Our story begins with an ending.
I was in the process of recovering from a particularly traumatic miscarriage--11.5 weeks! lots of blood! everywhere!--when my husband Ebronis and I planned trip to the Left Coast. Our best friend and my sister both live in the Bay Area and so to keep our minds off our grief we scheduled a two week getaway around the Memorial Day holiday.
We spent a relaxing four days with said best friend & his now fiancé at Mar Vista Cottages in a little town called Anchor Bay, smack dab between Gualala and Mendocino along the Northern California coast, followed by a couple of days in Davis with my sister and her girlfriend. Much to our surprise, a few days after returning to Brooklyn in the beginning of June we discovered we were pregnant with MAS. A blessing? Yes. A surprise? You betcha. (After all, it took us over a year to conceive the first time and here it had only been two wrenching months since the miscarriage.)
We were grateful. And scared. So we spent the remainder of the summer waiting anxiously for the first trimester to pass without a hitch. Which it did. The second trimester passed without a hitch as well.
But the third trimester?
Ah, that’s another story entirely. At 27 weeks I went into preterm labor without warning and after 5 days of hospital bedrest delivered MAS via emergency c-section. He weighed 2 lbs 5 oz.
The miscarriage and premature birth, our doctors told us, were not related. We had bad luck is all.
After 66 frightening days in the NICU we finally brought MAS home to our Brooklyn Heights apartment. Our three cats, who all outweighed him by about 9 lbs, begrudgingly let him stay. For now.
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