One of the worst things about Smidge being born so small was having to wait so long to be a Mum to her. Waiting like that, it wasn't a good thing for me, it wasn't a good thing for Smidge and it wasn't good for the teams who looked after her, let me explain why.
When she was born tiny and sick, the instinct was that I wanted to protect her, Yet at the same time as wanting this, I knew the sort of protection I could offer was about as useful as a broken umbrella in torrential rain.
So imagine there was a downpour and a team of people came running with the biggest and most weather proof kind of umbrella ever ( I'm thinking ovaltine light here) You'd be pretty pleased right?
You wouldn't want to snatch the umbrella away from them and tell them that they are doing it all wrong, that you have googled umbrella putting up styles and are pretty sure that the technique they used was open to questioning, would you?
No of course you wouldn't, not unless of course you were a little bit upset that somebody went and did something that you wish you'd done, like got a medical degree for example.
And that's how I was in there,back then in the NICU. Upset, scared and untrusting.
I didn't want to admit it, mind you, didn't want to be seen as not coping.What if they decided I was too messed up to look after her? that is If and when looking after her became an actual possibility.
But these feelings I had, they wouldn't just slip quietly in to the background. The need to be a Mum, to nurture, to have control, wasn't going to just dissolve in to complete nothingness like it didn't matter.
So every time a doctor or a nurse stepped in to help Smidge,I felt sort of numb.
And this numbness that came day after day after day, It chipped away at my maternal being. And every time I lost a part of that, I think I must have felt that little bit more removed,that little bit more shut out, not needed.
The sense of being removed like that, It wasn't just about being scared. It was about being detached from that instinctual need, the one that drives the desire to connect, to have, to hold.
And when you let go of those things, because you have to, all that you have left to connect you to that child actually, is the fear, the concern, the worry.
So could I put my trust in to the doctors looking after her? Could I jump under their umbrella and be protected from the storm?
No I could not.
Because in the absence of cuddles, of contact and of care, The fear was all that was left.
There's not many things that I'm proud about when it comes to how I dealt with /am dealing with the whole NICU experience.
Three months in intensive care is a long time, it's a very stressful place and one can only sustain one's good manners, gratitude and grace for so long.
However, if there is one thing I am secretly just a tiny bit proud of, One thing I look back on and think 'I didn't make a complete pigs ear of that', it's leaving the NICU breast feeding a baby born at 25 weeks gestation.
Smidge finally started to take from the breast at around fifteen weeks of age, weighing four and half pounds at the time, but until then I was a slave to the breast pump. Imagine having your boobs yanked at by hissing green box every three hours, day and night for fifteen weeks!
The Great Green Mean Machine
Luckily I'd had a week on labour ward leading up to delivery which gave me plenty of time to think about weather I would like to express or not.
As it turned out, expressing milk was pretty much all I could do because you see, my baby she didn't want be touched and she didn't want to be held. She frowned upon stroking and as for rocking, well, at best it was considered GBH and at worst attempted murder.
Because I'd breast fed before, my milk flow was plentiful and, to be honest, if I'd have had to work half as hard as some of the first time Mum's I met, I'm not sure I would have been able to keep it up.
I was also very fortunate to have the support of One-day Hubby, which just makes a MaSsIvE difference in these situations.
Ironically, despite my pumping for Britain and managing to stock two freezers full to the brim, Smidge was largely disinterested in my milky goodness.
Much preferring the TPN drip feed, she would literally vomit green bile if you so much as mentioned real food.
Getting Smidge to tolerate Milk through a nasal gastric tube was a long and turbulent process with many, many set backs. Establishing real and actual breast feeding was a whole new challenge and seemed a million miles away at times.
Still, I'll never forget the first time she was put to the breast, rooting around wanting me! Needing me! Me I tell you! Me!
Ahem...excuse me nurse..but would you mind removing those wires and tubes, I've got myself a 'newborn' baby!
*Beams with Pride*
Initially, Smidge's attempts at suckling had to be managed very carefully.It was a real balancing act trying to make sure she didn't burn more calories than she gained trying to get her grub, but it the end we worked out together and Smidge carried on breast feeding until she was a little over a year old.
Was it hard work getting to that point? Yes.
Do I get slightly annoyed at Mother's who say they wanted to breastfeed their term babies but their baby 'wasn't interested?' Er yes.
Would I do it all over again if I had to? Absolutely and a hundred percent yes.
Having Febrile in my life over the last week or so has made me realise quite a few things.
(a) Ultimately, I'm not in control.
(b) Life is too short.
(c) I should shop at Boots more often.
With reference to (a), It's important not to get hung up on this. I mean when has anything about being a Premmy Mum ever been smooth running? Control is so over-rated, Not only does it take a massive amount of time and energy but it leads to countless disappointments.
Nope. The best thing to do is to embrace this change, learn to see it as an ugly but meaningful part of the great tapestry of life.
Learning to relax and make the most febrile seizures might be hard and even expensive at times but often there is no other way, leading me to point (c) Shopping at Boots.
So, today I have been to the new Boots outlet, to put together a supply of everything that's needed for a short stay at hospital. Having had three admissions in the last month, I'm getting to be a bit of a pro at knowing what's needed. I've put it all together in one handy bag ready to pop in to a car/ ambulance should the need arise.
Check out my list of hospital must- haves!
Presented in it's own little container, this compact baby sponge is ideal for that feverish car trip to A&E. If it's just respiratory issues I'm going for, it will still come in useful for an overnight stay and it's handy tub means I don't have to leave it out where germs may linger. Phew!
No more getting locked out of A&E when popping to the
vending machine, and no more suffering with a dry mouth in the height of an anxiety attack. This heavier- than- I'd- like bottle of Evian has multiple purposes in an emergency and so is worth it's weight in shoulder pain.
Rescue remedy. A bit of an old wives tale but in these
situations even the placebo is embraced. And if there's a
chance it stops me asking 100 questions a minute, it has to be worth a go.
Dreamy skin face cleansing wipes. Because dreamy skin is so important when you have a sick child.
In the event that the rescue remedy is ineffective, these queezy sacks really come in to their own. Far more stylish than the traditional cardboard model, any on lookers will surely be impressed. If you need a little inspiration on how to use these sacks, see infant on front of packet. It is highly recommended that you remove the durable plastic packaging way in advance.
Really important to have your own bottle of calpol in hospital. This way when your wriggly and tortured child awkwardly turns her head away from nurse mid-administration, you can 'top up' using your own. They don't like you doing this but when done safely it certainly serves its purpose.
Because we wouldn't want to see our new friend Febrile, not if we could help it.
Johnsons Baby wipes. Strictly for superficial purposes only. Low and behold, I WOULD NOT want to be seen in public with my budget ones.
Annoyingly, the Hip organic range was only available in glass bottles, but it was either a glass bottle or a non-organic plastic one. Obviously I chose to preserve my Earth Mother Status.
This all- in- one radox gel is a good all rounder and you can use it your hair too.
Not sure what this is for but it jumped out at me on the shelf, I thought it said 'scrub off your life' which obviously was a great selling point for someone like me.
I suffer terribly from cold sores, especially when there's a change in temperature or stress involved. The only way to prevent them is by keeping my lips moist.
For when plan (a) doesn't work. Because the last thing you need (on top of everything else) is a manky cold sore.
Extremely unpopular amongst babies (and if you're lucky other adults too) these peanut M&M's can help to see you through the longest of nights.
The last emergency hospital visit, I left my toothbrush at home. When I woke up in the morning I'd lost half a tooth! I still haven't seen a dentist yet. Apparently you have to be in pain at 8.30am before you can get an appointment at our surgery, which still hasn't happened.
Because sometimes, those nurses, they get busy, on such occasions I find it helpful to have my own.
Especially useful for warding off the I.V fluids and it's also a handy drinks container.
All though it makes sense to utilise the hospitals supply where possible, these sometimes come in handy in the A&E, particularly after Smidge has been sitting on a cup for two hours. (don't ask)
Plum Baby food. Because they give five pence from every packet sold to Bliss (the premature baby charity) Or at least they did once!
So, after pacing the isles like a mad and frenzied westerner looking for any opportunity to materialise, I returned home and added some all important extra's to the bag. The sort of things that won't find in a boots shopping store.
Vests. (sleeveless ones) is all the clothing that's needed for Smidge on arrival in a hot environment like this.
Smidge's height and weight record. Because it's no fun being placed on a set of hard old hospital scales when you are feeling like rubbish.
Phone Charger
Old Knickers!
Laundry liquid. A good old spot of washing will help to pass the time.
Plate and cup hoarding can be something of habit when your confined to a cubicle 24-7, this nifty little bottle of liquid should help me keep them peachy clean.
A Fast track letter. This is the letter that's lets the receptionist at A&E know that we can skip the queues and go straight in, because there has to some plus's for being 'special'
I try to brush my hair at least once a day in hospital, especially if I want to avoid the 'unplanned beehive' look. Most embarrassing when it only becomes clear when you look in the mirror (after the doctors rounds.)
Last, but by no means least,an Anti feet humming measure. Because humming feet and small cubicles don't go together well.
So that's it then, My hospital bag is complete. One less thing to worry about.
..........................
Disclaimer: I was not paid any money to advertise these products. I was not even given free stuff. I just wanted to look like a professional blogger.
Speaking of professional bloggism, You wouldn't consider voting for me in the Mad Blog Awards would you? Astonishingly, I've been short listed for the Best Baby Blog category.You can vote by clicking on this square.. :)
I don't want to dramatise what happened to Smidge last week because after all, one in thirty small children have a febrile seizure at some point don't they? But OMG!! I soooo want to dramatise what happened to Smidge last week :-/
Febrile seizures? My Smidge? Eeek, naaw..shudder shudder.
Why Smidge? Why?
And of course, If you're going to do something, then do it properly, right Smidge? don't bother with a straight forward febrile seizure, that would be too simple. Make sure its the A-typical kind and throw in a few special features too if you can. That would be much more in keeping with your usual style...
*sigh*
How could someone so adorable cause so much trouble?
I know there's no point in dwelling on it. It's as One-day Hubby and the good Doctor said, If you're going to dwell on anything, dwell on the good stuff.
One-day Hubby, he's just relieved we got to the hospital on time.
One-day Hubby, He's just pleased that there was no identified underlying cause, and, One-day Hubby he is altogether happy that (a) We got a take-home kid from NICU and (b) She doesn't have any known developmental problems.
And I'm happy about those things too, but at the same time as feeling guilty lucky, I worry too.
The latest cause for concern is that both Mister G and One-day Hubby have come down with heavy colds. As the seizures are temperature related, a cold may put Smidge at risk of another fitting episode.
In some ways, the more prepared I feel for another febrile fit, the more relaxed I can be.
But on the other hand the more I think about seizures, the more anxious I feel!
But One way or another, I'm going to have to find a way to make my peace with this febrile friend, because if I don't, I will allow it to sneak in to my life and take over and then all the good stuff, won't seem so good any more, a trend that simply must be nipped in the bud at the earliest opportunity.
Don't ask me how.. but something has to happen because Smidge and Mister G, They deserve better.
Oh and er...speaking of friends,(non febrile)I don't s'pose you might have thought about er...voting for me? I'm a finalist y' know...A finalist!! :D just click on the button below!
Today's Post has been written by Chief Premature Baby Blogger, Kylie Hodges over at Not Even A Bag Of Sugar.
I can't tell you enough what a great honour it is to have her feature a post on my blog today as it was she who inspired me to start blogging in the first place!
Below, Kylie talks about how she coped with the up's and downs of NICU life when her Son Joseph was born at 27 weeks weighing 1lb 7oz, the exact same weight as Smidge!
Pollyanna and the Glad
Game
My mum has always
called me “annoying Pollyanna”. It’s her fault really, she
introduced me to the television show and then the book as an
impressionable pre-teenager. I loved Pollyanna’s attitude to life,
finding the “glad” in everything.
When I was diagnosed
with severe pre eclampsia at 26 weeks and 6 days, I struggled very
much to see the “glad” and then the doctor told me he would have
to deliver the baby the following day at 27 weeks. I really couldn’t
see any “glad” in that. The midwives came and put me in a
wheelchair for an emergency scan. The baby had stopped growing, I was
very confused. I came back to the ward in a mess of tears.
The consultant
immediately snapped me back to reality “Look I am delivering a live
baby tomorrow, everything will be ok, you must believe in me, in your
team, in yourself and in your baby”. I immediately put my “glad”
head on. I was glad that I was in good hands, that everyone was
working together for the same outcome, a good delivery and a healthy
baby.
I had Joseph by
caesarean section the following day. One of the midwives came to see
me soon after Joseph was born. She gave me a letter from the Primary
Care Trust in an envelope. “Oh no” I said, “they’re not
sending me a bill are they?” she laughed! I opened the letter and
it was advising me that the next baby could be born out the lambing
end (perhaps not in those words) and the midwife came back in amazed
I was smiling and laughing. “What’s so funny?” she said. “The
PCT seriously think, an hour post delivery, I am planning on having
sex again!”
I was determined to be
happy, to find the “glad” wherever I could, to see the funny side
even in the darkest times. Looking back I am almost embarrassed. I
was insulated by this “glad game”.
On day 5 of his life,
my son Joseph was struggling. He was losing weight, which is really
not advised when you’re born at 1lb 7oz, and was very poorly
indeed. I took picture books in, I read and sung to him. I had a
baby! I was glad because at 35, I finally had a baby. OK he was
small, he was sick, but he was mine. And even if he only lived a
short time, he was my baby, my son, and I was glad.
A senior consultant was
brought in and said “you do not understand. You are too calm”. He
didn’t understand the glad game.
Every day I walked into
that unit with a smile. I greeted the other parents. I took mums out
for coffee. I consoled staff when things were tough, I was nice to
everyone. I didn’t allow myself to cry when on the unit. I did cry
at home at times, when it all got too much, even for Pollyanna.
One sunny Tuesday,
after 9 and a half weeks in hospital one of the consultants came in
on her rounds. She saw me sitting by Joseph’s cotside. She smiled.
She looked at her notes and said “right, discharge planning is now
in place, you will room in on Sunday and Monday nights, and take
Joseph home on Tuesday”. Huge tears slipped down my cheeks. I was
sobbing. She looked at me with fear and surprise, distaste even.
“Whatever is the matter?” she asked. “I’m just so relieved”
I said. “I hate this bloody unit I want to take my baby home”.
The other doctors and
nurses all looked in amazement “but you are always so happy, you
always look pleased to be here”. I sighed. “I’m pleased to be
with my baby, but I hate it here, being glad got me through it, and
now it’s time to go home”.
The last week flew by,
my facade had dropped, and I realised just how much energy being
Pollyanna took. And, I put her away for good. She had served her
purpose, she got me through, but I didn’t need her any more.
This Blog has turned
tragic. My life has turned tragic. I didn't want it to, It just sort
of happened and now I'm like a victim who wonders around trauma-ville
stuck in a rut.
Smidge has steadily started to improve over the last day or so. She did spend the day
pale faced and crying but thank goodness for small mercies, we
haven't had any more fits.
She's also had her last
canula removed this morning so those tiny feet can pitter-patter the
hospital corridors once more.
What I'm struggling
with right now is the idea of taking her home. Every time the 'H'
word is mentioned my stomach does a little flit and I find myself
wanting an unobtainable double vodka probably without any coke.
Can you imagine not
wanting to take your own baby home?
Can you Imagine feeling
so scared that even if a double vodka without any coke was available
you probably wouldn't drink it because you'd be too scared ?
It's ridiculous I know!
but I am stupidly fearful that Smidge is going to pull another number
on me and if she does what would I do?
From what I understand,
there is a 33% chance that this fitting of hers could turn in to
something of a habit. If it does, the advice I've been given is to
call an ambulance.
I know I have to move
past this latest hurdle and I so, so want to but I'm feeling a little
ill equipped to deal with any future incidents.
Then there is the
emotional side. Right now I'm in auto-pilot mode, just doing and not
really thinking. What if it all comes tumbling out and I go slightly
(more) crazy?
Last week (when I
thought respiratory distress was a serious problem) I had a lovely
long chat with a doctor who was kind enough to entertain my anxious
ramblings.
A kindly man, he
advised me that I couldn't live my life in fear, fretting over the
worst. That I should trust that I will know when to get help, when to
bring Smidge to hospital...that I wouldn't leave it too late...
'You could live your
life like that...' he said 'but you'd drive yourself mad and it
would never be worth it'
But this is my life as
a Premmy Mum.
This is my Smidge.
(well for now anyway)
and this Premmy Mum is
just going to have to try to find a way to accept it.
You remember The Swarm
right? Well it turns out that it wasn't even a significant part of
the new lucky.
The last 48 hours have
been like a living nightmare. The worst in a long, long time.
I'd go so far to say
that these past few days have been so terrifyingly horrid you may
just want to skip this post altogether.
*NOTE* - Post
particularly unsuitable for the faint hearted.
It started at lunchtime
on Thursday when Smidge seemed a little feverish. Determined not to
be deemed an over anxious Mum, I held back on the usual A&E
shenanigans and put my trust in to the local G.P surgery.
Oh why did I do that?
Just hours after making
the call to the surgery, Smidge struck me as really quite pale so I
asked One -day Hubby to take her to the hospital to be re-assessed.
But almost as soon as
they had set off, I started to feel this deep sinking feeling in the
pit of my stomach. It was so horribly profound, I simply couldn't
ignore it. Grabbing my coat and keys I ran out to the car but before
I had even turned the key in the lock my mobile rang, it was of
course One-day Hubby.
In a trying-to-be calm
but somewhat alarmed voice, One-day Hubby told me that he had had to
stop the car and call an ambulance for Smidge whilst driving to the
hospital.
Glancing in his rear
view mirror he had seen an extremely pale and deteriorating Smidge
looking sicker than sick. She was suffering what we now know to have
been complex febrile convulsions.
Mister G and I raced
down to A&E in the car. On the way we were silent apart from Mr.
G reassuringly putting his hand over mine and gently telling me that
everything would be okay.
Knowing our way around
A&E far too well, we ignored the usual entry procedure, by
passing the receptionists and cutting through the assessment rooms in
an attempt to find Smidge.
After skimming the
Minors and majors departments I raced through to resus feeling the
panic and not knowing what on earth to think or do.
A call to One-day hubby
told me that the ambulance staff were trying to cannulate Smidge En
route. Ever tried cannulating an ex prem baby in a moving vehicle?
Good luck I thought.
What seemed like an
eternity later, an uncannulated Smidge was wheeled in to resus
looking pale and unresponsive, however, over the course of the next
few hours she settled right down.
The doctor was pleased
to see that, using the art of paper towel throwing, we were able to
raise a brief smile out of our adorable baby girl. They referred her
over to the children's ward for further observation.
Grandma came to collect
Mister G and I told One-day Hubby to go and get some rest
'Theres a room you can
use down the hall' I told him 'I can stay with Smidge'
Picking up a coffee
stained copy of take a break, I settled myself in to the put- me- up
bed in the corner. A distraction is what I need I thought, turning
the pages of my trash mag.
But a side ways glance
over to Smidge's prison cot had me sitting bolt up right in a panic.
Smidge was pale again and shaking uncontrollably.
I ran out to the hall
and told the nurse to come quickly 'I think Smidge is fitting' I told
them.
The nurse entered the
cubicle followed by a doctor, I grabbed the oxygen supply off the
wall and put it to Smidges face before racing down the corridor to
retrieve One- day Hubby who quickly came back to the room.
There were now several
people in the room giving Smidge oral drugs to try to stop the fits
but the fits were not subsiding.
The registrar doctor
from A&E appeared and nurses were getting cannula's ready and
starting up the fluids, Once again broad range intravenous
antibiotics were being drawn up.
Out side the room
Mummy-bot took over as she watched every available doctor and nurse
try to stop Smidge's lengthy fit.
Then these words came
..'put out an arrest call please'
At this point even
Mummy-bot could not look on any longer, thank goodness One-day hubby
was there soothing the oblivious Smidge.
Mummy-bot paced the
hospital corridors muttering 'no...no, no, no,' to nobody in
particular but not a singular doctor or nurse could stop to reassure
her because they were all trying to stabilise Smidge and stop her
from fitting.
Every now and then
Mummy-bot would sneak a peak through the cubicle window seeking data
that would activate positive downloads. But the timer ran out and the
system redirected her to another location.
Walking the hospital
corridors Mummy-bot searched around for an identifiable source. She
located a friendly looking nurse who walked her back to the scene. On
the way back she was trying to reassure Mummy-bot that febrile convulsions are quite common and the doctors would soon have it under
control but Mummy-bot just rambled at her that it didn't look very
under control, not very under control at all.
Back on the scene, more
people had arrived, including a consultant from intensive care. The
ventilator machine was placed on stand by and Mummy-bot observed the
intubation tubes lined up looking like candies in a sweet shop.
The nurse that
Mummy-bot had located from the the alternative location had some how
got integrated in to the medical activity and once again Mummy-bot
was forced to intermittently observe.
After twenty five
minutes of fitting, the team managed to stop the fits and a very
pale, vacant looking Smidge lay across the cot looking exhausted,
intoxicated with numerous IV drugs.
The head doctor
explained that one of the IV drugs had successfully stopped the
fitting and that it was anticipated that Smidge will be drowsy and
vacant for several hours.
The next few hours were
filled with I.V medicines. There were fluids, anti convalescents, antibiotic, and anti viral drugs. They gave Smidge everything there was
to give.
Soon after,the doctors
explained that Smidge had shown some unique signs before and during
the fit and they wanted to fully investigate to rule out some very
particular problems. A C.T scan was ordered and lumber puncture test
to see if they could get to the bottom of what has caused the
seizures.
The results were
inconclusive and although Smidge has improved greatly she remains
very poorly in hospital.
When I first started
writing about Mummy-bot I did not fully understand who 'she' was.
All I knew was that
Mummy-bot played a vital role in helping me to sustain myself when I
visited Smidge in intensive care, month after month after month.
And do you know what?
there's nothing quite like dipping your toe back in the water to help
reacquaint yourself with old coping strategies...familiarise yourself
with old behaviours....
Nothing quite like a
traumed up trip to resus and a week in paediatrics to pick up that
bit of blog inspiration and reignite all that was flickering quietly
in the back ground.
Mummy-bot you see, she
was designed to deal with these situations, fully trained in trauma,
Mummy-bot was programmed to cope with scenes that I was not humanly
prepared for.
The thing is you see,
I, (Premmy mum Leanna) could only take so much, because there are
only so many arterial lines you can bare to see fitted, only so many
squeals of discomfort and pain.
There are only so many
hours you can sit crunching away at numbers and watching oxygen
requirements go up and up and up.
There are only so many
times you can watch your milk get rejected for antibiotics and drip
feed.
Only so many apneoa's
you can observe, transfusions you can witness and transfers you can
endure.
How many times can you
watch consultants gaze over your baby with a puzzled look in their
eyes as they sigh and furrow their eyebrows and tell you about the
new plan?
How many times can you
hope that the new plan (that is actually just like the old plan) is
going to work better this time because it's slower, easier, more
gentle?
After a while you just
switch off. And yet, you know you have to be there. Yet, emotionally
you can not.
So the answer then, the
solution, is Mummy- bot.
Mummy- bot know's when
to intercept as her radar detects anxiety and feelings of discomfort.
So when that knot forms
deep inside my stomach, A surge, a tug, a pull... and I want to turn
away because I can't bear to look any longer, Mummy-bot takes over.
And I kind of know it's
her because a feeling washes over me and my fear bridles down and
quietly re-emerges as 'concerns'
Panic levels stabilise and I appear cool, calm and collected.
Emotions are seen from
a far away place, representing themselves as chaotic, pointless,
obstructive and unhelpful.
And everything that
Mummy-bot see's can now be processed intellectually.
and hang on a minute...my toe...what's going on with my toe?
Oh Lordy! I get it...
We're at the frikin' hospital..but where abouts is my Udder?
'Udder?' I'm awake!'
Look Udder!! I'm holding the oxygen!!
Wait a minute .. this should get her moving...
'Look Udder!! no oxygen!'
Relax!! I was just kidding!!
So...What's for breakfast then?
Oh dear..white bread again, Daddy won't be pleased.
The doctors will be here soon, no prizes for guessing what they are going to say.
".Do you mind if I have a little listen to your chest?"
No, of course not, but you'll have to fight me for the stethoscope.
Hey Udder,Could you make me look cute please? I want to look good for when the doctors come. Do you think you could throw together a healthy look? that pink bow for example,makes me look so well pro-fused!
Oh yes.. those matching shoes will really help to bring out the colour in my cheeks!
I think we all agree that I look pretty healthy right??
Time to start acting healthy too..Can you get me my walker please?
Now you're talking! Time for some natural physio, I'm off on my ward rounds..
If that doesn't relieve the congestion..nothing will!
I can't fault these hallways for their glide-a-bility.
Oh! Hello horsey!
These dining chairs are always empty! do you think they are trying to say something about the food?
Back to my cubicle.
*Yawns*
Suddenly my prison cot seems a little inviting..
Oh yes.. a nice nap and wee bit of oxygen should put me right. Grandma's coming at two and I want to be my best.
Oh hello Grandma....You're already here and er...kissing my eye!
Grandma and Me. We have an Understanding.
Well that certainly brightened up my day! Now it's time to play feed the Mummy..
I just can't get enough of this game! it's right up there with my favourites..
Like 'Put the cookie in the storage heater'
and empty the bag on the floor.
In general, My Mummy and I are okay in the hospital because we've got each other which is better than when I was in NICU because she had to go home every night.
But best of all I like it at my house, where there's My Daddy, My Brother and my dog...
Even though baby walker gliding is not nearly as good.