Father Knows Less

I've turned a bit of a corner in my fathering.

I'm a relatively laid back guy, and things don't phase me easily:
Evening plans were cancelled? Whatever, we'll find something else to do.
I missed my train? Meh, another one will come along shortly.
I lost my iPod? Oh well, someone is going to have a good day when they find it.

Both Marlena and I figured this would translate into my parenting style (Adora is eating dirt? I'm pretty sure there're vitamins in soil), although something happened the other night that made me question that.

The kids have been hooked up to monitors night and day since they were born: Heart rate, Breaths-per-minute, Oxygen levels, the whole shebang. The wires are a little obnoxious, but it's comforting to be able to look up at the computer screen and see how well they're doing.

Lately, Marlena & I have been trying to hold the twins as they're being fed through their feeding tubes to get them used to it once they are able to start nursing normally. We'd just bathed them, so this was the first time we'd seen them entirely unhooked from their computers.

The Super Bowl was on, so we sat so we could both see the our laptop set up on a nearby couch. I was holding Adam, and it looked like his feeding tube had been pulled out a centimeter or so (he's gotten really good at pulling out his feeding tube, so we have to be a little mindful of that). I could see it was still 18cm deep, so I wasn't too concerned. It also helped that I was distracted by the game.

I don't know about you, but I've always wondered what happens at the bottom of dog piles.

The nurse left, we were still unhooked, but unconcerned. A few minutes later, the laptop started running out of battery. No worries, I reached over and plugged it into a nearby socket.

I'd jostled Adam a little bit when I moved so I was repositioning him, and I noticed the feeding tube had pulled out another 4cm. These kids are small, so I figure pulling a tube 2 inches out of their stomach might have dire consequences. Adam was unperturbed by the tube's movement, but to my uneducated eyes he was *too* quiet.

So there I was, with a number of issues compounding in my mind:
* The nurse wasn't in the room
* Adam wasn't hooked up to any monitors
* The nurse station would have no way of knowing if we were in trouble
* Our door out to the hallway is closed
* Adam is still hooked up to the feeding pump, so I couldn't go into the hallway to find a nurse anyways.
* Why isn't the nurse in the room?
* What happens if the feeding tube leaves his stomach?
* Is he breathing alright?
* Who leaves a new parent alone with kids who aren't on monitors?
* The laptop is in sleep-mode, so I can't distract myself with the Super Bowl...
* For the love of God, where is the nurse!? DOESN'T SHE KNOW I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING?

My rational mind told me that 4cms is less than 2 inches, so any milk would still being going to his stomach, but in my newly awakened "freakout mind" Adam's little esophagus was filling with milk, and it would start spilling out of his mouth at any moment. I kept my hand on his little chest to make sure he wasn't choking to death on milk.

A 100% accurate depiction of how I felt

This went on for 20 minutes.

Eventually our nurse returned, and I managed to not act like an anxious puddle on the floor.

Everything was fine. We got the tube moved back where it belonged. It was an eye-opening moment of how attached I'd gotten to the little buggers.

Next time I'll handle it better, probably just whimper and soil myself. It seems to work well for the twins.

Fatherly Doodies

Update: The twins are a week old today and still stabled in the NICU, and will probably be there for the next two to three weeks. They're gaining weight and keeping healthy, which is all they need to do from this point on until we can go home.

They've also been moved from their own individual incubators to sharing on. Marlena & I are happy about this, since we finally get to see our children together in one place, as opposed to being in one room and plaintively looking across the hallway to see how the other is doing. The twins seem neutral on the matter. They'd better get used to it, because from this point forward they'll be sharing a living space for the next decade or so.

It's also kinda fun to watch the uncoordinated twin-fights. Adam will spasm and smack Adora, Adora will get the hiccups and rip off Adam's monitors. It's like the next step down from watching kittens wrestle off the edge of a couch.

FINISH HIM!

One thing I've learned as a new father is that I'm happy about things I *never *thought I'd be happy about.

Like poop.

Since they're in the NICU being catered to by the staff there, the best ways for me to help are by taking temperatures, cleaning pump bottles, waking up whenever my wife is awake so we can share in the sleep deprivation, and changing diapers.

Now, I'd never actually changed a diaper prior to having children. I understood them in theory, but not in practice. Hugs go on, poop comes out, Hugs keep poop from spilling onto daddy, which keeps daddy from immediately questioning the why he had kids in the first place. They were a nebulous bit of technology to me, and I liked it that way. The whole diaper conundrum has been a step I've been a bit wary of.

Turns out I'm not too bad. I prefer to think of it as baby origami with a potentially disastrous time limit. Since they're being taken care by nurses I haven't had to change many diapers, so it's been more of a privilege than a chore. Plus since they're preemies their digestive health is scrutinized, and the more regular the "exports" the better. Which means I find myself in the odd position of looking forward to their bowel movements.

For the moment the twins and I have been in tentative truce, and neither of them have aimed to shite the hand that changes them, but I can see it in their eyes. There's a glimmer there that tells me they're just biding their time, and that one day when my guard is down *bam!* poop-missile aimed at the fatherland.

I know it's coming, it's just a matter of time.