Church, God and Miracles

I figured since I had my own personal miracle, I would start exploring the various institutions that are founded on mircacles. The church I went to yesterday had an especially funny (to me, uninitiated into the realm of organized religion) call and response. One that I found both amusing, relevent and profound. Especially that this call and response has to be constructed so it makes sense backwards as well as forwards. Would it be incorrect to liken to a palendrome?

Call: God is good.
Response: All the time.
Call: All the time.
Response: God is good.

Because it was a mass commemorating the Last Supper, the elders of the church washed and kissed the feet of the congregants; an extremely intimate and unexpected (to me) gesture that really did seem to embody the lesson that we should honor and take care of one another. It was all done so lovingly, it didn't even strike me as the least bit corny. I had to cry.

Although Bo was nauseaus again at bedtime last night, he woke up this morning full of joy and happiness. We will see if this nausea diminishes tonight or not. I'm hoping it finally does, but we will also have an ultrasound this afternoon to confirm the status of the last kidney stone. I'll post new pix later tonight.

Still No New Pix

Jose left the jump-drive converter at our friend's house. We won't get it back till tomorrow night. Jose's at his model-making class tonight. I was getting a stomach ache anticipating a repeat of last night, as Bo started up again right after his second (last) nap. I was putting together his TPN and Omegaven infusions for the night and sat him up in the middle of our queen sized bed. He just sat there looking so miserable. His eyes were glazed over, and I swear he had bags under his eyes. He would gag every few minutes, but nothing came up. Then, 20 minutes after hooking him up, I put him down in his crib and no coughing, gagging, or retching for the last hour! There is the occasional clatter of the crib toy, but he's not awake enough to retch, cry or play. This is all good. What a blessing!

First Full-time Monday

I'm greasy and need a shower. I haven't groomed my face in, it feels like weeks. And now, after hooking the baby up on my own and trying to get him to sleep, I am bone tired. That feeling you get after sleeping in and forgetting your morning coffee? Like a vice is gripping the top of your skull? That's what my head feels like right now. It's not like this every day, but the gagging/retching/choking routine has returned, and with it that vice-grip on my brain. At this moment, I have an inkling of empathy for how substance abuse starts.

Bo is lying in his crib, an hour after his bedtime, silent but for a few soft moans punctuated by this loud, hair-raising retching. I've already spent an hour holding him, shifting to one shoulder, then the other, down to the crook of my arm and back up, chasing the pacifier with the bend in my elbow or my chin. We have this theory that if he's nauseaus and teething that maybe the pacifier will allow him to feel soothed without quite so much retching. A poorly studied theory. My back muscles instinctively grip my bottom ribs and my neck first flushes then grows cold.

New mothers everywhere are weary. I know this. But right now I am feeling sorry for myself, and wondering if any of them really feel as tired as I do. Then, immediatly, I know that they do. Duh. But when I hear the retching I simultaneously want to scream and pick him up to make it go away. I would cry, but that would definitely not be soothing. And then I quickly remind myself that his existence is a miracle. He is proof that miracles do happen. Then I hear him gag on the baby monitor and the whole cycle of emotions repeats itself.

Jose is at painting class, a time that is sacred to me. I want him to keep doing his work, too. And while my current work may not be as fulfilling as I had hoped, it is still a way to be in contact with the outside world, and earn our keep.

Gagging. PLEASE fall asleep. Fury at Jose. He calls and asks if he should come home. I practically scream, NO! I am sitting, but my mind is a frenzy. I can't even take a shower until I know he is asleep. What if he really starts vomiting and I have to run to the nursery all soapy? What if I'm too late? Or slip and hurt myself? So here I am, greasy, tired, anxious.

Gagging. PLEASE, please, if there is a God, if he is a miracle, why does he have to continue suffering?

More gagging. My eyes are welling and stinging with fresh tears. Please just fall asleep. I want to kill myself, momentarily. Then I wonder if maybe the U of M people were right. Then my fury and revulsion at that thought and that institution sober me back up, and I creep into the nursery to reposition the pacifier. Three beautiful, restful minutes of silence from the nursery. I check the blog of another short gut baby and feel like such an ass. This momma has entries that are all so positive. They are not forced cheerful, but genuinely, inspiringly positive. Even with her child much more severly affected than Bo (her daughter has some brain damage, requires a ventilator to help her breathe, and lots of OT/PT/ST). I am a jackass. They say that we should not compare suffering. But what if it reminds me to be better? Be more forgiving? Be more grateful? Ten amazingly silent minutes. I will never again take forgranted a quick and silent bedtime.

The vice around my head loosens up. I'm starting to feel human again. Almost jubilant. There is a God. Thank you. Thank you, Bo for being such a good boy. Thank you, God, for giving him some peace tonight. Thank you for giving us another day to witness this miracle, to kiss his fat cheeks, to tote him around to each window in the house, to hear him screech with joy, to nurse him at lunch, to feel his warm hand on my face... I am grateful for every day.

Is it greedy to hope for years? Is it morbid not to? Is it presumptuous to relax? Is my medical anxiety the answer to my professional ennui? Who really cares, if the baby is finally sleeping? Maybe I can finally take a shower? Or is that pushing my luck? It is St. Patrick's Day, and Bo is part Irish...

Weekend Teething

Sorry no photo today. I'm updating from one of my dad's laptops. Just wanted to let you know that we haven't seen any actual teeth, but not only do I feel their corners pushing up under the gums, but he is chewing on his pacifier like crazy. This is significant because he lost interest in those things months ago. We had to scramble around looking for them when all this teething started. And the worst part is that at the end of the day, he gets quite uncomfortable and has difficulty falling asleep because he feels so lousy. Poor Boo-Boo. Would Tordol for teething be going overboard?

Well-Baby Bonus Round!

Up till today, Bo was clinging to the bottom of the growth curve, @ the 3rd percentile. As of today, he's been promoted to the 5th percentile for both height and weight! Of course, it is no optical illusion that he has a big noggin; ringing in at a stupendous 25th percentile, which, relatively speaking, is huge. Big head, big brain, right? Bonus: no shots!

Cousins!

This is Bo and his next older cousin, Violet. She came over to play a few weeks ago.

Bo has his next well-baby (get vaccinated) appointment today. I hope I can find his vaccine card. It's always sliding around some pile of documents or other.

Two Cats, A Dog and A Baby- this is not the opening line of a joke

Murray officially has Feline Lower Urinary Tract Disease. It's as painful and annoying and impossible to understand as infant kidney stones. So now she needs more fluid in her diet. At least this is an easy one; give her soft food. And Prozac? We'll see...

Ming, Mom and Bumper are here. Maybe Bumper set it off.

Bo is so excited to see my mom and sister!