Feeding

Feeding is by far more frustrating than breathing. Yes, breathing was hard. Hard to watch your child struggle and fail time and time again. Hard to see them so upset with the bubble and watch them scream and rip it off their face.  But now, they receive essentially no skilled care. There is really nothing done at he hospital that I couldn't do myself...until there's a problem, of course. We give them a bottle, they take a few sips.  I try to breast feed, they scream. So then we try a bottle again. They fall asleep. Back to tube feeding. And really, I could tube feed them myself. But that is why we are here, because they can't go home with the tube.

Andrew fed each of them their first bottles. Dean last week, and Warren yesterday. But for the most part, it's a few gulps.  Sigh. Some babies have been back here for 6+ weeks working just on feelings. I can't make it 6 more weeks. This is now the time the boys would have been born had my pregnancy not sucked and if I didn't go into labor. So now I feel like we should be home. Now I am getting jealous of those moms who walk in, have a baby, and walk out with their family. The happy couples we say congratulations to in the elevator each day as, yet again, I am off to visit my sons under supervision surrounded by monitor alarms, beeps, and other screaming children. We are just so very ready to be home!

View from my chair all day

Kangaroo care make every moment worth it