Day Twelve

The other day, I shared with you the story of light and its speed in the form of a new boy. For the most part, light comes from stars, which are made up of swirling gases, water vapor, and interstellar particles of dust. These unfathomably vast areas of the universe are called stellar nurseries. Scientists speculate that small differences in the vacuum of space along with changes in the mass of objects or the movement of other intergalactic bodies starts the process of star creation. Over thousands, hundreds of thousands, or millions of years, dust, water, and gas collect. As they collect, mass increases, pressure builds, and the temperatures rise. Gravity, a relativity weak cosmic force grows exponentially. More dust, more pressure, more mass – and then – ignition.

I started this blog as a way to communicate contemporaneously the goings on of Lara and the birth of our child so that you, dear reader, can know what has happened. While I am part of the story, I simply write what happened. This is Lara’s story. If you find these daily posts riveting or entertaining, you must give her the credit because she lived it, some how got through it, and continues to do it. I simply capture it as one would take a picture. One of the great things about her and something that I hope our son inherits, is the ability to do what is necessary – to endure. Lara is a star, she is the star. She endured the pressure, the heat, the gravity of the situation to beget a son. Please thank her for her sacrifice, acknowledge her womanhood, and respect her gangsta. While your at it, thank all mothers, biological or otherwise.

This is the first morning in twelve where we did not awake in a hospital. We were not questioned, poked, or otherwise incarcerated. It should have been a good morning, despite the freezing rain that was suppose to be snow, according to weather soothsayers. The freezing rain mimicked our souls. Our son was in intensive care and not with us. We can’t feed him, swaddle him, or clean up his explosive poops. Compounding this, Lara is still recovering. We held back tears with the same effectiveness as a man holding back the ocean with his hands. This morning was tough, emotional, difficult.

We waited until the morning’s freezing rain subsided to visit our kiddo. Before that, Lara called the NICU to learn if anything had changed overnight. While he lost an ounce and was still under light therapy to prevent jaundice, he pooped th5ee times and was otherwise doing well.

Before baby Jax was born, I was required to get a wristband each morning while incarcerated at the hospital. Actually, it was part of the Panera breakfast ritual I discussed in a previous post. Once your child is born; however, this ends. You become an honored guess, especially if you have a child in NICU. You never have to get a daily ban, you can walk past security with a fist raised and they will respond in kind. Lara learned this when she arrived and asked for a wheelchair. It’s another small but important acknowledgement.

I pushed Lara into the NICU and greeted the staff and the nurse caring for our child. Jaxon was again under the lights but was resting comfortably. As only one parent can be in the room at a time, I left. Lara needed to spend more time with him – to bask in his glow. She read him a book that I pick out from the waiting room. It was written in Spanish and was about a pickle After about an hour, she left the NICU to express milk and so I could also see him. As his time under the lights was ending, the nurse, different than the one we saw on the previous day, asked if I wanted to hold him. Of course. She swaddled him, mentioning that it’s always hard to do it with monitoring lines attached, and gave him to me. I remember Kwame James, father of two and wise beyond his year, mentioning that a well-swaddled child looks like a burrito. Jaxon is a feisty burrito-shaped light beam that emanated from a star. This is accurate.

Instead of reading the el libro de Espanol, I told Jax how our solar system was created, how people came to be, and how everyone and everything was made from the same stuff. How he is an intentional yet random set of molecules that helps define us. Later, and with the assistance of our nurse, I changed is tiny diaper for the first time.

Lara, who’s good at the medical stuff, learned more about the well-being of our child. Jax is doing well, so much so that he will be leaving the intensive care section of the neonatal unit and being moved to the step down unit, which monitors less critical care children. While Jaxon isn’t eating as much as much as he should, he’s otherwise health, drinking a combination of donated and Lara’s milk.

As we were leaving, we ran into a maintenance technician who had straightened up our mess of a room. With a thick Spanish accent, she was happy to see us but sad to see that we left. Lara and I explained that the hospital kicked us out but our child was in the NICU. She offered prays and point us in the direction of the step down unit. I asked if she got the donuts we sent the postpartum unit yesterday. She emphatically said yes and showed genuine joy that we though of them. She offered prays for Jaxon as I wheeled Lara down the corridor.

We left the hospital tonight with a little more hope and a little less twilight. Safely returning home, I escorted Lara to our door, mentioning that I was going to help a neighbor clear her sidewalk of ice. I did this because it was the right thing to do. I learned that this woman was having a bad day at the time and that helping her gave her some joy; that I could have just walked inside my door and closed it but didn’t. I said that this is what neighbors do, after all, we are all in the boat same.

Many thanks to you all.