I first met my co-blogger 27 years ago today.
What I remember most now was seeing that tiny, dark-haired being reflected in the surgical mirror and the look of awe on her father’s face. But I also recall my OB and friend Dr. Bob Wall’s masked mumbling of the words “cream cheese.” Having written brochures for him to give to parents of premature babies, I knew he was referring to the white, protective vernix still covering her petite 4 pound, 14 ounce self. It meant that she was earlier than we had thought. And I knew then we likely were in for a bumpy ride.
I had made the final decision for the early C-section delivery, declining a second amnio since the first had shown it was already low-tide in Kate’s aquarium. She had stopped growing. She was breech. So here was the first major call I had to make on my baby’s behalf and…
That was a Friday. Saturday was a roller-coaster. Sunday was Mother’s Day. Let’s just say there were some tears.
Then two things happened. One of the neonatologists, a woman with whom I had worked while managing publications at the same hospital, stopped by to talk. When I finally got the words out, she, too, began tearing up. She didn’t know I didn’t know that Kate had turned the corner.
An hour or so later, one of the NICU nurses came by, after her shift and before going home to her own little ones. She handed me my first Mother’s Day card–a sheet of yellow copy paper, folded in half. On the cover were Kate’s tiny, black-inked footprints and the words “Dear Mom…”
The inside said this:
“Roses are red. Violets are blue. Jeepers, I’m glad to be here with you. Love, Kateroo”
Me too, Kateroo.
Photo: By the late, great Jack Koon. Miss you. 😉 C.