24

Wow, we made it. The point where odds continue to increase in favour of a wonderful life (roughly 3% per day from a flip of a coin).
I was admitted to hospital in preterm labour with Jack at 24 wks. It is amazing how scared one is not when one has little to no knowledge of a situation's accompanying severity. It is then not surprising, how easily it is to elevate to a level of shear panic, one 28 week preemie and 7 weeks of 2nd pregnancy bed rest later. Having said this, rest assured, I am taking all measures to remain panic free, given that panic instantly causes contractions, of which I would like to do without.
I thank God for this week.

23 weeks

I wish I was reporting 24 weeks but we're not quite there yet. Twenty-four is a huge number; a milestone of immense proportions. When doctors rub their hands and nurses stop cringing. It passes by barely noticed by most parents-to-be and is an amazing first sigh of relief for others. We are the others. The others who dissect the calendar at least once per day to ensure dates are correct. The others who have already packed the hospital bag, handed out door keys and developed Plans A, B, C through H for all the what ifs. The Os agonize over every little symptom as it scares the shit out of them wondering what it means. We Os apparently pass these insecurities to our current offspring as they make their own feeble attempt at defining their existence by refusing to eat, beating their defensiveless, horizontal mother over the head with toys and swan diving from furniture.

So we maintain the status quo; Chris operating in hyperdrive attempting to hold our household and son from quite literally falling apart, and I, horizontal, occasionally bored, often ineffective but persistently incubating.

harrowing nights

Last night was...well, interesting. Jackie has not been keen on going to sleep alone these days. After finally lulling him to sleep, he woke up, screaming like the devil himself had paid him a visit. Not wanting to respond too quickly, Cheryl and I decided to give him a few minutes to settle. Turns out that a few minutes was more than enough. Our hearts sank when we heard a mighty crash from Jack's room. We leaped to our feet and ran to find Jack crying on the floor beneath his crib. He had boldly raised himself above the level of his crib and with a shot of bravado dove like a drunken kamikaze to the floor. After making sure all body parts were intact, vital signs were within acceptable ranges and the floor was appropriately padded, we placed him back in his bed. Unhappily. No sooner had I turned my back to talk to Cheryl and our little bird promptly leaped into the sky with identical results. Crap.
So tonight, in an attempt to prevent our first child from sustaining further brain injuries, we have put him in a toddler bed. And now begins the battle to keep him there. Chemical restraints? No. Handcuffs? Nope. Super Nanny? That'll do it. After 30+ trips to return him to his bed our little man is finally asleep. Thank goodness.
Thinking about Jack's recent adventures reminded me of a poem called High Flight by John G. Magee, a Royal Canadian Air Force pilot during WWII. He wrote:

"Oh I Have Slipped

The Surly Bonds of Earth...

Put Out My Hand

And Touched the Face of God"

Could it be this is what Jack was thinking as he soared above the surly bonds of his bedroom floor? I like to think so. Goodnight, little man...we love you.