I am writing this blog post on my phone with one hand. You are sleeping on the other one, with your pjs halfway off, one arm down the neck of my shirt, propped semi-sideways with a pillow, with a dirty burp rag covering most of your face, the only combination of elements that has made you fall sleep, on only 2 occasions, since 4am. It is now 11:18am.
I’m not sure if you remember this or not, but you were a great sleeper very early on in your infancy, going down at the same time as your sisters in the evening and waking only once to feed at night, going back down effortlessly after. Your father and I were terrified of jinxing this magic, and only dared speak of it in whispers to a very select few. We’re not sure what brought it all to a screeching halt, but here we are, pendulum swinging you in your car seat in the living room at 2am, holding you in a football carry pacing the wall of your room furthest from your sisters’ room praying you don’t wake them, and generally letting you call the shots in the wee hours. Dude. We’re exhausted. Cut it out. It didn’t help that you teased us with a 12hr stretch a week ago. It was mama’s first 8hr, uninterrupted (glorious, glorious) sleep since before you were born. It was amazing–I didn’t know where I was or what day it was when I woke up (in a sopping puddle of booby milk, mind you, but it was still awesome). Fast forward a week and we’re back in this mess:
Come on, brother man.
While one of my arms is still awake, I’ll go ahead and fill you in on your last couple of months. Minus the sleep shenanigans, you’ve been a pretty dreamy baby. You’re cute, you’re happy, you smile at people and you’ve recently started to DO stuff. You’re rolling, sitting up, pulling out handfuls of my hair daily (nice to have someone do it for me…I used to just pull it out myself everyday), and you’ve sampled most of the non-food items in the house. You’re also eating real food, too, which Bryn so lovingly tests for freshness before each bite she feeds you.
Speaking of Bryn. It’s hard to put into words the relationship the two of you have. She. Loves. The poop. Out of you. The moment she wakes up in the morning, if we don’t bring you into her room she says “Brecken’s sleepin!” As soon as you wake up, she’s singing songs (that she’s made up) with your name in them. Your name has been repeated endlessly to the tune of Elmo’s Song, the alphabet song, Bingo, The Farmer in the Dell and Away in a Manger. She piles toys on you, and helps you roll over (even when you don’t really want to roll over). When you cry, she makes it to you faster than we do, distracting you like a pro. She covers you with kisses, plays peekaboo with you, claps your feet together, and many times is the only one who can console you. When you see her, your eyes light up and you start kicking your legs in excitement. You balk at lame toys we try to entertain you with, but if Bryn comes at you with that same toy, it’s like it’s the first toy you’ve ever seen. She prepares for you the most beautiful spreads of plastic food, carefully blowing on your microwaved ice cream cone to make sure it’s not too hot. When she hugs or holds you, it’s usually an awkward, uncomfortable-looking hug that only a tiny toddler could give, especially one who is holding a 7 month old who is almost her own size. We’re always ready to jump in and rescue you, but you couldn’t be happier, your neck in a 2 year old’s death grip, your body unsupported and semi-dangling, your cheek smooshed against her face. Bryn LIVES to be your big sister.
In general, as long as you’re in the room where your sisters are playing, you are content. You could watch them jump on their new trampoline for hours
or do any of this stuff:
For the last 5 months I keep saying I’m going to update this blog (all ya’llses’ baby books, in case you’ve forgotten!) as soon as I’m not too exhausted to put together something mildly entertaining, or at the least, a coherent string of words and sentences, but something tells me if that’s my criteria, your next “baby book” entry will be a pic of you trotting off to kindergarten with a fresh haircut and a backpack bigger than your body. So this is whatcha get. A one handed blog post and a selfie of my under eye bags. You’re welcome.
Well we’re over halfway through the summer and I have yet to do a blog post. It might have something to do with our newest addition, Brecken Hilarius Windschitl. Brecken was born June 4th on our second to last day of school, which is a story in and of itself. Sara did a better job of sharing that one. He weighed in at a whopping 6lbs 15oz, almost 6 times the size of Bryn when she was born! We feel so incredibly blessed to have a healthy baby. He was full term, so we avoided a repeat of our first go around. Sara was absolutely amazing. I have never seen anything so incredible in my life. Just when I thought they were about to get the Dyson to suck him out (after 20 hours of labor, pushing for 3 hours, and having not eaten anything in a day), Sara somehow found the strength to shoot him out and I caught him. Seriously, I delivered him. It was amazing and umm… he was a slippery little guy and I was glad I didn’t drop him.
We are now settling in and finding a routine in the somewhat controlled chaos. I find myself writing a lot of lists to remember things that once seemed natural. Things like reminders for trash pickup, medicine for the girls in the morning, picking things up from the store, etc. There is something about having a newborn that turns your brain to shit. I absolutely wouldn’t change a thing about it, but let’s just say that lists are a part of our everyday life for awhile. In fact, over the last few months, I have been writing down lists of things to write about in a future blog post. Here is one list I have been working on.
A list of things I never thought I would do.
- Eat lunch while changing a dirty diaper.
- Go number two with two living beings on my lap.
- Openly admit to number 2. *
- Fix lunch with less than 5 fingers
- Have a ten minute discussion with Sara about whether or not we should cut up black beans.
- Eat cheerios (with our without milk).
- Eat stale cheerios or any other form of old food that the girls have discarded, because I was too lazy to get up and throw it in the trash. I busted Sara doing this yesterday with Cheerios she found in the crack of the couch so I’m not the only gross one.
- Stand in any spot in our house (bathroom included) and find at least one cheerio within eyesight.
- Say, “We have an emergency, we are all out of Cheerios!” **
- Lock a human being in the shower. ***
- Let another human being watch me pee as they eat cheerios from the doorway.
- Pee and move at the same time to block the forward advancement of two toddlers from touching my urine. We already know how they got in.
- Eat food from another human’s mouth.
- Ask someone why their hands smell like butt paste.
- Ice numerous parts of my body due to the head butts, and misguided elbows and knees given by my daughters.
- Wipe another human’s nose with my shirt.
- Meet a friend for a beer and then have to explain why my shirt has a hard white substance on it. (See number 15 for an explanation of this white substance)
- Pretend that I am asleep.****
- Telling the girls that there is a puppy or squirrel outside, just to get them out of their level 5 tantrum, even though there is neither a puppy nor squirrel in sight. This actually works for me. Sara thinks it’s mean. I think it’s a sanity saver.
- Be taunted from the bathroom. *****
- Say, “No, I will not eat those glasses. I don’t want to eat those glasses!”
- Say, “We’ve got a pooper in the tub!”
- Refer to their medicine as num num and that they would love it as such. ******
- Blame a fart on one of the kids. *******
- Yes, you may wear 2 different shoes.
- Have to convince my children that going on a bike ride would be fun only to be met with cries of torture. See video.
Although some of these stories seem awful at the time, we always find ourselves laughing about them later. I’m so happy to be a dad and these stories reiterate that you can never fully be prepared for parenthood. Although, if you start creating your list of worst case scenarios today, you may not be totally shocked. =)
* I cannot even use the bathroom by myself anymore. I shut the door to the bathroom and as I was in there, both girls decided to throw a level five tantrum. If you’re not familiar with the scale just think of it like a nuclear meltdown or airport security scale. Level five is the worst. Anyway, while everyone was experiencing meltdown, the girls teamed up and used their combined strength to push open the door (which during a level 5 tantrum, it’s pretty much like a grown man or woman’s strength). Unfortunately they were not done and climbed up onto my lap. I pleaded with them to leave. I pulled out a bunch of my tricks like, “Do you want me to change your diaper?” which usually has them running in the other direction but that didn’t work and neither did “Naptime?” Nope, they just hunkered down on my lap. I remember sitting there thinking, “Did you ever in your wildest dreams ever imagine that something like this would happen in parenthood?” The answer was no. I imagined shooting poo and pee, insane tantrums, but nothing that involved me on the toilet with two screaming toddlers on my lap. Folks, once you’ve had this experience it pretty much opens up a whole new list of possible worst case scenarios. If you’re a new parent there is a way to prepare for this. First write a list of possible nightmares and then somehow also include a few of the following to make it a worst case scenario: poop, pee, a tantrum or two (on the level 5 scale), large groups of people or a church service. At this point you should have a solid list of scenarios. Now simply figure out a game plan for each of those scenarios. I’m not saying that each of these will happen, but at least one of them should. Here is one scenario that I am prepared for.
I am on stage singing for Dierks Bently (I won a contest and will be singing in his place) and my girls come running out onto the stage and drop trou, poop on my new boots and begin rolling around in it. Do you see how that scenario involved lots of people, a tantrum and poop? Feel free to use that as motivation. Now get to work. I’m not going to tell you how I get myself out of that scenario, but let’s just say that it involves a whistle, whip, yo-yo and a elderly woman riding on her bike giving me the finger. (Thank you Chris Farley for your help with that.)
** Cheerios are absolutely disgusting and I don’t get why anyone would willingly eat them. Honey nut Cheerios, yes, but straight up Cheerios? No way. I haven’t yet decided if there is something wrong with the girls or just their taste buds. I will get back to you on this.
*** Both girls had diarrhea dripping out of their diaper and when that happens you are faced with only one decision and that is locking one in the shower while you do clean up on child number 2.
**** Occasionally when the girls won’t nap, I go in and grab them, sit in our rocker and lay them on my chest. When they fall asleep in my arms, it’s as close to heaven as I can imagine. When they wake up in 30 minutes, I just know Sara is outside the door saying, “I told him he shouldn’t go in there.” I immediately do the fake sleep thing that includes snoring, grunts and fake restless movements. Parents, let me just tell you that it doesn’t work. This only excites them and wakes them up more. They enjoy the free opportunity to stick their fingers all the way up your nose. Nora already did this to me twice this summer. I’m just going to flat out tell you that it hurts like a son of a bitch. Yeah their fingers may be “small” but they don’t feel that small when they are all the way up your nose. If this does happen to you do not yell or swear as this will immediately throw them into a level five tantrum and then you’re in deep shit with your wife. Okay, so fingers up the nose is just one of the things they will find entertaining while you fake sleep. They also enjoy fingers in your ears and mouth. When both of them are tag teaming you is particularly fun, but I don’t give up on my fake sleeping, I just get more restless. Honestly at this point you should give up, but if you’re like me and feel particularly competitive during nap time be prepared for the following things. 1. Bellybutton exploration 2. Hair pulling 3. Titty twisters 4. Jumping on your crotch. 5. Laughing in your mouth (yes mouth, I’m not sure why they do this. It’s strange but quite effective). 6. Finally, peek-a-boo because they absolutely know that you are awake.
***** Now that the girls can push open the door, their newest form of entertainment is taunting me from the hallway. They have no problem plugging their noses and saying, “Stinky.” Even forty minutes later after playtime outside, they will return and point at me and the bathroom and say “stinky.” This is becoming borderline harassment.
****** This is more evidence that there is something wrong with their taste buds.
******* It’s just way too easy, unless they start pointing and taunting me and say, “Daddy poop.” When this happened I pretty much blew my cover when I said, “Girls, that wasn’t a poop, it was a fart. There is a huge difference between the two.”
What day is it? Where are we? Who are all these kids in our house? We are slowly emerging from the fog (that’s a lie, we are still very much in a fog), and since we last left you, the Twinschitls are 4 months older and a Little Schitl has joined the madness! Check out our new blog banner, courtesy of Auntie Katie!
Out of fairness to the ladies, since this WAS their blog to begin with, we won’t let Little Schitl steal their thunder until later on in this post. So what have N & B been up to? We’re going to be super efficient and give you the last 4 months in pictures. =)
We have continued to bring the girls out into the GDP (great dirty public) on the regular. It’s been pretty liberating for mom and dad, and has given the girls a chance to show us their creative genius on occasion.
We’ve learned that along with age comes responsibility.
We’ve tried to give them more responsibility in the kitchen, but all we get is microwaved silverware, sauteed ice cream, and baked grapes.
The girls got their first hard-soled shoes (yeah, we waited a long time on that one).
The girls’ personalities continue to blossom. Even though we’re a few days from their 2nd birthdays, they decided months ago they were going to start “practicing” being two.
We kind of treat tantrums like seizures around here. Just move dangerous objects out of the way, loosen any tight clothing, and make sure they don’t swallow their tongues.
With reminders to “use their words” we can usually get the screamfests turned down a notch.
Here’s a little Nora, tellin’ it like it is:
Telling a bedtime story:
And both girls getting a workout in:
We’re really hoping to someday have a little Hans and Franz on our hands.
You may or may not remember that just under 2 years ago, Nora and Bryn were getting weekly eye exams in the NICU because they both had ROP (retinopathy of prematurity). Luckily, both left the hospital with their eye issues resolved, but with orders to follow up in a year. So back we went, and both checked out great!
Before school was out (and before mom popped), the girls visited mom at work! Her students took their job of showing Nora and Bryn the first grade ropes very seriously.
It was shortly after this that BW3 decided he couldn’t wait for school to be out to make his arrival. At 37 weeks, B-dubs got sick of mama’s uterus (the feeling was mutual) and 3 days before school was out, he started his funny business. I had some pretty labor-ish-feeling contractions that morning, but thought maybe I could get a little more work done (ha!) if I went to school maybe for just a half day. Nick thought this was a bad idea, but I decided to try my luck and we both headed to work. My coworkers were also appalled at my decision, and pretty much threw me out of the building and told me to go have a friggin’ baby. An hour later we were both driving to the hospital, ready to find out of BW3 had a penis or a vagina! That was the morning of June 3rd. Little B-dubs didn’t finally agree to the uterus eviction until June 4th though (and I may remind him of this on June 3rd every year for the rest of his life). Oops–spoiler alert! “His!” Yep, BW3 did indeed have a penis. =)
Nick would not let this blog post go to press without making sure I told everyone that he caught the baby. He says “delivered.” I say “caught.” Lest we paint an unclear picture of exactly what went down in that 24 hours.
But seriously, Nick was a stellar labor coach and an excellent wide receiver. Thanks to him, Brecken Hilarius Windschitl did not hit the floor during his big entrance. Nick also wants everyone who has not caught a baby to know that babies are really slippery, and not just anyone can catch a baby. It takes skill.
We’ll let the pictures do the talking from here.
It was super weird to have a baby and then take it right home from the hospital 2 days later. Kind of felt like we were stealing a baby.
Honeymoon’s over. =)
Nora & Bryn have been very helpful at home.
And oh yeah–we had to buy a minivan. It was a sad, sad day.
Holy shit. We have 3 kids and a minivan.
The rest of the summer has been flying by and Nick and I can’t believe how lucky we are to both be home all summer with our family of 5 (OMG…family of 5).
Minus a few minor hiccups, we couldn’t have asked for a better summer.
Thanks to everyone who has brought us meals, gifts, visits…we can’t believe your awesomeness continues after multiple babies. Almost makes us want to have another one! (Almost).
Yeah, it’s March, but if Nora and Bryn end up being anything like their mother, they’ll balk at the cliché-ness of New Year’s resolutions, and refuse to make any in January because they’d be insincere and forced. Then in March they’ll come up with a few changes they’d like to make, and justify making those cliché New Year’s resolutions because they’re not REALLY “New Year’s resolutions” anymore—they’re just commitments they’re making to themselves, and because they didn’t make them when everyone else did in January, they’ll be much more successful at keeping them! Ha! Another mom blogger I love did something similar with her 1 year old, and it got my wheels turnin.’ A little hopin’ and a wishin.’ And yeah, N + B are their own people, blah blah blah, but they get to share all their resolutions this year. Mama didn’t make separate lists. Oh and can you swear in “Mom with a View?” Because in this mom’s view, there tends to be some swearing—just a heads up [note to blog readers–I originally wrote this post for the Minnesota Valley Moms of Multiples newsletter…recycling here so n + b can take note in 18 years!].
1. We will accept that gravity is no longer a novelty. You’ve had your exploration time, ladies. You’re 1 ½ years old. Dropping shit off your high chairs while mom and dad dutifully ignore you (per all the parenting advice) is getting really old. And your pregnant mom is getting worse at nonchalantly picking it all up off the floor. I know you think it’s a funny circus act down there now, but you get it now—if you let go of something in the air, it will fall to the floor. Weeee. Now quit it.
2. We will show our gratitude during diaper changes by not bucking like baby broncos. As far as I see it, you guys have a choice. You could sit in your own waste all day, or you could cooperate, smile and blow kisses at us while we wipe the poo off your asses. I promise you when you’re changing OUR diapers when we’re old and incontinent, we will not act like you are trying to brand our butt cheeks with a red hot branding iron, so a little help here, eh?
3. Likewise, we will recognize that getting strapped into a car seat means FIELD TRIP (read: fun & exciting!) and is not a hostage-taking situation. Remember how it’s winter? And you guys are preemies? And when we’re not quarantined by 2 feet of snow or the polar vortex, we’re quarantined anyway because of all the viruses out there that would cripple your tiny little bodies? Well you’d think the ONE time a week or so that we load up the diaper bag with Clorox wipes and hand sanitizer and take you out of our little South Mpls jail, that you’d pretty much strap yourSELVES into your car seats you’d be so ready for a jailbreak! What’s with the arching and screaming?!
4. We will recognize the difference between weekdays and weekends and adjust our mornings accordingly. Granted, you do stay in your cribs fairly contently until 6:45 or 7am, and we realize that’s pretty good for your age, but maybe you’d want to come quietly cuddle with us in our bed for a little bit after we come get you? Let us chill a little longer on weekend mornings? We’d even consider turning on a cartoon once in awhile, eh, eh? No? You’d rather keep your routine of stepping on our faces to get to all the goodies on our nightstands, dumping glasses of water on cell phones, squeezing mom’s hand lotion everywhere and tearing pages out of magazines? Sigh. Ok.
5. We will stop summoning up Siri on mom’s phone in the presence of others. At one point (pre-kids), mom somehow convinced Siri to address her as “Sexy Bitch” and mom can’t figure out how to undo that. Not only is it pretty embarrassing when Siri says that in front of company (or strangers, really), but mama really doesn’t want one of your first phrases to be “I don’t understand what you mean, sexy bitch.” Thanks.
6. We will temporarily curb our enthusiasm for helping to unload the dishwasher and fold laundry until we are old enough to discern if they are clean or dirty dishes we are unloading, and if it’s clean or dirty laundry we are pulling out of a basket. We’ve been very careful to offer you nothing but praise in these situations, convinced we will someday reap the rewards and you’ll beam with pride as you sort silverware and match up piles socks, confident that you’re the best in the world at these jobs! But for now, maybe just happily bang on the one pot we offer you and do that cute thing where you run around with a pair of mommy’s undies on your head while we do the rest, mmkay?
7. We will make 2014 the year of the hug-and-kiss greeting. You guys give great hugs and kisses…but you’re pretty damn stingy with them. What do we say this year we shoot for a hug-and-kiss combo when we pull you out of your cribs in the morning, when we get home from work in the afternoons, before bed, and maybe some just-becauses sprinkled in between? Too much? We really do enjoy the aggressive face grabs and push-aways when we go in for hugs and kisses, but maybe we try something a little different this year? Yeah!
And since this year will include the birth of your younger sibling, here are a few resolutions we’re hoping you make in advance.
8. We will continue to be really decent sleepers when BW3 comes (Baby Windschitl #3). Thank you for recognizing that you’ve had your middle-of-the-night time with mom and dad and now it’s time to respect your baby sib’s nighttime attention needs. We hesitate to tell you this, but nothing scares us more than 3 babies awake at the same time anytime between the hours of 10pm and 6am. So thanks for being awesome. In advance.
9. We will DEFINITELY stay in our cribs until the end of 2014, but most likely until we’re 4 or 5 years old. Yeah, we know it’s inevitable you’ll probably launch yourselves out of them at some point, but I’m almost certain that the day one of my offspring is able to WALK OUT OF HER ROOM in the morning and WALK INTO MINE, pretty much deciding what time our day starts, is the day all my hair turns gray. At once. We could come up with something really cool… like bunk bed cribs! It would be so fun! Whaddya say!?
1o. We will teach BW3 only the cutest of our habits: how to “read” books aloud using different voices just like daddy, splash and roar like wild animals in the tub, sign “more, please” when mom or dad give us a bite of their food, and play peek-a-boo using our own feet. Just pass it down, ladies. You got this.
Sexy Bitch (aka Mom)
I always thought it was weird that parents talked about their babies’/toddlers’ ages in terms of months for so long. Seventeen months? Um, can’t you just call it 1 and a half? Close enough. But I get it now. Yeah, babies change a lot from month to month, and there is a big difference between a 15 month old and an 18 month old, but honestly, I think I speak for all parents when I say that the age-in-months thing is more to emphasize how many months you’ve been able to keep a baby (or babies) alive. “Eighteen months” sounds a lot longer than “a year and a half.” EIGHTEEN MONTHS. Eighteen! That’s a lot of months.
But poor BW3…
And here we are. N + B are a year and a half, eighteen months..whichever one sounds more badass to you–go with that one. Granted, I started writing this post when they were 18 mos…we are now 4 days away from 19 months. Such is life.
We’ll start with the stats.
At their 18 month check up, the ped couldn’t have been happier with their development. Bryn dropped off the growth curve for weight a little after her little stint with RSV, which was to be expected, so the current gap between her and her sister is now almost 4lbs! So I guess technically she only weighs 80% of what her sister does–crazy. She’s currently hanging out at the 1st percentile for weight, but little peanut is back to shoveling in the grub like a linebacker, so we expect that she’ll make a comeback here any day now.
Also, both girls are overachievers in the head circumference category. Nora was in the 75th percentile. Whoa, nelly.
Doctor visits are getting more interesting now that the girls are mobile and INTO EVERYTHING, and trying to keep them corralled onto one small exam table for an hour+ is literally like herding cats. I gotta give it to these peds offices though–they keep it pretty bare in there–no clinical supplies laying around, everything’s pretty much nailed down, and there isn’t even a blood pressure cuff or ear scope thing hooked to the wall. Smart people. But never underestimate the creativity of toddlers in a prison cell. Between the nurse leaving and the doc coming in (and pretty much continuing throughout the doc’s exam–they are not shy), our little cats were licking bacteria-laden walls, pulling all the tissues out of the box, tearing the tissue paper on the exam table to shreds, throwing snacks all over the floor… Either nothing surprises our doc anymore, or she did a great job feigning non-judgement, because she barely batted an eye when she walked into our little 8×10′ disaster cell. She just crunched right over all the puffs and did her thing.
On the eating front, the girls continue to be pretty much game for anything, following in their father’s footsteps. Thank goodness they don’t eat like her mother when she was a baby (which Grama and Grampa never stop reminding us about). But in an expected twist of karma, they only eat well for mom on occasion, but double-fist food into their pie-hole whenever dad or the nanny feeds them. Well played, ladies.
To our delight, the girls have been pretty portable when it comes to eating out lately. In our last 5 restaurant experiences with the girls in tow, only once did we have to ask the waitress to box up everything before we even started eating so we could make a quick escape with our miniature terrorists. We’re gonna call that a win. Here are some shots from our more successful outings.
Speaking of dancing, have we told you about the girls’ obsession with music? They take it VERY seriously, and whenever a song comes on, they drop everything, and (usually with very straight faces) dutifully start rocking out, which for Bryn means busting out her signature move–The Chicken Wing. (Note: lots of bonus Nick footage in the next 2 videos–sweaty Nick, Nick in tube socks, huge-hole-in-my-boxer-pants Nick… eat your hearts out!)
It’s gotten so extreme, that waiting between songs on the radio has at times resulted in mini tantrums.
If you’re reading this from anywhere in the continental United States, we probably don’t have to tell you that this winter has SUCKED. Yeah, we’ve been pretty much quarantined anyway because of the flu season+preemie combo, but in our general anger toward winter 2014, we feel a responsibility to place at least some of the blame on this sh*tty weather. So the few times we’ve taken the girls out into the GDP (great dirty public), we’ve felt a little extra rebellious, like we’re giving old man winter the bird (while we frantically clorox wipe anything the girls might touch…our apologies if we clorox-wiped your kids).
Last month, this lucky mama got to go on a girls’ spa weekend trip with her BFFs in New York. It was nothing short of ahhhmaaazing, and while I would have liked to think that things were falling apart without me at home, rather the opposite was true, and the girls were well fed, bathed, and entertained by Super Dad Nick. Grandma and Grandpa W even came up to witness the single-dad magic (and get some twin time).
Here are some other randoms from the last [insert amount of time since last post here]:
PS–Little update on BW3: Little babe is doing everything he/she is supposed to be doing, including constant backflips and karate chops, and so far hasn’t thrown us any curves! Tomorrow is our 24 week ultrasound and check up, and our doc has told us she’s cutting us off from ultrasounds after this one. Say what?! This is super weird for us, considering we got used to almost weekly ultrasounds with the girls. Oh well. No more paparazzi for you, b-dubs. We’ll see you on the outside! (Preferably on or around June 23rd–thanks).
This almost seems like old news now, but mandatory that we document it here for little Miss Bryn.
A few weeks ago, both girls came down with a cold. Nora started off the fun with a few days’ worth of fevers and crusty boogs. Bryn followed shortly after and a visit to the ped revealed double cases of RSV. Now if you recall, a year ago, our trusty home health nurse, Nurse Mike, was still coming for weekly weigh-ins for the girls, and every month was giving each of them a $1,500 shot to help prevent them from getting RSV. Yep–that’s right. It was so important that they didn’t get RSV, that our insurance forked over roughly $15,000 in preventative injections last year. This RSV season, however, insurance decided to play a little RSV roulette with n + b and denied coverage since they’re not tiny preemies anymore and didn’t have any other complicating lung or heart conditions. Well, joke’s on you, Blue Cross Blue Shield. Have fun with that hospital bill you’ll be getting from Children’s!
Yep, little Bryn landed back at her alma mater with her RSV. =( After a couple really lethargic days,
her breathing became a little too rapid for our liking, and our ped sent us to the ER. We thought we’d get some oxygen, fluids, and maybe a couple nebs and be on our way, but 4 days later we were still residents at Chateau Children’s. Get ready for some sad, sad pics, folks–most pitiful little face you’ll ever see.
Little comparison shot: now vs 17 months ago.
Finally, on Day 5 (which, for the record seemed longer than the 98 days we were at Children’s the first time!), we got sprung! While waiting to be discharged, Nurse Margo saw the crazy in my eyes and gave us the green light (ok it might have been more of a wink and then turning a blind eye) to sneak out on a wagon ride around the hospital. We were both giddy with excitement.
We couldn’t really go back into the NICU to visit our old stomping grounds, so we headed over to the new Mother Baby Center, where all my old antepartum nurses were now conveniently located right in Children’s Hospital! It was so crazy to introduce Bryn to them “on the outside,” since they all spent 5 weeks chasing spastic n + b around my giant belly 2 times a day with fetal monitors.
Lana, Kristy and the gang just all happened to be working that day–jackpot! Bryn turned on the charm and immediately gave them an unsolicited round of applause. Atta girl. Meanwhile, everyone was curious how things were going on the home front–did Nora miss Bryn? Was she sulking around without her other half? Oh hells no. Girlfriend was living it up–happiest she’d ever been. She had full attention from the nanny during the day, and whichever one of us was home with her at night, and grandma and grandpa W even came up for a couple days to dote on her (and help take care of mom and dad!). We’d facetime her into the hospital, hoping that she’d give Bryn some screen kisses or SOMETHING, but she was usually too busy playing with Bryn’s stuff to care about seeing her on the phone. We were sure the homecoming would be something more of a kodak moment–maybe she just needed to see Bryn in person. Mmm…not so much. She immediately toddled over to Bryn in her carseat, but the minute we unstrapped her, Nora was pretty irritated she had to start sharing her world again. Sigh.
The good news is, that almost immediately upon return home, Bryn was back to her feisty little self (albeit a pound and a half lighter. She even started eating and drinking again, which she kind of took a hiatus from in the hospital, and what probably kept us there an extra day (flashbacks to NICU days once again!). We didn’t even have to go home with a neb machine–woot woot!
So, thanks for the excitement, Bryn, but we’re good without another (inpatient) visit to Children’s for awhile (or forever). We love you, Children’s, but we don’t miss you…you know what we mean, right?