Welcome to J.R.

Your story officially began at 7:40 a.m. on Thursday morning, September 19, 2013, at Schneck Medical Center (where I work) in Seymour, Indiana.  You were delivered by c-section at 37 weeks gestation.  Your sister, Whitney, was a bit of a trouble-maker at birth, so the type of c-section delivery I had with her required a slightly earlier delivery for you to prevent complications (that’s a big word for “trouble”) for either of us.

I barely slept the night before as I was so excited to meet you.  Your dad and I got to the hospital right at 6:00 a.m. for pre-op prep, but not before an emotional goodbye with your sister.  She is insistent on doing a “group hug” before your dad or I leave (no matter how early it is).  Before your arrival, I had been knocking her in the head with my big belly during our group hug, so you’ve (unknowingly) been a part of them, too. 

 

Your sister has taught us how big our hearts can love (and ache).  And our hearts have already expanded since you were born.

Your Grammie and Pop (from Mississippi) came to town on Wednesday to stay with Whitney and to be here for your grand entrance.  We all predicted a 5-6 pound GIRL on the eve of your big day.  Your dad revealed, after all of these months, that he thought he heard a “her” reference during our high-risk ultrasound at St. Vincent’s!

So imagine our surprise and delight when YOU were born!  I couldn’t see you, but heard Dr. Fish (my OB doctor) say, “Well, hey there, Buddy!”  I anxiously asked Ben, “What did we have?!”  And with obvious emotion and shock in his voice, he squeezed my hand and said, “It’s a BOY!”  Your dad proudly went from my side to your side, and back and forth to report stats, take pictures, and squeeze my hand as I cried happy tears when I heard your sweet cry.  You were our 7# 7oz, 20” long, BOY with a head full of dark hair!

James Roger is the name we chose for you … after your grandpa in Mississippi and your grandpa in Heaven.  Both of whom have been wonderful fathers to me and your dad, and who you will likely have certain characteristics of.  But, so you have your own special moniker, we’ve decided to call you “J.R.”  I’ve always thought that “initial” names had a bit of intrigue behind them.  (Who knew that the “W” in Michael W. Smith’s name stood for “Whitaker?!”J) You can keep people guessing, Son.  But you’ll, undoubtedly, hear “James Roger” when you’re in trouble one of these days!

Back to the delivery room.  There was mention of you working a little harder to breathe, but this wasn’t completely uncommon for a newborn that was born a few weeks early.  Dr. Olsen  and Nurse Laura were keeping a close eye on you and would keep us informed.  After I went to Recovery, I sent your dad to the waiting room where your sister, Grammie and Pop, and Grandma were all anxiously waiting to hear an update.  Your dad pulled Whitney aside to share the news with her first, and when the grandparents (super cool people who already love and spoil you) saw her jumping up and down with excitement, they were certain we had a girl since Whitney had wanted a sister so badly.  But, apparently, she had a change of heart about boys when she learned that she had a baby brother.  Your grandparents were surprised and elated when Whitney revealed your gender!

 

 

In the meantime, Dr. Olsen came to tell me his concerns about your breathing and that he felt transport to St. Vincent’s NICU was in your best interest.  The St. Vincent’s NICU was a very familiar place to us as we spent 7 months there with Whitney, but a place that we didn’t want to have to go back to as “patients.”  Dr. Olsen knew our story and had experienced a very similar story there with his own daughter, so he was very sensitive in knowing that this was difficult news to hear.  Disappointed feelings aside, your health and well-being was our primary concern.

Within the next few hours, you were prepped for transport to Indianapolis.  The neonatologist from St. Vincent’s, Dr. Tauscher, came in to discuss your condition and then 3 nurses rolled you back in the transport equipment.  It looked as if they were sending you on a mission to the moon.  The bonding experience I hoped we would have on that first day of your life consisted of a quick touch of your hand before you were whisked away.  I knew you were in great hands, though, even if they weren’t my own.

I sent your dad to be with you that Thursday evening and I would get the privilege to see you and hold you on Saturday.  That precious moment couldn’t have come soon enough.  You were the perfect gift that we had prayed for.  The sweet boy that I had gotten a misty-eyed glance at right after you were born and right before you headed on your first big trip to Indy.  You were my son … and I was so proud to be your mom.

You were already making respiratory improvement by the weekend and didn’t need as much aggressive treatment.  However, there had been enough suspicion of pneumonia from your chest x-rays that would require you to have IV antibiotics for a full week.  It was after hearing that news that my emotions came to a head … over lunch in the St. Vincent cafeteria, none the less.

 

I never wanted to be back in that cafeteria with a sick baby upstairs.  In 2008, we ate Thanksgiving lunch there with one of our NICU mom friends … and we ate chicken strips (festive, huh?) there on Christmas Day that year, so it holds a lot of special memories, but it also represents a time away from the beeps and buzzes that you can just let it out over a grilled cheese sandwich.

I had to keep things in perspective, though, as I looked around the NICU and saw the isolettes (knowing there was a sick and tiny baby inside), and overheard a doctor telling a parent about an upcoming surgery, or when I saw the worn faces of NICU moms, and saw nurses running to a baby’s side after an apnea episode.  While I didn’t want you there, and so longed to scoop you up and take you home, we were thankful that you were a stable, low-maintenance NICU baby … and your 8 days there were manageable.

And on the upside of your NICU stay, it was like an unfortunate, yet warmly familiar homecoming for us.  We had the pleasure of seeing neonatologists, nurses, therapists, specialists, lactation consultants—all wondering why we were back 5 years later—and so surprised to see our handsome son!  We met a lot of special people during your sister’s 208 day stay, so it was very reassuring to know what excellent and caring hands you were in during your first week.

It was the end of summer when you were admitted to the NICU and the start of fall when you came home on Thursday, September 26.  A new season of life altogether.  And, well, the details since your homecoming are a bit hazy due to our days and nights running together at times, J but the most important thing is that you’re home and thriving and we love you to pieces.

You have a sweet little spirit about you, unless you’re hungry or dirty, in which you’re still sweet, but in a much more vocal way.  Your dad says that you’re just not in to personal hygiene yet.  I say—that’s a boy for you!  And you’ve mastered the art of simultaneous belching and flatulating, which is quite the boy-art, too. 

Your sister, who is arguably your biggest fan (for now), is obsessed with rubbing your hair and talks in the silliest baby babble to you … and calls you “Mr. J.R.”

 

Thank you for growing our family and our hearts, Mr. J.R.  We’re having fun getting to know you … and we love you!