Funniest moment of parenthood so far.

Today this little man is six months old, and not so little! He’s 14 and a half pounds today, which is miraculous considering just six months ago he weighed only a little over a pound and a half.

Today was also the day the Children’s Hospital that was in charge of Andrew’s care had their telethon. They raised over 50, 000 dollars today to help care for the children there. I’m so greatful for those who are constantly donating and allow the people there to do what they do best, and help the children of families that otherwise couldn’t afford the care.

Without these people, and without the wonderful team of doctors and nurses at our local medical center, I wouldn’t have this little sweet pea babbling in my ear and drooling on my shoulder right now.

Happy six months, little man.

A lot of the time I spend with my son, I spend with a hand resting over his chest. I need that reassurance that he’s breathing, monitor or no. That somewhat unsteady, sometimes too quick rise and fall is the most comforting thing to me these days. He is taking his own breaths. My son is BREATHING.

I hear moms say it all the time. “Oh, I used to watch him/her sleep all the time just to make sure he/she was breathing.” They say it in a very sweet, sentimental way. It was just new mom jitters. For myself, and others like me, this isn’t the jitters. It’s not sweet, though it is sentimental in a way. It’s pure reassurance. Because we’ve known what it’s like to see our baby stop breathing. We’ve stood at bedside with white knuckles, and watched a team of doctors force a tube down our baby’s throat so that they can breathe again, and his or her heart can keep beating. We’ve heard the shrill alarms in the ICU that tell us that that little heart came dangerously close to stopping. We’ve waited out apnea watch periods. We’ve seen little lips and faces turn from pink, to white, to blue. It never stops being terrifying.

“Welcome to parenthood!” We get that a lot too when baby finally comes home. Ironically, we’re the ones who aren’t welcomed into parenthood. We’re the ones who were thrown into it, who may have almost lost our lives to it. We had an advantage in a way, we got to know our babies for months before they were our own responsibility. However, we paid dearly for that advantage. Parenthood came with a price for some of us.

Each breath my son takes is something precious to me. It took him months to be able to take those breaths on his own, without the aid of a machine. He has fought so hard for each and every single one of them.

Each breath is a miracle.

Those rise and falls beneath my palm are the most comfort I’ve been able to find in ages.

Andrew, you truly are the strongest little man I know.

And my son has already spit up on me, peed on me, dropped his sats while I was trying to pee. (And trying to write about it. Ugh). His monitor has already died once. He managed to throw off his pulse-ox. He’s apparently a noisy sleeper (like me), and twitches when he’s falling asleep (like his father). He thinks pants are no fun. And polar bear booties are really only to be worn on one foot, as is the fashion today. Mommy is already tired. And a nervous wreck. And I don’t know how I’m going to shower daily with a baby who thinks it’s great fun to hold his breath every time I go to use the little girls room. Time for a nap.

Just to check up on Andrew’s equipment (he went back on oxygen this weekend), and the doctor tells me TODAY, the day I thought he was coming home,that they’ve decided to extend his stay for observation. Lovely. We’ve been going back and forth like this for the past two weeks. I just want my son home.

I STILL don’t have Andrew home with me. The final date was meant to be Monday, however on Friday evening he had a severe feed related apnea. Then, the following day, another apnea in his sleep that gave his nurse and I a great scare. Then another on Monday morning. As such, the hospital decided it was wiser to keep him another week and watch him. They’re unsure if this is a result of his being taken off of oxygen, or if it’s something else. He also needs to pass his car seat test again before coming home, seeing as the last time he was tested he was still on oxygen. Hopefully, he’ll be home with me on the 13th. Just in time to be my valentine.

As for home…well, it’s not ideal, but it’s better than the alternatives. The baby and I are in a temporary housing facility for families, for the time being. (Or rather, he will be joining me soon if all goes well…) I have spent the last three days scrubbing every fixture of the place, mopping the floors more than three times, sanatixing any and every thing he may come into contact with. Our situation is not ideal, but for his sake, I’m trying to make it work.

My little boy is so amazing. In the past three months I have watched him grow from a tiny little pile of flesh and bone, barely bigger than my hand, into a healthy and HAPPY little boy with an adorable little double chin and a crooked smile. It is so hard to bring life into this world in such a violent way, and see that life being sustained by machinary and a coctail of different medications and think that one day, everything will be okay. I didn’t get to hold my son for the first five weeks of his life, because of the life support he was on. And soon, I’ll be able to hold him every waking moment of the day. His eyes were still fused shut, days after he was born, and now he opens them and looks around to find me when I talk to him. He smiles for his favorite two nurses, and when his daddy talks in his special ‘Andy voice’. He has come so far, and has passed everyones expectations by lightyears. He is the strongest man I’ve ever known, and he’s only three months old. I love him more than words could possibly begin to express.

After a weekend of deliberation, my family has decided NOT to help me. They’re honestly too stressed as it is, too old, too tired, and have too many grandchildren to take care of without my little guy added to the mix. They don’t want the responsibility of helping to raise a newborn who has special needs.

A part of me is furious. A part of me understands.

Most of me is just overwhelmed and frustrated and wants to cry.

It’s very hard for them to understand that he’s not SICK anymore. It’s hard for them to see him on oxygen and realize he’s a NORMAL baby now. Because he needs a little extra attention, and a little help, does not mean he’s not perfect as is. He’s a wonderful little boy, and honestly, he’s the most low maintenance newborn I’ve ever met. It’s so frustrating to hear someone say they don’t want to watch them like they do for their other kids because he’s ‘not normal’. I’m trying to be understanding, but it hurts. I need help, and they’re taking back their offer to. It’s frustrating.

I spent the entire day with the social worker and case manager at the hospital, trying to figure out what I’m going to do.

My aunt wanted to send me to home in Rockland county for unwed mothers. The idea makes me sick to my stomach. I’d be leaving the city I love, the man I love, the doctors and nurses and everyone I know here who know Andrew, to live in a glorified cage where someone will bunch me together with a bunch of teenage girls who got pregnant and dropped out of high school. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so glad places like that exist, and I’ve always wanted to be involved in a non profit that would help girls in that situation, but I don’t want to be living there.

The hospital will be keeping Andrew for another week, and will be attempting to ween his oxygen in the mean time. The social worker on the floor is doing everything she can to find a way for me to be able to stay in the city and find a place I can afford with help from social services, where I can stay home and be with the baby.

I have been trying so hard to do everything on my own, and I really can’t manage by myself. It took everything falling apart for me to ask for help.

I just hope that we can get something done so I will have a safe, clean environment to bring my baby home to.

We’re still rooming in tonight, which is so nice of the staff. I need to just cuddle with my little one, and Bren tonight. I’m so disappointed, and I feel so helpless. They’re my only strength right now. I just want to take a night to enjoy them, as if circumstances were better.