Both of our kids were preemies. Owen was born 7 weeks early; Jake a full 2 months ahead of his due date. Now that Owen is nearing 4 it's hard imagine him when he was just under 5 pounds, but when I close my eyes I can still see Jake hooked up to tubes with a blood pressure gauge taped to his foot, locked in the incubator he lived in for his first two weeks.
We weren't ready for Owen's birth, but we were even less prepared for Jake's. Because Owen was a preemie I was labeled "high risk" with my second pregnancy, and saw the doctor at least twice a month for check ups. The day before he was born they gave me a test that was "supposed to" tell if I was at risk of going into labor in the next two weeks, and it came back negative. Dave and I were psyched – until I went into labor at 3 a.m. the next morning.
The doctors gave me magnesium to slow the contractions, but they kept coming, and by mid-day they gave up and told me to get ready to deliver. They warned us about the risks -- his lungs may not be fully developed, he may have medical issues and down the line he may wind up with developmental issues. These were the same warnings we were given just hours before Owen was born.
We were panicked. We had lucked out with Owen and felt certain our luck wouldn't hold out a second time. I begged the doctors to do something – anything – to push off the delivery another week, day or even hour, but they couldn't. Jake arrived at about 10 p.m. on Dec. 20, 2005 -- 19 hours after my first labor pain and exactly 8 weeks before he was expected.
It was hours before I could see him. By then he was locked tight in his incubator, already tangled in the thread-like wires connected to his chest. I scanned the monitors, trying to figure out what they all meant, listened for irregular beeps and quickly counted his fingers and toes. Everything seemed fine, but I didn't trust my instincts. Then the nurse came over and reassured me: "He's beautiful," she said. "And he's fine."
That's Jake. Today, 15 months later, he's still beautiful, and better than fine. In fact, he's great. He runs, he breaks into spontaneous giggles when he gets anywhere near his brother, he touches everything he can reach – and he can reach a lot. He's not much of an eater and has suffered bitterly through the growth of each of his seven teeth, but he is a feisty little kid who just makes you want to get down on the floor and play with him.
Why am I writing about him? Because my little guy is growing up. Even though he's still just a peanut today is his third day transitioning into the TODDLER ROOM at daycare. He is now spending half a day with kids up to 2 and a half, and the other half with kids under 15 months. He is sleeping on a cot, sitting at a table (on a chair) to eat lunch with the big kids, playing in the playground, climbing up the slide…. It's crazy.
Sometimes I still worry, and think that the impact of being a preemie is going to show up as some developmental delay we haven't noticed yet. But I'm starting to get over that. Early Intervention won't see him anymore because they say he isn't "delayed enough." And every time he runs up to Owen, grabs precisely the toy his older brother is playing with, and then runs in the other direction I have to smile and think, "that's my boy."
We weren't ready for Owen's birth, but we were even less prepared for Jake's. Because Owen was a preemie I was labeled "high risk" with my second pregnancy, and saw the doctor at least twice a month for check ups. The day before he was born they gave me a test that was "supposed to" tell if I was at risk of going into labor in the next two weeks, and it came back negative. Dave and I were psyched – until I went into labor at 3 a.m. the next morning.
The doctors gave me magnesium to slow the contractions, but they kept coming, and by mid-day they gave up and told me to get ready to deliver. They warned us about the risks -- his lungs may not be fully developed, he may have medical issues and down the line he may wind up with developmental issues. These were the same warnings we were given just hours before Owen was born.
We were panicked. We had lucked out with Owen and felt certain our luck wouldn't hold out a second time. I begged the doctors to do something – anything – to push off the delivery another week, day or even hour, but they couldn't. Jake arrived at about 10 p.m. on Dec. 20, 2005 -- 19 hours after my first labor pain and exactly 8 weeks before he was expected.
It was hours before I could see him. By then he was locked tight in his incubator, already tangled in the thread-like wires connected to his chest. I scanned the monitors, trying to figure out what they all meant, listened for irregular beeps and quickly counted his fingers and toes. Everything seemed fine, but I didn't trust my instincts. Then the nurse came over and reassured me: "He's beautiful," she said. "And he's fine."
That's Jake. Today, 15 months later, he's still beautiful, and better than fine. In fact, he's great. He runs, he breaks into spontaneous giggles when he gets anywhere near his brother, he touches everything he can reach – and he can reach a lot. He's not much of an eater and has suffered bitterly through the growth of each of his seven teeth, but he is a feisty little kid who just makes you want to get down on the floor and play with him.
Why am I writing about him? Because my little guy is growing up. Even though he's still just a peanut today is his third day transitioning into the TODDLER ROOM at daycare. He is now spending half a day with kids up to 2 and a half, and the other half with kids under 15 months. He is sleeping on a cot, sitting at a table (on a chair) to eat lunch with the big kids, playing in the playground, climbing up the slide…. It's crazy.
Sometimes I still worry, and think that the impact of being a preemie is going to show up as some developmental delay we haven't noticed yet. But I'm starting to get over that. Early Intervention won't see him anymore because they say he isn't "delayed enough." And every time he runs up to Owen, grabs precisely the toy his older brother is playing with, and then runs in the other direction I have to smile and think, "that's my boy."
1 comment:
Heidi, all this spastic reporting about the day care study needs some perspective. Everyone who wants to understand what's really going on with the correlation between day care and "disruptive" behavior should check this piece out:
http://www.slate.com/id/2162876
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