On the day you were born, you scared your mother and me. Not intentionally mind you. But as you were trying to come out, you were knocking your head against your mother's pelvis and there was some swelling they call: kaput succedaneum
I thought they kept saying "kappa" like the cucumber sushi roll: "kappa maki", but that was just their shorthand.
Fortunately, they were able to perform a C-section and limit any further swelling and all was fine.
But at your one month check up, the doctor kept going back to your chest with his stethoscope. I've learned better than to ask the doctor's questions before they're good-and-ready to tell you what is going on. (Besides he had the two parts of the stethoscope stuck in his ear.)
When he was done he told us that he wanted to have an ultrasound done. "I don't want you worrying," he said. "And I don't want you going on the Internet. You'll just go down the rabbit-hole and likely worry yourself unnecessarily."
One of the first things I did when I got home was check the Internet. Now, was that because I like to worry myself? I don't know. Perhaps.
But at any rate, he told us there was a chance of a heart murmur and here is where I learned something new about you being here -- I mean really here -- so that I can see you: In many ways, I found myself more worried than I was that night my heart was racing about you being "kaput".
Now that you are here, I find that each day the miraculous happens: I find myself still closer, still more loving of you. And so, when we had to lay you down in the hospital and have electrodes placed on you, I found I just HAD to reach my hand in there and place it on your head (that's me, in flannel shirt on the left and the technician on the right, placing the ultrasonic wand to peer into your tiny heart), as if that might help calm both of us down... and yes, because I thought just that contact, me touching you might link in some way and help.
I thought they kept saying "kappa" like the cucumber sushi roll: "kappa maki", but that was just their shorthand.
Fortunately, they were able to perform a C-section and limit any further swelling and all was fine.
But at your one month check up, the doctor kept going back to your chest with his stethoscope. I've learned better than to ask the doctor's questions before they're good-and-ready to tell you what is going on. (Besides he had the two parts of the stethoscope stuck in his ear.)
When he was done he told us that he wanted to have an ultrasound done. "I don't want you worrying," he said. "And I don't want you going on the Internet. You'll just go down the rabbit-hole and likely worry yourself unnecessarily."
One of the first things I did when I got home was check the Internet. Now, was that because I like to worry myself? I don't know. Perhaps.
But at any rate, he told us there was a chance of a heart murmur and here is where I learned something new about you being here -- I mean really here -- so that I can see you: In many ways, I found myself more worried than I was that night my heart was racing about you being "kaput".
Now that you are here, I find that each day the miraculous happens: I find myself still closer, still more loving of you. And so, when we had to lay you down in the hospital and have electrodes placed on you, I found I just HAD to reach my hand in there and place it on your head (that's me, in flannel shirt on the left and the technician on the right, placing the ultrasonic wand to peer into your tiny heart), as if that might help calm both of us down... and yes, because I thought just that contact, me touching you might link in some way and help.
We also learned we're ][ this much closer to you than we were yesterday.
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