Like this:

Holy cow, I knew it had been awhile since I blogged but I can’t believe it has actually been since Christmas! So much for the idea of trying to write every day!! Ah well, I will keep trying…

So, help me here. I need better blog nicknames for the munchkins. I don’t really want to use their real names here. When I was pregnant we called them Thing One and Thing Two until we learned the sexes, then we simply called them by their names. I’ve been calling them by initials, but I need real nicknames here, like the Indian Takeaways, or Little Butterfly, or some such. Suggestions?

So Thing One, Baby A, had her second heart surgery on Dec. 29. It was a long, hard day for her, and for me too. She recovered like a champ. Me, it will take a while longer. She was home in 7 days, on Jan. 5, and is doing great. We don’t keep her on her pulse-ox monitor during the day. We just do spot checks and then put it on at night, but her oxygen saturations have been sensation since this surgery. She is one tough cookie!

We are enjoying being all home together. We are working on getting into some normal routines and just doing normal mommy-baby things. We still have doctor appointments, followups and such, but not nearly as many. So we have more time to do fun stuff, like try solid foods. So far we’ve had rice cereal, oatmeal, bananas, and carrots. We also play a lot, on the floor, in the swing, and all over. We try to go outside for a walk daily, but lately it has been pretty darn cold here, for Florida anyway, but it should be better soon and we’ll be out in the neighborhood everyday and at the beach now and then too!

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Got interrupted, it is now 24 hours later. Ha!

Being an infertile parent is a weird and wondrous thing. I was holding Thing Two this morning as she slept. Mike and I were just staring at her. We know all parents think their kids are the sun and moon, etc. etc. But when you have been through the war like we have — and like most of you, my readers, have been — it is different, I really think it is. All parents love their kids. But when you have looked into the maw of infertility, when you have truly and knowingly faced a future without them, well, words fail me. To look into their little faces, it is breathtaking. Literally — Sometimes when I look at them, I can’t breathe.

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