Eyes Wide Open

Sorry that I haven't posted in while, but thankfully there has been precious little to report. Alex's progress has been slow and steady ("boring") with very few setbacks. He continues to grow, reaching a whopping 2lbs 15 oz as I write this. While still tiny by any reasonably definition, he is filling out and looking more like a baby than a primordial amphibian (is it ok to say that? He'll never read this , right?) His eyes are opening ever wider and he seems to be able to briefly focus on things nearby. Kris printed out some simple black and white images to hang in his isolette so he has something to look at other than wires and tubes. We've got a target, some Motherwell images, and the Black Flag bars because it's never too early to learn about punk rock.

I've had some difficulty coming to terms with this strange arrangement. We have a son, but he is not here. Even though I see him almost every day, he was sort of becoming an abstraction, a concept of a baby rather than an actual human being. A baby in the hospital, to be visited and then left there to rest and recover. I suspect this had something to do with the fact that I haven't been holding him very much. Last week the docs were concerned about an infection (which didn't materialize, thankfully) and didn't want us to overstimulate him by holding him. When he was able to be held, Kris did the honors. I felt that I was not fully bonding with him...I even had a moment of resentment towards Kris because she was able to hold him to her breast for non-nutrative suckling, a sort of preparation for his eventual breast feeding which gets him used to the feel and smell of nursing. During these moment Kris was glowing, fully maternal and fully connected with our child, while I could only sit and watch. I felt fairly close to useless, or at least superfluous. It was a fleeting moment of jealousy and it startled me to feel it.

But since Alex has emerged from his infection scare, we've been able to hold him every day. Two days ago I kangarooed with him for almost two hours and I can only describe the feeling it evoked as "spiritually replenishing." He was cooing, looking around and up at me. I felt like a father. I felt fully engaged with our baby. It was one of the greatest feelings I have ever experienced.

And so he lay over there in his glass box while I'm here at my computer. He's eating and sleeping and growing, and next week they are going to see how he does without any nasal canulla. He may even start taking milk from a bottle. Things are moving forward. Soon he'll be three pounds, then four pounds, then one day they will simply hand him over to us with a hug and a handshake. And then we'll start a new adventure with this mysterious boy, at home.