In Which I Talk About Poop

Be forewarned.

MAS, like a lot of preemies, was anemic in the beginning. He even had a blood transfusion at 30 weeks gestation, two weeks after he was born. And several rounds of some drug I've since blocked out that stimulated his bone marrow to produce red blood cells. And he's been on iron supplementation ever since and will be for his first year.

Iron, as we all know, slows your system down. And so it is with MAS. He only poops about once or twice a week, which to be honest I'm grateful for. Granted that poop is always a massive black mess, but he's not constipated nor in pain.

Here's the thing, though: the bigger he gets the bigger those weekly poos get.

This morning? He had a full diaper and so, when I saw what I was dealing with I called The Husband in from the other room for reinforcement. (Despite having two cats and a 6 month old, poop frankly grosses me out.) As we were both cleaning MAS off--and before a new diaper could be secured--he projectile pooped all over the room.

Poop everywhere! On a pile of freshly laundered sleepers! On a towel! On the goddamn window folks!

Ack! Ack! Ack!

MAS, though, seemed pretty pleased with himself, smiling and giggling away.



MAS, the previous afternoon, shows no sign of the coming storm. And yes, that's a Sophie giraffe he's holding, hip toy du jour.

13 Things About Brownstone Baby

1. He was born on Thanksgiving Day.

2. He was born 12 weeks early.

3. He therefore, like all preemies, has a double identity: Sagittarius and Aquarius.

4. He loves the stuffed loon on his activity gym.

5. He thinks diaper changes are funny.

6. He’s ticklish.

7. He abhors being hungry.

8. He finds his Fisher Price swing sometimes hilarious, sometimes disturbing.

9. He had a full head of hair when he was born; no mean feat for a 28 weeker.

10. Since he learned to stick his tongue out it’s become his favorite trick.

11. He loves bath time more than any other time of day.

12. He loves speed whether its in the car or stroller: stoplights and traffic jams make him angry.

13. He's been hitting every single milestone when he would have had he been born on his due date--sometimes earlier. (Rolling over at 3 months!)

When The Worst Isn’t That Bad

Giving birth 12 weeks early was the biggest crisis I’ve dealt with in my adult life.

But it wasn’t an entirely negative experience:

I meet a group of really wonderful women and some pretty tough preemies.

I got to know a team of phenomenal NICU doctors and nurses.

I got an extra three months with MAS—months during which he would have otherwise been a mystery to me. (And what a miracle to be able to watch the rapid and spectacular development that occurs during the third trimester.)

But the real kicker: I discovered something really important about myself, something that has changed me in the most profound way.

Despite my previous doubts, it turns out I’m actually a remarkably strong person. Life can throw its worst at me and I don’t crumble. I bend like a reed. I bounce back easily and quickly. I don’t lose perspective even while I’m terrified and the walls are crumbling around me.

And somehow knowing that about myself changes everything. And that’s the gift MAS gave me: faith that no matter what happens from here on out, I’ll rise out of the ashes.

I Had to Make Myself So Big

It’s been five months and two days since MAS was born and I’m just now realizing: He made it. My god. He made it.

At 28 weeks I was still getting used to being pregnant. It was just starting to feel real. Like there might be a real person living with us one day soon. A baby! How fun! And then all of a sudden he was there and he was so small and so tiny. Not like a baby at all but a fetus. He was just this little spark of a person I had to breathe into being. Finish off what my body had left undone.

And so I visited him every day. Sat beside his isolette, whispering into the portals about the life we’d lead when he came home. Held his bird-like self against my chest—wires and tubes snaking from him and alarms ringing out every few minutes. Hoping my beating heart would teach his the right rhythm.

I was strong. Strong enough for him, for me, for my husband. I was Atlas, hunkered down beneath the globe. There was nothing I couldn’t bear.

I didn't even cry. No that's not right. I cried once: when he was 7 weeks old, when I found out he had NEC.

But after the birth? When he dropped to a frightening 2 pounds?


MAS under the bilirubin lights five days after birth.

Not once.

I had to puff myself up, you see, make myself so big the predator wouldn’t see him. He’d be so small there tucked against my bulk it’d miss him altogether.

Death would overlook him. He’d be passed over.

Things I Wish I'd Known About Having A Preemie

MAS @ 29 weeks

If you learn your baby’s nurses’ names and use them your infant will get better treatment.

You’ll alternately resent and revere your baby’s nurses.

No one really knows what to say to you. Not even your own parents.

Kangaroo care works.

The more you visit, the more your baby thrives. Even if he doesn’t seem to react at all, he knows you’re there: he recognizes your voice.

You’ll always wonder if there’s something you could have done to prevent giving birth prematurely.

Sometimes it will help to live day by day, other times week by week.

You’ll come to crave the visitor who fawns over how beautiful your baby is no matter how tiny or how many wires and tubes he’s hooked up to because they see what you see: a spectacularly precious life.

You’ll come to love changing your baby’s diaper because its one of the few times you’re permitted to interact with him.

For the first few months—maybe even year—of your preemie’s life you’ll feel sadness and regret and envy and even a little guilt when you see someone in the advanced stages of pregnancy. Your feelings will embarrass and shame you, but denying them will only make them more powerful.

In your mind, your preemie will always have two birthdays: the day he was born and the day he should have been born.