Credit Is DuePosted: January 15, 2015
Today is Das Big Boy’s due date, a fact that is remarkable only because it feels like forever ago that I started blogging every day, but it was on his birthday, which means the distance between his birthday and his due date was–a world of duh–rather long. Twelve weeks and two days, to be exact.
Due dates emit a forcefield in preemie land. To mix metaphors, they’re when the gun goes off (ok, young man, now you’re REALLY one, so start acting like it), so to speak. They’re also the date by which you feel you’re supposed to be able to bring your babe home. And in many, many cases, they are. I can remember a nurse saying in late November that she was sure we’d have our guy home by New Years. But New Years, my father-in-law’s birthday, MLK, and my birthday came and went without a take-home baby. I remember sobbing that if he wasn’t home by
Valentine’s Day, I didn’t know what I would do. Thankfully, he made it. But it was hard. The pre-due date time was bonus time with our guy. Sure, it was scary and depressing bonus time, but it was still time during which we got to know him, love him, hold him, bathe him, sing to him, and read to him. But the post-due date time was time he should have been with us, living his real baby life at home. Of course, plenty of preemie families don’t get to bring their babies home at all. So we were lucky. But also sad. But also lucky. And so on.
Once again, I told Das Big Boy about his due date this year. He wasn’t that impressed. I think unless I start offering a birthday gift, it’s just not going to be that interesting. He still conflates his NICU time with the time he and Little Liebchen were hospitalized with RSV. (“That’s when I watched Grover and Piño“).
And, to really remind you of the magic in the universe, this. Because four years ago, who would have thought we’d be celebrating something at once so simple and momentous today?