One Year Later

Mom has the pukes, so I am home with Layla today.  She’s been down for her afternoon nap almost an hour, so I’d bet money (if I wasn’t fresh out) that I won’t get very far with this before I hear little noises through the monitor.  Today has been a little chaotic, but it has reminded me of how lucky I am to have a mama that relishes keeping our baby girl.  When she called at 6:30AM, I was relieved it was just a stomach bug and nothing more serious.  Skip and I discussed options, but decided I would just keep her, and we’d venture to school after her morning nap. 

My new-to-me car is in the shop, so I am driving my OLD-TO-ME Altima while it’s being fixed.  I’d only had my new-to-me car seven weeks before burying its front bumper in a ditch leaving church, but I’d already gotten used to the perks of a newer car, like headrests to hold my Kindle for Layla and a CD player that will play Laurie Berkner.  The ride to school is 20 minutes, so during her nap, I braved the cold and Jerry-rigged the Kindle to the seat with an assortment of bungee cords Skip got for Christmas-Thanks Rich!  She traveled well and smiled pretty for my school peeps and I got very little done before it was time to meet Drew for lunch.  Again, she smiled pretty and attracted many compliments from the patrons of the restaurant.  Oh and she emptied half her squeeze pouch in Drew’s lap (good thing she owns a clothing store!) before we headed home. 

After we got home, I checked with mom who, unfortunately, did not think she’d be able to keep Layla tomorrow.  I texted a few people and initially everyone who responded was unavailable.  Christi was available but also recovering from Strep Throat, so she was an option but a slightly less appealing one.  Skip was just about to cancel his meeting and keep Layla himself when my very first daughter, Alanna, texted back that she could keep her.  Alanna was the first student I claimed for my own and she’s great with kids!  Problem solved!  I can start second semester tomorrow without worrying about Layla. 

As we were playing in Layla’s room before her nap, I opened Timehop and could not believe that the significance of the date had slipped my mind amidst the weirdness of today.  One year ago today, I got in my car and waved goodbye to my first baby girl.  It feels impossible that it was a year ago. When I let myself remember all that went into her leaving, my chest tightens and my eyes well up like it was yesterday.  I try not to “go there” too often because I’ve worked so hard to forgive her mother and form a relationship with her, and thinking about all the hurt she caused us makes that tough.  I try not to feel like only a means to an end for her even still as I work to stay in Amoura’s life. 

Just this week, through a series of emails, I learned that both Amoura and her baby sister were in Charlotte with her sister’s father and that her mama had no way of getting them back to her in Winston.  Apparently, they’d been there for two weeks and he didn’t have gas money and she doesn’t drive, so they were kind of at an impasse.  She’d let the girls go with him because she had no one to watch them while she worked (he doesn’t work-shocker).  What I thought was going to be a fun couple of days with all of them at our house exchanging Christmas presents and catching up turned into Skip and I leaving Layla with mom after dinner Monday night and driving to the other side of Charlotte and straight to Winston to drop the girls off.  I felt totally used and unappreciated but what else could I do?  The mom in me just could not ignore her request to help her get her children back to her.  The ma-ma to Amoura in me could not pass up a chance to hug that sweet child even if it was just while getting her in and out of a car seat. 

I saw a picture on Face.book the other day that was a spin on the typical Foster care to Adoption pictures.  It was a birth mom getting her daughter back after 252 days.  The blog explained that the mom got her life together and the foster mom and birth mom forged a friendship.  The foster mom was so proud of the birth mom and that made it easier to let the sweet baby girl go back to the woman who gave birth to her.  When I got finished reading it, I wasn’t inspired, I was just sad and jealous and angry that our story did not turn out that way. 

The truth is, Amoura’s mom is in no better shape now than she was when she dropped off her 8 month old at our house almost two years ago.  Yes, she has a (part time) job.  But she still has the same childcare issues she needed us to help with then.  She doesn’t have a steady cell phone, she doesn’t appear to be any closer to getting her license, not to mention her GED, and she and the girls live in a two bedroom apartment they share with her friend and her boyfriend and their (monster of a) three year old.  I know the girls are clothed and fed and there’s a roof over their heads, but its just so vastly different from the life I want for Amoura that I try not to think about it too often.  It leaves me feeling so weepy and helpless and angry that it’s just best if I pretend like things are different. 

It’s harder to pretend now that I‘ve been to their apartment.  Amoura cried and cried when we got close to the apartment and she realized where she was going.  I don’t think she’s being neglected or abused or anything like that. I think she thought she was going to our house and she likes being away from their rundown apartment and the chaos that undoubtedly fills it. It’s hard to not wonder who will keep the girls when their mama goes back to work on Friday.  The plan is for her friend to keep them, but she works long hours and has the (monster of a) three year old.  It’s taken everything in me (and the understanding that Skip might kill me) not to ask for her back.  Supposedly, once she works enough hours she can get daycare vouchers and the girls can go to daycare.  The thought of Amoura going to daycare 10 hours a day used to frighten me; now, it would help me sleep at night.

I started writing this afternoon just to honor the day and show appreciation for those who are so willing to help us when we need it with childcare and so faithful to still ask about Amoura.  I’ve been hesitant to share too much about her because, well, it’s just sad.  But, I know many of you who prayed for us last year while as we said “see ya later” will pray for her now.  Pray for her living conditions, pray that daycare vouchers come through soon, pray that we would be willing to help in whatever way God intends on using us (and I know He’s not done using us in this!) and that Skip and I would be on the same page.  Pray for people in her area to come into their lives and speak truth and be a constant support for them. 

I wrote in a co-worker's shower card today that it takes a village, and no one knows that better than us.  Thank you for being our village and praying for us and our girls.    

Comfort Zone

I spent a few hours of my Saturday at the park with Chris and Sarah from my Life Group providing some games at a Foster Parent Appreciation Picnic (say that three times fast!).   Our group had been asked a while back to provide some games at the picnic and until Sarah emailed the group mid-week, I had honestly forgotten all about it. (How long can one claim “baby brain” post-partum?)

I should mention that I was late because I thought the picnic was at a park fairly close to mom’s house.  I was taking Layla with me and Mom was going to come get her a little later for her nap. About half way to that park I started thinking that the name of that park was not the name of the park in the email, but I was already half way there, so I went to the wrong park anyway only to have my suspicions confirmed.  I was on time to the wrong park, but now I had to figure out where I was supposed to be and how to get there.  What did we do without cell phones ALL THOSE YEARS?  I called Chris, realized that the right park was too far away from Mom’s to take Layla, so I headed back, in the direction away from the right park, to drop Layla off with Mom.  In the meantime, my gas light came on and I had to stop for gas on my way to the right park. Unbelievably, I got to the right place only 30 minutes late!  Since I also had to leave 30 minutes early to get Layla from Mom, I officially achieved “worst volunteer ever” status.  I didn’t help with set up or tear down.  I played games, I ate a chicken tender, and I left.  Oh, and I sat by myself and cried in front of total strangers.   

After lunch, this mama got up to speak about a new association that she’s interested in starting and before she sat down, she shared something she’d written about being a Foster mom.  It could’ve been written by any one of those mamas there.  It could’ve been written by me.  She shared about a baby that, for a time, her family thought they would get to keep forever.  She mentioned, honestly, wishing the birth mom would mess up. She confessed that she’d rejoiced when things happened that prolonged the child’s stay in her care. She talked about the nervousness she felt every time she had to interact with the birth mom or got notice of another court date.  She began to cry as she shared how deeply she fell in love with this baby that was not hers but felt like hers in all the ways that matter.  She had to catch her breath before telling about watching the social worker leave her house with the little girl for the last time.  She said she’d sworn that she would not open her heart again for any other child.  She said she promised to protect herself from that kind of pain in the future.  And because she was standing there baring her soul to other foster parents, I knew she had lied.

I sat there by the potato chips and sobbed.  I’ve always known that we were not the first or the last family to fall in love with a baby and not get to keep her forever.  I know more baby loss moms than I wish existed.  But, there’s something different about this type of loss.  Being a baby loss mom is something that is totally, 100 percent out of your control.  Short of making the decision to never conceive, there’s nothing you can do to guard your heart against that type of loss.  But, you can choose not to experience the kind of loss that mama shared about and the kind of loss we experienced when Amoura’s mama took her back from us.  Who in their right mind would go through that kind of pain and then willingly put themselves in the position to potentially have it happen again?

Much to the dismay of my mother, I would.  I watched those families in that park loving on kiddos that look nothing like them, and I ached to do the same.  I watched them treat little boys with dark brown skin and afros askew with the same love as the kiddos with their own blonde hair and dimply grins. I could just picture our family there in a few years with Layla running around with a brother or sister that looks nothing like her. I honestly can’t believe more Christian couples aren’t more involved in Foster care.  Several years ago, long before I had interest or experience with fostering, I heard a statistic that only 1 in every 12 Foster parents are Christians.  Are you kidding me?  James 1:27a says that “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress,” and the most we’re managing is 1 in 12?  I’m not necessarily saying that all Christians must become foster parents, but I do think all Christians should prayerfully consider it. 

So, that’s where we are.  We are prayerfully considering it.  It’s not something to rush into or take lightly or assume that since our experience with Amoura was wonderful (in that she was truly the easiest baby ever and took to us quickly and was a perfect little fit for our family) that all experiences will be the same.  We have our own child to consider and we would like to eventually add to our family the traditional way as well.  But, we think that foster care is in our future.  We know we want to be involved in meeting the needs of children without parents (whether permanently or temporarily) in some form or fashion.  I’m learning about lots of needs and ways to help through the Orphan Ministry at our church.  If you’re reading this and you’re even the slightest bit interested in knowing more, I’d love nothing better than to walk this journey alongside other families who wish to do the same. 

This little video was shared recently with our Orphan Ministry team and I thought it was a great reflection of many of our reactions when we hear about a need. You can apply the message to most any type of need presented in a church or community, this just happens to focus on foster care and spoke volumes to me as I watched. As much as I don't want to have my heart broken again by the loss of another child, I don't want to be too guarded to be used, either.  

As always, thanks for reading, and thanks for joining us in prayer!

Vignettes

Between settling in and learning to breastfeed and pump and returning to the hospital for another night’s stay and welcoming visitors and learning to hold two babies at once, and figuring out weight watcher points for new mommies, I have been WRITING!  What I ended up with was a bunch of “scraps” of blog posts that somewhat relate.  I’m calling them Vignettes, which only my English teacher friends will appreciate. (A vignette is a “brief description, account, or episode that can be read alone or as a part of a collection for additional meaning") 

Baby A

When we first got Baby A, I wasn’t sure how her mother would feel about my sharing her story.  I knew a lot of fancy/famous bloggers used pseudonyms for their own children, so I thought it best if I used one for her, too.  We called her Baby A a lot when we first got her.  Now she’s got about a million nicknames.  We call her “little bit” and Layla “tiny bit.”  I call her “Mo-Mo” and “girlfriend” a lot while Skip usually sticks to “precious” and “princess.”  More and more everyday, she’s becoming less of a baby and more of a big girl.  When I sat down to write after bringing our newest baby home from the hospital, I realized that as much as she’s learning and changing everyday, and since she is now a big sister, I should probably stop referring to her as Baby A and start calling her by her real name, Amoura. 

Just like That

This morning, I was changing Layla’s diaper and I could hear Skip upstairs through the monitor getting Amoura out of the crib and talking silly with her and telling her how loved she is, and the thought ran through my mind, “we’ve got it all.”  A beautiful, healthy baby girl who has my nose and her daddy’s everything else.  A toddler who gets funnier and smarter every day who ended up saving us in our darkest hour while simultaneously making us look like her heroes.  And just like that, the face of a tiny baby boy popped into my mind and my eyes filled with tears.  Because the truth is had Levi not died, we would’ve “had it all” last September.  What we wouldn’t have is Layla or Amoura.  It’s impossible to reconcile these two facts, and yet they’re my reality.  Had I not been pregnant with Levi last summer, I would’ve never met Amoura’s mom and had he not died, I probably never would’ve met this girl that calls me ma-ma and filled my broken heart with joy.  As much as I would love to have all three of my babies here with me, I will be forever grateful to my first baby, a boy, my Levi, for giving me the gifts of these two precious girls.

Vomit

We’ve never been lazy Saturday morning people.  We are I am a routine person and our Saturday routine involves eating out for breakfast and then running errands until midafternoon.  Since Layla is so new, yesterday was supposed to be a lazy Saturday, like the ones I see glorified in Face.book statuses every weekend.  I got up before Skip and the girls and cooked breakfast and got some cleaning done.  After breakfast, I was snuggling with both girls in the recliner and realized that I hadn’t had my picture made with both of them since we got home.  I asked Skip to take the picture below and before I could even send that beauty out to the masses, Amoura started silently vomiting ALL OVER both of us.  Somehow, Layla managed to avoid getting retched on even though she was tucked in my arms.  Skip hopped up and took Layla, put her in the swing and came back to finish watching the show.  I’ve never seen so much puke in all my life much less coming out of something so small.  She never cried, just looked confused and wanted to snuggle.  I tried to sit still and just let her finish since I had already become the receptacle.  I peeled her clothes off and then mine and started using the wet towels and washcloths Skip fetched us to clean us both off a bit.  I was soaked down to my underpants and smelled terrible, but it was past new girl’s feeding time, so I made do with a “spit bath” and came back to scrub down my recliner and feed her.  Skip held Amoura for an unscheduled morning nap, and by the time she woke up, she was good as new.  What was not good as new was my recliner.  It still smelled strongly of puke.   Before we had a chance to rescrub, we had visitors, so the smell lingered.  When they were gone, Skip took over the cleaning and scrubbed with 409, then vinegar, and we thought the smell was gone.  But after sitting in it for a while longer, Skip decided it was not and I had to agree.  He went to cleaning and digging deeper in the crevices once more and then we decided the smell was really gone that time. Long story a bit shorter, I am sitting in said recliner right now and the smell is not gone and short of throwing the darn thing out, I don’t know what it’s gonna take for it to smell clean again!

Is this your first?

I’ve read a lot about how painful and awkward this question can be for baby loss moms, and although I didn’t get asked too often during my pregnancy, my stay at the hospital is a whole other story.  Before the hospital, the question didn’t really bother me.  Depending on the person asking, I would explain the complicated answer.  At the hospital, however, it struck a nerve every time a new person would ask.  And I felt compelled to explain the last year and a half of our lives to them.  As much as sometimes “yes” would’ve been the easiest answer, I could not silently disregard Levi’s existence anymore than I can Amoura’s.  So, my answer became, “well it’s not my first, it’s kinda actually my third, but hopefully, she’ll be the first living child I’ve given birth to.” Because that is not at all confusing.  I told Skip after one person asked that I had to come up with a better response, but he assured me that the truth, which is what my long, drawn out answer was, was perfect.

There’s a song we sing at church “Christ in Me” that has the line “I would praise you with my life, let my story lift you high” and as I kept repeating our story of baby loss with Levi and baby found with Amoura and our newest little miracle, that line played over and over in my head and heart.  So, as touchy as “is this your first” can be, and as awkward as the people asking often feel when I’m done, I never want to miss the opportunity to say “you won’t believe what our last year has been like, but I’m gonna tell you anyway.”  The God we serve wrote a beautiful love story for our family and although it began with tragedy, He meant it for our good.  He gets the glory for our happiness in this chapter of our lives, and I hope we won’t fail to accept an opportunity to give it to Him.

My Vintage Pearl Necklace.  

Hormones

A few weeks before we had Layla, Megan asked me how I could listen to people talk about our loss and our faith and not cry a river every time.  She said, “What are you thinking about? Cupcakes? Laundry?” Honestly, I am not really sure.  I just know that I hate to cry in public and avoid it if at all possible.  I cannot count the times in the last year that I have cried all the way to work, dried my face in the school parking lot and cheerfully went on about my day.  I am a crier, but Skip is about the only person I don’t mind crying in front of, so I usually do my best to find a time and place when I am alone.  Many of my friends have told me about how weepy they were after they had their babies.  Layla will be two weeks old tomorrow and I can count on one finger how many times I’ve cried.  I was starting to think I was broken, and then last night at 11:30, Amoura started crying upstairs.  I was holding a sleeping newborn and Skip was trying to sleep off a terrible sinus headache.  I gave the baby to him and headed upstairs to calm my big girl. We rocked and I sang and put her back in the crib (which made her cry again) and I was rubbing her back when Skip texted me “Layla is hungry.”  Since I am literally the only one who can remedy this, I had to leave Amoura screaming, all alone in her crib, come back down stairs and feed Layla.  I asked Skip to go take Amoura some Motrin, but before he could get out of our room, I was bawling.  It was the first time I had to choose one girl over the other and it was devastating.  I know Layla NEEDED me and Amoura really just WANTED me, but it broke my heart.  I cried until my eyeballs hurt (they kind of still do) and thought of a thousand (irrational) ways to fix the situation (which was really not a situation at all, but a totally normal, easy to remedy fact of being a parent to more than one child).  I wanted to bring Amoura down to sleep with us.  I wanted to call my mom to come sleep with her.  I wanted to tote Layla up the stairs and hold both of them in the rocker all night.  Ultimately, I just cried and let Skip be the amazing daddy he is. 

After a few more tears from Amoura and a lot more from me, both girls were asleep.  I just lay there and thought about all the love in my heart that was coming out of my eyes.  When I was pregnant with Layla and falling more in love with Amoura each day, I remember thinking early on, “I wonder if I will love this new baby as much as I love this one.”  That probably sounds crazy, but it’s true.  My heart was so full with love for Amoura that I could not imagine loving another baby (especially one I wasn’t super convinced I’d ever take home) as much. As my pregnancy went on without a hitch, I started wondering if I would feel differently about Amoura once “my own” baby came along.  The answer is no.  I don’t.  As an only child, it has always been hard to imagine how parents’ love multiplies and they make room for all their babies in their hearts, and now I know, it just happens.  Ultimately, we know that Layla is our baby and we don’t have to drop her off for visitation or lose sleep at night over one day having to give her up, but my feelings for them are the same.  This parenthood thing is a trip, and I am so thankful are finally on it!

These Days

I’ve been working on a post for the last few weeks chronicling the ever-eventful saga that is raising a stranger’s baby and falling so in love with her that you lose sleep, money, pride, and tiny pieces of your mind just to keep her a little longer.  I can’t post it.  It’s too much.  I can’t be as candid as I want to be and when I whittle it down, it’s just not me.  Most people know I am an open book, so ask me in person and you’ll get an earful!  But, instead of the “play by play” and accompanying emotions, I’m gonna try to get the gist out and move on to happier subjects to delight and entertain you J.

Just after Baby A’s first birthday, her mom informed us she was “going through some stuff” and wouldn’t be doing visitation for a while.  Less than a week later, she called to inform us that she would be taking her back full time the following week.  We were devastated and super unhappy with the uncertainty of her plans and the state of limbo in which she was willfully putting us.  With September looming in the background, I imagined our house, quiet and empty again, and pretty much cried every moment I wasn’t surrounded by people and sometime even when I was (including one breakdown in Target in front of parents of a student I’d had exactly one week).  Skip took over communicating with the mom because she responds much better to him.  I continued to cry and be a source of great worry for my friends and family who have worried about me enough in the past year to last a lifetime.  Emily tried to step back in and help “mediate,” but we realized that wasn’t really what the mom wanted either.  There have been so many plans and visitation schedules discussed in the past three weeks that I’ve lost track.  Instead of working, Skip has spent many hours on the phone with the mom or listening to me vent or calling attorneys.  I could not do this without him.  

For now, we think we have worked out an agreement with her mom, and she will be staying with us for a while longer.  February was mentioned, but as often as plans have changed lately, I’m not even penciling that in on the calendar.  The mom and her “sister” are going to come Tuesday and sit down and talk with us.  We are going to try to build a better relationship with the mom and get to know her and have her get to know us a little better.  That is not something I naturally would want to have happen, nor am I honestly looking forward to it, but it seems unavoidable.  She’s not looking to give us legal rights to Baby A anytime soon and we are not ready to give her up.  A custody battle would get ugly quickly because her biological father is in the picture just enough to not suck in the eyes of the law.  The attorney we spoke with sent us an email the other day that said, “we feel you are in serious predicament with no simple solution.”  Uh, ya think?! 

So, when people ask how things are going and how I feel, I’ve started comparing it to a roller coaster ride.  There’s a near constant knot in my stomach and my heart races every time we get a text or call.  But every time this little beauty learns something new like backing down the stairs or showing her tongue on command, I remember why we got in line for the ride. It’s magical, this parenting thing.  And just when I think the ride with bay A might be over, we start chugging up another hill and although I’m anxious, I am so glad we’re buckled in for the long haul. 

As for hitting the one-year milestone of losing our first precious baby, I’m still working on putting that into words.  And, as our new baby girl’s due date gets closer and closer, I’ve got a lot of new anxieties and excitements that hopefully I’ll find the time to write about, too.  If I could find a way to put more hours into the day, I think I could keep this blog more or less up to date!

Confession and Our Day in Review

My plan (and you know how I love a plan) for this summer was to write a lot.  I wanted to chronicle our time with Baby A and our subsequent pregnancy and ENJOY leisurely writing.  So far, I’ve failed miserably.  I could (legitimately) blame it on not having as much time as I assumed I would have to write and on regularly forgetting/blocking out the fact that I am, in fact, pregnant again, but I don’t really think that’s it.  You see, I am nothing if not an honest writer and sharing about Baby A with 100% honesty is complicated.  It’s scary to admit how attached we are to her and how much we’d love to keep her forever.

Here’s the thing, and I feel a little dumb even admitting it: I didn’t think I would love her this much.  Honestly, I am not sure I’ve ever felt this kind of love before. Yes, I loved Levi fiercely.  I loved the tiny bundle of joy I imagined he would be.  I loved how much he looked like his daddy when he was born, despite the other horrific aspects of his appearance.  I loved all the hopes and dreams we had for our firstborn.  I still do.  But, I didn’t know him like I know Baby A.  I haven’t gotten good at anticipating his needs or identifying his cries.  He doesn’t reach for me for bedtime snuggles and when (like she has been today) he is sick.  I desperately wish I had been afforded those opportunities with him but I wasn’t.  But, I have been with her.  I almost feel guilty for enjoying her as much as I do when I don’t get to enjoy him in these ways.  So, we’re three months in and I cannot imagine not being her mom.  I cannot imagine losing her, too. To all those people who said from the beginning, “how on earth will you give her back?” I have to say now, “I have no idea.”

It’s not like Skip and I thought it would be easy.  We went into this saying that our motto has kind of become “we do hard stuff,” and it’s true.  I just didn’t think it’d be this hard for several reasons.  I thought the progression towards reunification with Baby A’s mother would be speedier than it has turned out to be.  I also did not have a clear picture of her goals for herself and her baby.  There have been several turns of events (turn of events?) that have put us in a different position than we thought we would be.  I had been a mother but I had never been a parent, so I had no idea what kind of bond could be created between a mom with empty arms and a precious baby in need of some to spoil her rotten.  I know now.

The initial “reunification” date was set for August 19^th, Baby A’s first birthday.  Being just a little over a month away from that date, it’s obvious that that is not going to happen.  Her mom is not anymore prepared to take her now that she was when we got her and we are certainly not prepared to give her back.  The thought of having this new baby girl (more on that later) and a 14-month-old Baby A terrifies me and excites me.  Although I’ve never wanted “stair step” children, when I imagine having this new baby, I cannot imagine Baby A not being there, too.  I used to look at moms with kids that close in age with pity in the Target check out line, and now I start and end my day praying to be one of them!

We’ve (hopefully) made it through our first bout of illness with Baby A.  She was extra sleepy on Saturday, and by Sunday afternoon she had the early signs of a stomach bug (which at first I attributed to teething).  By this morning, she was full blown sick.  I began texting my mama friends and asking for advice, calling my mama, and running through possible causes with Skip.  I’d had plans for today for weeks with Ashley and Jenilee for a full day of visiting in Charlotte.  I could not decide if I felt comfortable leaving her with my mom, but I knew she could not go with me and be around Luke, Ashley’s son.  I mulled it over for hours in between some of the nastiest diaper changes I’ve ever been witness to, and decided I could go for an abbreviated visit.  She was just going to sleep (and poop) and mom could handle that.  I checked in with mom mid-visit and decided to go ahead and look into taking her to the doctor tomorrow.  The only “local” doctor she’s been to is in Myers Park (Charlotte!) where her mother took her for her 9 month check-up.  I called the pediatrician I plan to use here only to find out they don’t take Medicaid patients.  My second choice also could not accept her Medicaid, because it’s been issued in Mecklenburg County instead of Cabarrus (even though the office is in Davidson- which is in Mecklenburg county!).  I gave up and called the nurse line at the Myers Park office.  I was pleased with the nurse, satisfied with her recommendations and amused by her questions (no, she has not been out of the country in the last 30 days; no, she has not been in close proximity to reptiles in the last 14 days).   We made a pit stop for Pedialyte on our way home from Ashley’s and I picked up a still very sick baby and brought her home to nurse back to help armed with only cherry punch “cocktail.”

She did a lot more sleeping (and pooping) and kept down very little Pedialyte, but after her bath tonight she played (nekkid) in the nursery floor with Skip and me for about 45 minutes.  We’re praying that’s a sign of better days to come.  She tried so hard to feel good enough to play today, which just made her even more pitiful.  I guess we’ve experienced yet another parenting first, and it’s one that I hope doesn’t come around too often.  I have been grateful for a hands-on husband and nanny and especially for my mama friends who’ve been there-done this before and have infinite wisdom to bestow upon us.  I’ve talked more about poop today than I ever care to again, but it’s been so comforting to have someone to ask, “does red Pedialyte make a diaper look like it maybe/possibly/could be blood?” at 10PM.  There are perks to bringing up the rear on this child raising stuff and today, I definitely reaped the benefits. And even when she’s puny (and poopy) there’s no where else I’d rather her be.