Deserving mothers and messy patients!

The nurse is telling me in her broken English that her husband has told her that she doesn’t deserve children, but that she could try to “prove herself deserving” but since she is too old now it is basically too late, and she has obviously failed (say whaaat?? the feminist in me threatens to scream).

I ask her what her husband’s criteria of “deserving a child is” (which she doesn’t understand so I have to rephrase the question several times). She isn’t sure, either she doesn’t understand me or she doesn’t know what his criteria are- what she had to do in order to “in his eyes” be able to deserve having a baby. This is ridiculous- are there men like that? 

She seems to agree with him though, which is almost worse. Is she really that “broken”, she seems to be a nice lady. He must be a real jerk (stronger titles come to mind). She tells me he is American and with her accent this is probably not where she was born, he must be using his power over her, bossing her around telling her what to do (putting on my psychologist hat I am able to analyze all sorts of things about this situation, this relationship, this obvious unhealthy marriage).

It is really not my place to judge and I really shouldn’t meddle- a patient in an ugly green gown, oversized see through panties in a hospital bed (doesn’t exactly shout authority) but I feel truly bad for her, the woman is close to tears, but what could I do to help anyways?

Demand to see her husband (probably couldn’t do that) and when and where, and what would I say and in what capacity? Nah, this is something I have to leave alone, but I feel worried about this forlorn lady, I just hope he isn’t abusive (it sounds like he might be verbally so).

She obviously hasn’t proven herself a “good woman, person and wife in his eyes” (how is that for horrible statements!?) therefore she could not and would not become a mother.

Oh if I would have that man in front of me, I would claw his eyes out (I’m already planning a couple therapy session im my mind where I’m-even if inappropriate; totally bias towards the wife. This poor lady, my insides ache for her and even if I really want to tell her she deserves more, I settle for a quiet and very composed (opposite of what I’m feeling) “your deserve to be a mom and I’m sure you would be a great one”.

To my surprise she looks down and slowly and solemnly shakes her head no. Is that a tear I see falling? Okay, this is truly heartbreaking and again I feel utterly and completely blessed with what I have- my husband, our babies, our family and the relationship that we have.

Before she goes, turning off all the lights, leaving me to ponder…she tells me she was given a book by her husband on Mother’s Day last year. She is telling me that she got very surprised to be receiving a gift on such a day since she is not a mother, “he told me to read it, study it and learn from it”.

Now my interest is definitely peaked. I ask what the book was about and she tells me the title is “How to be a good wife”…

The next morning, I’m wakened at the perfectly normal hour of 5:30 am. I am pretty used to early mornings with my husband and son but not after extremely interrupted sleep- do they really have to check my vitals every two hours; I mean really!? – I know you haters out there are telling me it’s for my own good and that I should be thankful, well yes… I am! AND it gets much “worse” when baby gets home, (I still long and pray for that day) thanks for reminding me, I am aware! I am not feeling great okay, and in between vital checks, strong meds, unnecessarily bright lights and middle of the night pumping sessions, I’m a wreck (even before the baby has come home).

The doctor looks hyped up as he is bouncing (I’m telling you) in my room and quickly and loudly exclaims “well, you my friend are a complete mess” …








Well that BACKfired part 4!!!

It turns out I actually did tear-all the way back (I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, not even my worst enemy-if I had one). The pain is like none other.

I have to see two different specialist before my (angel of) a GP doctor refers me to “the one”.

He truly is the best one out there. I’m so lucky to live in a place with so many great medical (geniuses) doctor’s and surgeons. Unfortunately we have really been needing them lately (beyond grateful that all has gone well in the end but we have been experiencing some less than fun and light times as a family with this lingering birth injury and our oldest’s son’s surgery as well…).

Anyways, this doctor I’m referred to is truly amazing (and what he is lacking in bedside manners he sure is making up in skills). He tells me that while pushing my fourth baby out, my already vulnerable skin (after all my lovely babies) forcefully stretched and became VERY thin and fragile (especially with the speed this last one came through with!!!), causing the very next little extra “strain” on the area to in fact rupture “completely”.

My few stitches in my front “lady parts” are fine and have healed nicely-it’s the middle and back that tore. A 3rd and (yikes) fourth degree tear is definitely no “cake walk” and shouldn’t be messed with or by any means be taken lightly…

My whole “quality of life” could change with this injury. I could loose my ability to control my (hm…) should we call them “bathroom” needs, not to mentioned to fear of infection and the ultimate threat sepsis (here we go again…who remembers what happened after my baby girl was born).

This star surgeon want to try everything in his power to avoid extensive and major surgery. But in order to “save” my “nether regions” it might have to come to that in the end after all.

I’m hopeful it won’t…

I mean who want to have major surgery! (Butt surgery as my family “lovingly” call it nonetheless)..??

There are risks with this surgery and complications could and would “ruin” me (see above…) and the recovery is brutal and, loooong and extensive.

I vote for trying everything in this specialty surgeon’s power before we have to go that route.

He has ideas of everything from more permanent stitches- outpatient procedures and even Botox (say what???)

We spend months trying to heal wounds that in the end are just too deep…

Wounds that are in such a sensitive, infection prone area that after a spring full of pain ends in early summer discussions of the BIG surgery (the one we all dreaded) after all.

Throwback; I’m so lucky, lucky…

Before the night nurse enters my room to take my vitals (a popular hobby on this floor), I think back on the day I just had, sink my head back into the pillow and try to channel some deep breathing exercises (I learnt multiple ones at my yoga instructor course but still have a hard time mastering even the simplest ones, the poses are easier, but empting your head and focusing on your breaths-not so much).

After a scare like this, you really see things differently and value what you have, realizing how blessed you really are.

It was especially difficult to leave my precious baby girl today, but I now know just how capable the NICU nurses really are and that they truly spring into action when things turn serious -and I also realize just how fast things can turn bad.

I looked around at the other moms and dads before leaving there today and felt a kind of kinship.

I try to calm my breathing, in, out (in through your nose, out through your mouth, “smell the roses, blow out the candles).

I feel so lucky that I was able to keep my daughter in my tummy as long as I could and thankful that I was put on bed rest at the hospital under the constant watch of medical professionals after all.

This is the first time since coming to the hospital that fateful Thursday afternoon five weeks ago, I feel a sense of calm and clarity.

Obviously I keep coming back to this, dwelling over it and turning it over in my mind, but the fact is, maybe the doctors were all right even if they weren’t the best at informing me about what was going on.

The fact is -whether my water broke or trickled or didn’t break at all, my water was low- far too low for the baby and knowing what I know now that I in fact did get a severe infection, maybe they were even right about getting the baby out at 34 weeks.

I still feel cheated on the last ten weeks on my pregnancy and I still think “why me?” at times but I more often is AMAZED at how wonderfully everything turned out and even though I realize the battle is far from over, we are here, my baby is here and we have come so far!!!

It might be ironic that I’m thinking about this laying in a hospital bed (practicing my best “Oms” but failing miserably because my brain is most definitely turned ON) but I kept my baby inside against all odds, gave birth to a beautiful daughter with a healthy birth weight (for her gestational age and larger than all the experts thought) who was breathing after fearful few seconds, who after all had no bigger issues, deficiencies or deformities.

Bottom line – we both made it out alive even if slightly “broken” but not defeated.

Anyone wishing to have their baby early though or thinking that baby’s birth weight is the determining factor in baby’s health and well-being have a few things to learn.

Nobody wants a premature baby, it’s a fight and a struggle every day and the worry is completely wearing you down. You do NOT want to wish to have your baby-any week earlier than 38!(really) it is not ideal (they are btw changing “full term” to 38 weeks with the ideal week(s) being 39-41, and 37 being “early term” and anything before week 37 premature).

I feel so lucky this moment right now right here even in a hospital bed, because my baby girl is okay- at least for the time being, sleeping peacefully, breathing fine and is being monitored. My husband at home in our lovely house with my big baby, both safe and sound even if a little wild and crazy (not only the little one), I’m feeling better and my mom is here, staying with us, helping us and keeping me (us all) sane.

After my family leaves I have time for some dinner (which I barely touch, the tuna sandwich was enough for one day) I pump (getting excited that I get more mls than last time) and then it’s time for my vitals again.

They are taken by an older, Asian nurse who does not seem to speak much English. I saw her earlier and feeling happier than before, I try a smile and a nod.

Surprisingly she starts telling me that I’m beyond lucky to have a baby girl-or a baby at all for that matter, even if she came too early and has to stay in the NICU (I withhold the Brady scare of today) in broken English. I weigh my words carefully first agreeing that I am in fact very lucky, daring to ask if maybe she couldn’t have children. No, she shakes her head looking forlorn, “my husband told me I wasn’t a good enough wife to deserve any children”…

Pics from the NICU

Throwback Thursday; Brady is not just a cute boy name…but something terrifying

A “Brady” stands for Bradycardia which means a dangerously slow heart rate…

That basically means that the lungs have already told the heart that they have “packed up their bags and left, so the heart might as well do the same”.

Unfortunately preemie parents usually get familiar with the terms “apnea” (which is often the precursor to a Brady) where the baby stops breathing. A “Brady”; is worse because the infant doesn’t only stop breathing but their heart rate slows down because of low blood oxygen levels which is called desaturation or “Desat” and all these terms are both terribly frightening and life threatening.

Apnea, the precursor to a Brady is always scary however, because if your baby has an “apnea attack” or “spell” it means he/she DOES stop breathing…but usually they will start again on their own within seconds and no intervention is needed.

“Apnea of prematurity” goes away the older the preemie gets or the closer they are to their due date (around 44 weeks it often goes away completely).

Apnea is causes by the newborn’s immature nervous and muscular systems and the more mature those system gets, the better the infants get at breathing on their own.

The percentage of preemies with apnea goes down after 34 weeks of gestation and dramatically the closer the preemie is to full term 38-40 weeks gestation.

When apnea do occur the brain fails to tell the lungs to breathe and since the lungs check out, the heart thinks it is next in line. Usually older preemies do not go into this Desat mode often since the systems in their bodies are more developed.

Therefore depending on the infant’s gestational age, issues and overall health, these terms can be more or less dangerous but the fear that grabs ahold of you when you are told your baby has stopped breathing and their blood oxygen level is so low their heart is literally starting to give up is indescribable and beyond terrifying…

Those beeping machines are every preemie parent’s worst nightmare, especially when the nurses react, then you know it’s really bad.

Intervention by a medical professional is never a good sign in the NICU.

“Didn’t you see her turning blue” Kate the nurse exclaims!

Her breathing is back to normal- and so is the baby’s; thank you God! “

“No” I think in my head and feel like a terrible mother yet again, I really didn’t see her turning any shade of blue.

My mom admits it out loud “I don’t think we saw that, what is it that we are looking for, and can you please explain what happened?”

Kate explains about the machines and the blue and the yellow lines, the heart rate and the oxygen levels on the monitor, going below 80 is bad but usually when the alarm beeps nobody gets overly concerned because the baby’s body will quickly correct what is wrong on their own, especially the babies “out on the floor” (in open beds).

My baby girl’s body did not correct her breathing, her blood oxygen levels were dangerously low and her heart rate dropped too low, needing manual intervention…

The Brady is one of the worst things that can happen “and this earns her an extra five days in the NICU” Kate tells us. I am too emotionally stressed and exhausted to try to feed her, the whole time I’m holding her, I’m starring at the monitors waiting for something bad to happen again…

I give Kate what I have pumped and as she is heating it up she chatters happily, seeming so relaxed that I must say a little rubs off on me, by the time the bottles are ready, I am too – but not for any fancy feeding tubes or wires leading to my boobs, just for the bottle.

Princess is doing so well and my mom and I start talking about other things instead of highlighting my daughter’s near death experience, agreeing though that nurse Kate is pretty awesome.

My mom always makes me feel better and before the nurse wants the baby back, swaddled and sleeping, we have time for some pictures and even share laughs about my huge swollen feet and smiles over how tiny baby M really is and how she looks really big in the pictures.

My mom is happy that she gets to hold her first granddaughter and we are both so extremely relieved that she seems fine again.

Once back in my room I get to kiss my big baby and gets sad again when my family leaves, but quickly get some perspective when hearing my night nurse’s story, wow… and I thought my husband can be insensitive and unemotional at times…

Well that BACKFIRED!! Part 3

The ER doc ( annoyingly good looking btw- which is just my luck and just soo typical) checked me after the standard two hour wait (where [naturally] a gun shot victim and a heart attack went ahead of me…) and the paperwork and vital checks.

To be laying on your stomach with your butt in the air (propped up by pillows I might add) on a narrow bed in a crowded ER with only flimsy drapes between you and the next person is not exactly my (or I do believe anybody’s) idea of fun!

Baby boy was getting antsy and hungry in the stroller and all I wanted to do was scoop up his tiny one month old body (still only weighing like the average newborn) take him home, snuggle and feed him all night and forget about this nightmare.

Unfortunately with this level of pain, it was impossible to forget and no matter how embarrassed and uncomfortable I was I was willing to do anything for the pain to go away (or at least lessen).

It was pretty clear from the start that this doctor’s specialty was NOT obstetrics or gynecological- he clearly stated that I needed surgery but to go through my own perinatal specialist, who would probably refer me to a perineum surgeon-even if he took one look at the baby and then at me exclaiming “birth injury”!

The best he could do was stitch me up but he warned me that stitches would only be a quick fix, a “band aid” and temporary solution for the “outer layer” since these tears were too deep and would most likely require surgery in the end (just great…)

He still let me suffer through a CT scan (just to be sure there wasn’t any internal bleeding, cysts, masses or polyps etc.) while the nurses fought over holding my cute infant son!

I left the ER after several hours actually probably feeling in more pain (if that is even possible) than when I came…

No wound care, pain relief creams or “sitz baths” would make me feel better either…this was nothing “simple” postpartum care or treatment would take care of…

My months long journey of pain (while taking care of 4 kids, six and under) had only just started…

Well, that BACKfired Part 2

Right after our successful “sip n see” parties (on trend with the idea being “sipping champagne and seeing the new baby~ perhaps the other way around for me) and after a successful 1 month doc appointment where the baby only weighs a little over 7lbs (a pretty common birth weight but what can I say my babies come early and petite!! 7lbs was the goal for 2 weeks but at least the Peds isn’t worried and only tells me to “keep doing what I’m doing”) something happens…

The baby is fine but all of a sudden, his mama is anything but…

It all happens so fast I sit down (think low squat) and I can literally feel myself tear…

The pain is hell on earth and the blood is trickling down my legs.

I actually have no idea what is happening only that I’m in acute pain and that this is potentially very, very serious…

Thank God my mom is here so I can discuss this with her but even if she suggest going to the ER right away (wise woman), I put on a ginormous pad (hello diaper) and huge comfy (pregnancy) pants and take my two older kids to school.

I almost have to stand when I’m driving (which is next to impossible of course) even if we put one of those after delivery rings (“donut pillow things) down on my seat-obviously understanding that this is some sort of birth injury but not understanding why it’s happening NOW?? Four weeks AFTER delivery…

The pain is excruciating…

I call my OB office and ask to speak with a nurse as soon as my kiddos are safely in their classroom, she (almost) screams “ER now” as soon as I explain the feeling and location of the tear…

I rush home (as fast as I can without you know being able to sit) and as the pain increases so does my worry…

I take my tiny 4-week old son from my mom (since he is nursing so often, and since I don’t know how long I will be gone, I’ll have to bring him to the hospital) who now has to stay home with my 22 month old as I quickly explain that the nurse agrees with her!

The blood is still slowly leaking out and there seems to be some yellow stuff as well-it’s confusing since I’m still bleeding a lot from after birth as well.

How do you tell the difference and where is it coming from? Major TMIs here, excuse me people!

Maybe I’ll just admit this; since I need to know how it looks and more exactly where I’m “hurt” before I need to explain it to the ER nurses/doctors- I need to see it…

It is a very difficult (and painful) task but…

Yup it’s torn…

Raggedy edges and ALL the way back…

Throwback Thursday-That my friends…was a Brady

My newborn daughter’s heart has stopped beating in front of our very eyes.

I take in the scene of the distraught nurse, the red flashing of the monitor and the alarm beeping, the tiny oxygen mask at the ready…without really taking it in at all.

My mom and I being positive, in high spirits, relieved that I am feeling better, hopeful and happy to be seeing the baby, are now suddenly in utter shock, “but she was doing so well”.

Before we can really take in or completely understand what is happening, it is over.

I think that maybe I have misunderstood what is happening, looking at my mom who seems equally confused.

Did that really just happen?

Did my little precious baby girl just stop breathing?

Was it another apnea attack? And why did this one seem so much more serious?

Why were all the lights blinking and alarms blaring?

Kate, the nurse actually looked scared when we walked in, while before she has seemed “close to oblivious” and always reacted down to earth and matter of fact.

Now the look of relief on her face is apparent, she even broke out a sweat while handling the baby and her obvious fear makes it all real…too real…

Wiping at her forehead she quickly rearranges her facial expressions into the stoic, efficient and knowledgeable professional she is and I think maybe I was imagining the fear in her eyes?

She had the situation under control right?

My baby was never in any REAL danger. They are so good here they can handle and predict almost anything, and my daughter was doing so well, she made it to 34 weeks, she was big for her gestational age, bigger than they thought.

Other than the breathing and the jaundice, eating issues and body temperature regulation difficulties she was fine.

Everyone was amazed at how fine she was. The NICU team rushing her there after delivery called her a miracle and even told my husband that her NICU stay would be short and marveled over how good she looked.

Besides; they moved her to a new, open bed, which is a great sign and her nurse also oversees two other little ones and not just her, meaning she is doing so much better.

Also think about all the other tiny babies in here, born terrifyingly early…scary things do happen to them where the nurses have reasons to get worked up, but my baby…

What exactly happened to her and why? I thought I was safe… we were safe, everybody taking the easy going approach, “she is big and doing so well”.

Even though it is in my nature to worry (driving myself and everyone around me crazy) I thought that I could finally ease up a little bit, feel blessed and relieved that my girl was doing so great!

Yes she is premature, yes she is tiny, yes she is in the NICU and not home with us and yes she lost weight and is now just over 4lbs and she has some issues and has overcome obstacles on the way…

The situation is frightening and far from ideal and nothing that I could ever have imagined but I was starting to look forward…

Kate bundles up the baby (swaddling her like only nurses can), puts her newborn hat on (you know the one, pink and blue) and puts her back in her clear crib on wheels…bed number 13.

That must be a very good sign right?

Maybe what we thought happened didn’t really…I don’t even know what I thought, I barely had time to react. From the easy interaction between my mom and I, to “what am I walking in to?” This is all so new to me and maybe it sounds weird but this baby is also so new to me, all these feelings and emotions, all this weirdness about her staying in the hospital, not being able to go home…come home with me, her mother…her family.

Me being sick, the bed rest, the hospital stay, I’m wondering when it all will catch up with me…

I look at my mom again, a little nervous smile. We are all good here, right!? Mom and I stand side by side, arms dangling, looking at the nurse, not sure what to do or say, questions piling up inside.

Finally Kate looks at us, her normal cool, collected self, “that my friends” she says “was a Brady”

Well, that BACKfired…

It’s been over a year since I brought my last baby home but it’s so much left untold…

Coming home with baby number four and finally introducing him to his sibling tribe feels wonderful!

My number three is confused and upset that he is no longer the baby and we try to reinforce the importance, honor and joy of the “big brother” title.

He still cries and snuggles up to mama once I sit down on the living room sofa (oh how I missed thee) to show off their baby brother.

I know that I’m in for an intense “newborn period” and that I still have three other little kids to take care of and care for. 4 six and under…here we go! 

But going from three to four is strangely smooth and while I won’t call it “bliss”- mostly due to all the usual suspects; the new mom (and baby) breastfeeding struggles, latching troubles, sore, raw nipples, leaky, engorged boobs and the utter fear of clogged milk ducts (or worse; gasp!; mastitis), tugging stitches, buckets of blood and you know the complete lack of sleep (might be the worst one in my book), we were doing just fine!! (Might also have something to do with my super awesome mom who yet again flew over the sea to be with me (us)! 

The oldest brother is growing up and is proving to be (at least somewhat) helpful and the sister is completely in love with her newest baby brother (probably not remembering much from when her other baby brother was born) forgiving me (almost) for not bringing her a baby sister! My third little one is jealous and a little sad-regressing a bit over the weeks to come (crawling, drinking milk from bottles, wanting to be held and even nurse again!) but at yet not 2 years old, he is mostly adorable and easy to please with a cuddle and smooch (this is about to change big time but for now we are managing!) 

Mom and I marvel how less stressed we are about the baby being so tiny and not gaining enough weight in the first two weeks (do not misunderstand me now, we do worry a bit but there is no panic). I am actually pretty confident in my own (as well as baby’s) ability to get the hang of breastfeeding and surviving on breastmilk alone, despite the doctor’s recommendations of adding formula. 

My mom helps with literally everything else, allowing my husband to work, so I can concentrate on fattening my littlest cutie up. 

It IS frustrating in the beginning, lots of tears from us both (baby and I- none from my mom) but we power through. 

My mom cooks for my entire family while I sit on the couch coaching baby boy to eat, eat, eat- praying that he gets enough. Then mom takes the baby while we all eat (she is so marvelous)! 

My husband takes the older two to brush teeth, go potty and read before bed, while mom takes the baby back after she finishes her own dinner and I put my big baby boy to bed. This routine really works, but makes me worried about my mom leaving in a few weeks. 

Before mom leaves however we have to plan two different “sip n sees”, one for friends and one for family, and we all look forward to dressing up, decorating and showing off our newest family member! 

While the parties go off without a hitch, what happens next is quite horrific…

Throwback; Pump, dump and breathe!!

The nurses who take care of my baby girl are apparently mad that she no longer has any milk left so they can’t feed her.

I quickly explain that the doctors told me that I can’t use any of my milk because the antibiotics they are giving me are too strong. One of the older nurses mutters something about “this mama obviously not knowing how important mother’s milk is to her baby” and I get sad (especially being extra sensitive right now) because I do know how important it is for my baby and I try really, really hard to even “produce” any.

As I tear up, another one of the younger nurses turns her back to me whispering loudly (if that makes sense; a “theatre whisper” in Swedish) that it is not like ‘’a lot of the medicine will come in the milk anyways and since the baby really needs the milk I would definitely give it to her ”.

I wish I could speak up and stand up for myself here but my timid side takes over and my mouth goes dry and my heart starts beating faster, I try to clear my throat to explain to these judgmental nurses that I really didn’t know and that the doctors did tell me to throw out my milk, when my favorite nurse Kate swoops in yet again and I don’t have to.

My savior from last night is saying how she can’t believe I’m standing up on my own two feet and that I’m here after seeing me in the state I was in the last time she saw me. She proceeds by telling the other nurses how extremely sick I was and how I’m such a trooper. I look at her hoping that she sees the gratefulness in my eyes- for everything. Then she tells the other two nurses that it is sometimes tricky with medicines; some antibiotics ARE too strong for the babies, even the little amount that actually comes in the milk (now this lady is incredible). Before the stunned nurses (actually giving me apologetic glances now) have a chance to respond, Kate announces that she will go get doctor W (the NICU baby doc) to ask her about the specific medication I am on, and she leaves with a wink to me.

The older nurse busies herself with getting the comfy rocking chair (highly sought after here in the NICU) and some pillows so that I can sit down and hold my baby, while the younger one now mumbles something about “skin to skin also being very important” before she hurries off.

Kate comes back happily sharing that I can stop pumping and dumping (what a waste) and start pumping in order to get baby some milk. She says that Dr. W is outraged that the doctors told me to throw my precious milk out but that it definitely isn’t my fault and she continues to explain that even if my antibiotic is probably the strongest one out there, it is also one they give to premature babies to help them fight off especially bad infections.

All I want to do is to go back up to my room (my new WIC room that is at the Women’s Intensive Care unit) and pump, pump, pump, getting as much milk as possible proving to everyone (childish I know, this is for my baby after all) that I CAN do it and that I DO have my daughter’s best interest, and only her best interest at heart.

But first some much needed snuggle time with my tiny cutie!

My mother comes by in the afternoon with my husband and son in tow. My little boy is satisfied settling in on my bed with SpongeBob and snacks from the vending machine (what? it’s not like we let him eat that crap all the time), knowing how to work the large off-white remote by now (please buddy, not the call button), the nurses swooning over him, the beautiful blonde little “girl” visiting her mommy, while my mom and I head down to the NICU.

We make it as far as the elevator before my husband calls telling me that our son is already “over it” running amok in the sterile room with all the hospital equipment; so not ideal.

My mom advices me to let daddy take care of this one, he could use the training and experience, she is excited to see the baby and to spend some time with both of us making sure we are okay!

As I bite my tongue, I agree with her but can’t help offering my husband some suggestions on what to do with our wild one, like take a walk or come up with a distracting game. I remind him not to let him touch anything in the room or pull the emergency rope in the bathroom (yep, he got very close… twice before).

I can’t help by worry a little but know I have to focus on my other baby and all this worry is exhausting, besides my husband has had a lot of practice lately with me being gone so long (even with all my mom’s help) so he should be able to figure this one out.

Before we are even at the hand-washing station, he texts me a reassuring message that the nurses are entertaining our little troublemaker and giving him cookies (telling him what a good girl he is; which I’m sure is quite confusing since we had the whole “boy or girl speech” not long ago)…

As soon as we are done washing up, and we turn the corner to bed number 13, the normally super calm, cool and collected nurse Kate is frantically patting my baby’s back, shouting for her to start breathing…

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