Squirt is still with us. He’s consistently below five pounds now and his legs collapse every couple of steps. But he’s still eating and getting where he needs to go with no signs of pain. He can’t get in and out of the litter box very well, but puppy piddle pads (brand is called lil squirts!!) are working just fine.
Two years ago a phlebotomist came into my room at 5 am. She inserted a needle into the crease of my elbow like someone had once every few days for the last two weeks. I was amazed they were still able to find a vein. Nothing stands out about that particular needle stick. It melts together with all the rest of the early morning wake up calls that involved someone standing over me with a needle and vacutainer.
I still have dreams about the NICU. Two years out and I find that to be one of the most surprising remnants of Rowan’s birthday. Most of my dreams are stress dreams anyhow, though they tend towards scary wizards and plots Steven Moffat couldn’t come up with in his own wildest dreams.
The cold I thought I had turned out the be Strep. The nice thing about that is a couple of doses of antibiotics and I feel almost completely back to normal! Last year I had mastitis on her birthday. My body seems to remember that April 8 is a day to feel pain.
Last night I was lying in bed scrolling through my phone when I came across this.
Unfortunate timing, since I had approximately 2.5 hours left of being 34. I figured I should take stock of my current sexiness, seeing as how it was soon going to vanish like Cinderella’s flaky Godmother (why only give her until midnight? If you’ve got the power to make her life better just do it forever. Geez).
I figured the time around Rowan’s birthday would throw some hard days my way, as memories were dredged up and pushed to the front of my brain in a way they haven’t been in a while. I expected moments of sadness over everything surrounding his birth and the time after — the bittersweet joy of his first birthday.
I’ve assumed that I would have a long and heartfelt post to write for Rowan’s first birthday, full of all the feelings and realities of this past year. But honestly? I’ve said it all so many times already. So rather than rehash all my feelings, let’s talk about Rowan.