Everyone's Got a Story.

Ask anyone you know where they were when the first plane hit the towers on 9/11.
They've got a story. 


Or ask where they were when they heard Kennedy had been shot. 
There's a story. 


Ask any bride-to-be to tell you about the day she became engaged. 
There's a story. 


Ask any parent about the day their child was born. 
There's a story. 


It is in the telling of the story, that we are healed. Comforted. We can relive the joy - and sometimes the sorrow. Retelling the story connects us to the events and brings us back to those moments emotionally.

If anyone asks me about the day our oldest son Luke was born, I can joyfully recount each and every detail of that warm, sunny Wednesday in May 2006. A C-Section scheduled mid-day allowed Jeff and I plenty of time that morning to pack our things, tidy up the kitchen, water the plants, double check that the coffee pot was turned off and the porch light turned on. We leisurely drove to Norwalk Hospital, enjoying our final moments together of being just Two.

We had only one task to finalize: what name would we give this baby boy, we would soon get to meet?

We were down to 3 names ~ Ryan, Luke or Matthew. We had settled on a middle name weeks earlier - so we repeated the names again and again... and finally as we arrived at the hospital, we settled on his name: Luke Charles.  Over and over again I repeated his name in my mind. Luke Charles Anderson. Luke Charles Anderson.

I liked it. This would work.

The events of Luke's birth rolled along beautifully . . . I walked myself into the OR at 1:00 p.m., and at 1:25 p.m. arrived our beautiful, 9 lb, 2 oz., almost 22 inch baby boy. 


Luke Charles Anderson.  


He cried the most beautiful cry I've ever heard -- loud, and powerful. . . And I cried too. Quietly. Joyfully. Amazed at how much I loved him from that very first moment. They bundled him up and Jeff held him next to me, and we were in awe. We were now Three. It was perfect. 

Fast forward three and a half years. 

The day was cold and gray. January in Connecticut. The post-Christmas bliss was wearing off and the doldrums of winter were quietly settling in. I was 33 weeks pregnant. I'd been officially on bedrest for 6 days. 6 LONG days. 

Sometimes I feel guilty when I look back and I am sad as I recall the day of Patrick's arrival. It was all so uncertain. So frightening. So scary. So freakin' scary. It seems so wrong, but I was so terribly scared on that cold, gray January day -- the day that this beautiful, miraculous, strong baby was born. 

But what I find so interesting is that this year -- much like last year -- our conversations always wind back around to the day of Patrick's birth. My mom and my sisters remember my constant updates from the Labor & Delivery floor-- my emails and texts, updating them with the latest ultrasound results, the latest conversation with the doctors.... they can remember my frantic call telling them I was going to be admitted 'for observation'.. and my total preoccupation with Luke... I had kissed him on his way to school that morning, with the assurance that I would see him at dinnertime. Never did I imagine at 8:00 that morning, that this baby would be born at 4:20 pm .... I still had 7 weeks to go...


As Patrick's birthday arrived this year, once again, we all seem to gather together and retell the stories from that cold, gray day... from the day the most amazing child was born.... I love to listen to everyone else's stories. 


Jeff remembers and retells the story from his perspective: being with me at the hospital all day, and then the sudden decision to deliver the baby today... Jeff remembers me kissing him, and I walked down the hall with the 'team' to the OR,... and Jeff went to a waiting room alone, praying and praying and waiting... alone first, and then with my sister Erin, for the news of Patrick's arrival. 


Erin's account . . . of being at work, receiving my texts and emails, and then rushing from her office, and driving 40 miles to Yale. And she remembers vividly being with Jeff for these gut wrenching, reports coming from doctor's and nurses. 


My mom and dad's account of receiving my phone calls, of rushing to the hospital, of seeing Patrick for the first time in the ICU... of waiting for me to wake up from general anesthesia... and, too, the account from our beloved babysitter, Helen... She was with Luke that day 2 years ago... and still takes amazing care of these two little guys today. Helen remembers picking Luke up that morning to take him to school, and promising to keep him with her until whenever Jeff and I returned home.... she remembers receiving the call from my dad that I wasn't coming home, and that Luke's baby brother was going to be born on this very day... 


So, you can ask anyone in my circle about the day Patrick was born, and they've got a story. A story indeed.


I can't wait to tell these stories to Patrick someday. I can't wait to tell him what an amazing, precious, miraculous life he's been given. 


Well, the truth is: I tell him all the time...

Believe in Miracles.

Just one week from today, Patrick will be celebrating his First Christmas.

A year ago at this time I was receiving weekly ultrasounds at Yale with world-reknowned Maternal-Fetal Specialists, trying to figure out why our baby's neck looked 'a little swollen'. And each week I would try so hard not to jump to the worst case scenario. But, gosh that was hard. Impossible. Google became my worst enemy.

As you might imagine, I've been thinking non-stop about last December's Christmas too. How, at that time, I was imagining what this year's Christmas would be like, with two children. Wondering how Luke would be faring with this new baby in his life. Wondering if Luke would be over-the-top excited about Santa. Wondering if Luke would still feel extra-special, even though we'd have a baby in our midst who would need to feel special too. I wondered how I could possibly love another child with the same magnitude and depth that I love Luke. And, I wondered what our new baby would be capable of doing by the time Christmas 2010 rolled around. Would he be crawling? Maybe... Walking? Doubtful, but you never know...

Never in all my imaginings did Christmas look like This. Nor had I expected to spend the first 1/3 of 2010 camped out in Newborn Special Care, staring into an isolette, wondering from minute-to-minute, day-to-day, what would become of my Little One. Wondering how he would -- how he could -- ever find his way out of this. And in those days, I couldn't even look toward this Christmas; sometimes I could hardly imagine the next week.

As this week unfolds, and Luke's excitement reaches heights never before seen, and my patience often reaches lows I'm not proud of, I am making a promise to myself.

To slow down. Enjoy these moments. And keep a watchful eye on the magic of this season.

Miracles are happening all around us.

I'm back, and I'm staying.

I'm not sure where the last 5 weeks have disappeared to, but suddenly, Summer has turned to Fall... Luke is back in school, we cleaned out our basement, had a tag sale, I turned [gulp] 40, and I have a firm 'return-to-work' date (October 12).

I didn't mean to be away for so long but I guess the end of summer kept us busy.

Here are a few updates:

Patrick continues his weekly therapy and is continuing to make small steps forward. He is eating about 3 -5 teaspoons/day of baby food. He's a BIG fan of the apricot/sweet potato combo by HappyBaby. The progress is still so slow, and I continue to feel frustrated by this so much of the time.

Thanks to the ng tube, Patrick's weight gain has picked up again and as of yesterday he weighs 16 lbs, 14.5 ounces. He's gained almost 6 pounds since coming home on May 5. He is outgrowing clothes almost as fast as I can stock the drawers and I love it! He is wearing everything Luke once wore and I so enjoy digging out the next bin of hand-me-downs and remembering Luke in many of those pjs and sleep sacks and whatever else turns up.

As for his physical progress, Patrick is rolling nicely from back to tummy, he's got great head control, and he's just learning to sit up, propped on his own arms but, honestly, he's really not good at it. The smallest distraction and he topples right over! He's grasping and raking objects with his hands.

Luke, Luke, Luke! Luke started school last week - his last year of Nursery School. This year he is going 5 days a week and he loves it! He was so disappointed last Saturday morning when we told him there was no school for two days. TWO DAYS?!?

Monday couldn't come fast enough for him. He left the house yesterday morning with bells on. His teachers are amazing this year; currently they are doing a unit on butterflies. They have caterpillars, and milkweed and chrysalis in their classroom and when he came home yesterday he told me that two of them had become butterflies, and this morning they set those 2 free. I am amazed at the detailed reports Luke gives us. He is a sponge!

OK. The Birthday. 40. Forty. There's no nice way to write it, or say it. But, my celebrations have been wonderful and having digested this number for about 5 days, I finally feel ready to embrace it! Friends are telling that this will be the best decade. I welcome your feedback on this...

Most significant this month, though, is that we have finally crossed an important "line".

Patrick has finally been home longer than the amount of time he was in the hospital.

This makes me smile, inside and out.

(Pictures to follow by week's end!)

Time for Two.

Today turned out to be the perfect Icing on this week's Cake. It was a fabulous day. It was simple, uncomplicated, normal.

Rewind for a minute to the earlier part of the week: Luke started a new week-long camp, Patrick had two doctor's appointments, two visits at home from the visiting nurse, three therapy appointments, along with the usual matters of grocery shopping, cooking, pumping, feeding Patrick (ng tube feedings are a Royal Pain - save this for another post), neaten-ing (I don't even pretend that I'm cleaning: I'm just straightening up piles, or shifting them from one surface to another), time to myself (ha!), catching up with my husband (ha! ha!)...

In truth, by the time I went to bed last night, I felt like I'd been going non-stop since Monday morning. And when I woke up this morning I was still tired, but grateful that in just 10 hours, Jeff's work-week would be over and he'd be back here in the Nest. I just had to get through the day.

And much to my wonderment, the day was full of surprises. Best of all: nothing was rushed.

After a visit from the nurse (Patrick weighs 13 lbs, 15.5 ounces!), and while Luke was still at camp for the morning, I gave Patrick a bath. It was leisurely. Patrick was happy to kick his feet and splash around and look out the window. I was happy just to watch him. It was one of those rare moments for me, when the world around me falls away and I was just there, in that moment with Patrick. I wasn't worrying about him, I wasn't plotting my next move, I wasn't making a grocery list in my head. I was just there with him, and he with me.

And it was wonderful.

Is there anything more delicious than a baby right out of the tub?

I think not!

And like anyone would do after a nice long warm bath, Patrick took a nice long morning nap. Leaving me to do . . . nothing.

And it was wonderful.

I drank anther cup of coffee, sitting on the couch, in the quiet. I didn't check Facebook. I didn't play Words with Friends on my iPhone. I didn't watch my many recorded episodes of the Barefoot Contessa. I sat still.

Later this afternoon, while it was raining and Luke was 'relaxing' on the couch in the living room (code for: I don't want to take a nap in my room, but I'm really too tired to do much of anything), and I was in the kitchen, this happened:

Hey, Mom?

Yes, Luke.

Want to come and snuggle with me?

How do you turn that down?

True to form, Luke lasted all of five minutes in snuggle-time; so we decided to play a few rounds of CandyLand.

The miracle of it all? Patrick quietly napped. Luke and I were uninterrupted. A rare moment for us these days. I treasured it.

It was wonderful.

Meet Luke.

I wish I started this Blog four years ago, when Luke was a tiny little baby, boldly achieving all of his 'firsts' and I was a casual bystander, documenting it all as it happened, in Real Time. At a time when I knew how old he was, right down to the number of days. When I only had him to pay attention to... to love... to hold... to hug... to do laundry for...

It seems hard to tell the Luke Story from this vantage point. He is now a boy. A bona fide Boy. He runs with ease. He plays independently. He tries to tell jokes. He sings. He dances.

He's a bit of a character.

He has a best friend -- his cousin Lauren.

Here they are on vacation in Cape Cod together a few weeks ago.

Here they are last summer.

Crabbing & Baking

(on different days...they were not baking the crabs)

He enjoys watching our tomatoes and herbs grow in the garden. He has a great laugh. He has a smile that fills my heart and a hug I can't get enough of. He is imaginative. And a tad compulsive. He likes to sort things by color and organize things in straight lines.

But these days, mostly, he talks.

Incessantly.

I'm not even exaggerating. To be truthful, it can be downright exhausting. No one stands a chance. Finishing a sentence -- even a thought -- is next to impossible.

Like all parents I'm sure, I couldn't wait for Luke to utter his first word. Careful what you wish for! He has more to say to me in an afternoon than I have to say in a week. He drives us all a little crazy, but a lot of the time, he is interesting. And interested. He wants to know everything. His most used words are: I, ME, BUTMOMMY, and the best of all: WHY.

Why do sharks live in the ocean and not the lake? Why can't I walk alongside the car while you are driving, Mommy? Why do I have to clean up my own messes? Why don't people clap after each song at church? Why can't we stay on vacation in Cape Cod forever? Why do I have to listen to other people talk?