tropicalmom-blog

[tropicalmom-blog]

#1 - Labor - Premature Birth. Let's talk about NICU moms💜

My little fellah was due to October of 2008. Everything was going good, I had never been so happy on my whole life. I remember I would talk to him since the very minute the test came positive. I loved this child with all my heart, soul and strength. Thank GOD I had the strength factor. I was a single mother, by choice, but not that it matters. It’s hard either way. Only us will truly grasp how really hard, so incredibly hard it is. But I had the will. The faith. The unconditional love. THE STRENGTH. The one I could never imagine I was capable of having until my water broke at 34 weeks. While my mom was hysterical in the car on the way to the hospital, all I remember was holding my belly and saying: “sweetie, you will be born today, but you don’t have to be scared, because mom is right here. Things are very different and beautiful here outside. I promise you will like it.” Emergency C-Section. I was awake the whole time. The whole I don’t know how many minutes that felt like eternity in hell. The silence when the Doctor pulled him out. He didn’t cry. I screamed his name. He CRYED! I started laughing, out of joy and anxiety. I could tell his crying wasn’t normal. But he was crying. He was alive. He got CPR, I could not hold him. He was out in the incubator right away, and there I stood, looking at that plastic thing with my baby in it rush down the hall. I went to the recovery room. I made it hell for the nurse to call NICU every thirty minutes. She was rude, and all she would say with a bitter face was “same. He’s stable.” Right away when I got to the room and was not supposed to get up, I rushed to a wheelchair, barefoot. No extra clothes. Only despair and hope. So I managed to walk in the NICU, as a dear friend who worked there gave me the ICU slippers. He’s a friend from childhood, and he became my son’s pediatrician. I could tell he didn’t know what to say when he noticed everyone had left, and I had no shoes. I couldn’t care less. NOTHING mattered or made sense any longer, out there, in the normal and cold world. I didn’t matter. I only mattered because I WAS HIS MOTHER. I immediately asked to hold him against me, I wanted the Kangaroo method. I was rushing to wash my hands, he was certainly waiting for me. No kangaroo. No touching. Only try to see through the glass and the tubes and machines. He was on machines in order to breathe. So small the newborn diapers were huge. So bald, such long and pretty eyelashes. Some of the other preemies had clothes on, which gave them a little more human, comfy and loving feeling, or so I thought. I had to wait for about two weeks to be allowed to put his first pair of socks. So tiny, orange ones. But they were so HUGE, the nurse simply put tape around it. NO HUMANITY. I hope things have changed since then. I am a former psychiatry student, but it doesn’t really take a rocket scientist to figure out humans need to be treated…well, like humans. Especially the tiny ones. Have you ever met someone stronger than your preemie? I haven’t. I never will. I’m so proud of him, but most of all, forever thankful to God and Mother Mary, and my baby’s Guardian Angel. And my dad, because I started to believe for the first time he was actually there, or somewhere, looking after us. Who was my best friend. Who had died a sudden death a year before all of this. My poor mother was alone, weak, lost, grieving. She had almost lost her daughter and grandson after her husband of 40 years. That’s what they let her know could happen to us. She waited. She saw him. She had to be sedated and go home. Alone. Same clothes. Cold room. I called my mother. All she could manage to say in her trembling voice was “what a beautiful child!” After about two weeks, I got there in the morning and my friend, the pediatrician, had a huge smile on his face. He sat me down, and handed me that precious little being. It was kangaroo time! For the very first time, I could feel his skin, smell his head, kiss him, sing and pray. Twelve hours a day or more if they managed to have me stay overnight. 23 days. Felt more like 23 lifetimes. Real long ones. The day came. I wrapped him up in one of those baby bags with a matching overall, all blue, with an embroidered bear. His name is Lucas. It means light of God. That’s exactly what he is.

#nicubaby #nicu mom #kangaroo #labor #labor history #god #faith #truelove #babyboy #newborn #preemie #premature baby #premature birth #PREMATURE AWARENESS💜🙏

[tropicalmom-blog]

Handmade Journal-Planner by @ArteiraKé - look her up!

It all started with the note my adorable 8yo little fellah decided to stick on my Journal. Apparently he was VERY serious the day before, when he said “_Momma, I love the things you write. You have I gift, you know. And I really think you should share it.”

I do indeed, write a lot. Since a was a little girl, but in all honesty, I am not exactly fond of writing on computers. I go for the good ol’ longhand, as you can see above. I have piles of Journals.

Luc, my “assistant” on the Blog, will be posting pictures.

And for those of you wondering what the heck the note says, it’s in Portuguese - ( 1- Labor 2 - Family 3 - Daily life 4 - Trips 5 - Life, so I’ll try to stick to what my lil boss assigned.)

We’re currently in Brazil, I’ve been raised a little here, there, almost everywhere, long story, that I plan to share when I can remember something that might inspire, help, or simply make anyone smile and hopefully laugh.

So, hello. I go by Lala, I’m 37yo, my most important title is Mom. I’m happily married. I write. I Roller and Ice Skate. I’m also a Jeep gal and we have two adorable dogs, a hamster, and I did not dare count the birds.

I go about my days as they present themselves, I’m completely not into the whole “Figure out what you want in life-thing.” - that would be too little, too narrow, too weird, cuz life is big. It’s infinite. And so are we.