Charlie may be tiny, but he has a huge sense of humor. (Ok, ok - his ghostwriter is pretty funny...)
Since writing about him a few days ago, he has continued to gain weight, now tipping the scales at just over 4 pounds! While the road ahead is still a long one, he is surrounded by enough love to sustain a whole village. Karen and Tom are incredibly strong, focused, and determined, and like I said, Charlie's attitude is pretty darned good, too...
Here's his latest contribution on his take on "life". :O)
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Dear Walkers & Talkers,
Baby Charlie here. Sorry I haven't been posting more regularly, but the doctors say my full-time job is to sleep and breathe. So that's what I've been doing: sleeping and breathing, with the occasional poop thrown in to keep things spicy.
Speaking of poop, I started feeding for real yesterday, as in breast milk, and my stomas are working overtime. This, I'm told, is a good sign. The nurses all marvel at my output, saying my digestion is "perfect," and so I predict more milk and less TPN (Total Parental Nutrition) formula in my future. Can I just say that even though I was fed through a tube and couldn't actually taste the milk, it felt good and natural and warm in my belly? It felt right. If I had a glass I'd be signaling the bartender for a refill.
You all know that Mom & I Kangaroo Cared on Friday night. I fell asleep as soon as I hit the cleavage. When I awoke, Mom said, "Can I keep him here forever?" If I could have spoken, I'd have asked the same thing.
Last night I Kangarooed with Dad. It was OK, but nowhere near as relaxing as with Mom. For one thing, no cleavage cocoon. For another, he was so nervous about holding me that he kept saying to the nurse, "Is this right? Am I holding his head right? Is he comfortable?" Then he'd shift me around before she could answer. I dug my toenails into his belly to signal that no, I wasn't comfortable with his paw on my face. Plus, the ventilation tube in my mouth kept yanking my lip. Mom said I looked like a large-mouth bass that'd been hooked. It took four people and an oxygen tank to transport me back and forth from the isolette to Dad's chest. When Kangaroo time ended, Dad said, "Let's not do that again until he's off the ventilator." I raised my little fist in solidarity.
Lying all day in this isolette gives me time to think about life, and my initial impression is it's pretty good. All kinds of people visit me, change my diaper, bathe me, tell me I'm a good boy, tell me they love me.
I mean, it's not all like that. Every couple of days someone sticks a needle in my foot to draw blood, and every few hours someone sticks a tube into my lungs to drain fluid. It hurts, but only for a moment. Then I sleep again until my parents show up and tell me I'm tough, I'm strong, I’m beautiful, I'm good, I'm loved. I like the sound of their voices, the way Mom speaks every sentence like a lullaby, the way Dad tries to hide his worry by making lame jokes like, "Look at those biceps! We should name him Thor." When no one responds he says, "Or Charles Atlas." Still no response. "Or Rambo. Where's the birth certificate and the White-Out?" I suspect the nurses pity me, especially Nurse Mimi who keeps saying, "You, Mr. Tom, are too much."
I just want to say thanks again to all the well wishers out there. I mean, I only just got here and already you've shown me concern and affection, kindness and love. If this is what I have to look forward to, this is going to be a great life.
Sleeping & breathing,
Baby Charlie
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Karen, Tom, and Thor Rambo Atlas enjoying more Kangaroo Care.
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