I still can’t believe that I almost lost you and I thank whatever God is above for the quick thinking Doctors and Nurses who saved your life.  You freaked out a little bit in your attempt to be born and pooped.  Sometime in the canal you inhaled it.  You came out covered in Meconium and blood and it generally wasn’t a pretty picture. 

Then I didn’t hear you cry.

And I waited.

And waited.

And still no cry from you.  At this point I’m panicking, your Dad’s panicking and there’s a team of people standing around you suctioning out your little airway.

I’ve never prayed so hard in my life.

The doctor came over to me and I asked him why you weren’t crying.  He said “Mom, if we let her cry, she’ll asphyxiate”.

I’ve never seen your Dad so scared.

And then you let out a howl that would wake the dead.  You were going to be ok.  You spent 3 days in the NICU attached to various machines and when you decided it was time for food, I could hear you bellowing down the hallway.  You were so loud you got the other babies going.

You looked like you didn’t belong there.  Here you were, a healthy 7 lbs., 11 oz., and next to you in an incubator was a baby who weighed only 1.5 pounds.  He was born, I think at about 24 weeks and was the tiniest thing I’d ever seen.  I often wonder how he’s doing and hope it all went well.  His poor mother would come to visit him and cry.  It was very sad.

I thank God for you.