(Blog Admin Crap) Trouble With Comments?

So it seems that posting comments has been kind of troublesome for some folks? I love the idea that this blog can be a conversation, but if the comments don't work, that fails. 

I've been twiddling with the settings to see if I can make it easier. Please email me (squire at nonfictionphoto dot com) if you have trouble with comments, and let me know what didn't work. 

Thanks!

Reconsidering Time: Counting Down/Counting Up

Sometime during Amy's pregnancy, I began to tell people I was understanding time for the first time in my life. Feeling it.

It had to do, of course, with the Very Big Thing coming, that we knew very little about. That we were counting down to. And every day, the closer it came, the less we felt we knew about it.

It was a new mode of time for me. One that made my feet feel more connected to the earth.

Now, I think, that mode has changed somewhat. Now that Hale is out here in the world with us, we are no longer counting down, but rather we're counting up.

Now instead of knowing less each day about what it is we're counting, we're getting to know more each day who this person is, what our lives will be like with him.

Today was Hale's second semanaversary. Two weeks old this morning. Counting Up.



Five, ten, fifteen: 15 days old. And my feet feel even more connected with the earth.

Meeting You In This Way

When Hale was in Amy's belly, I talked to him in there: "We are so excited to meet you!" I would say, "I am waiting you."

Now we are meeting him, in this very rare way. In these enforced dribs and drabs. It's so much more gradual and metered than the firehose familymaking of taking home a full-grown newborn.

We are probably a little jealous of that firehose, for sure. But I think we're being honest too when we talk about feeling lucky about the way things are working out. And not just because of all the ways in which they could have gone wrong (still can go wrong, of course).

If the Baby Manager had come up to us two and a half weeks ago and asked whether, on our baby application, we had meant to check the "premature okay" box... It's true we might have said, "Oh, my gosh, no. Uncheck that! Thank you for noticing!"

But knowing what we know now, I think we might have just left that box checked.

Lost Cat

My parents came to visit Amy and Me and (more to the point of course) Hale right after the boy was born. My mom brought flowers in this little ceramic kitty thing. On the bottom it's marked, "Randy to Charlene, August 9th, 1967--birth of Scott"

It ushered in a long, long string of meaningful gifting, son to mother, of ceramic cats. Approximately every gift I gave my mother between my birth and, like, my 18th birthday or so, was some variation on the ceramic cat theme.

So, clearly, an important gift in this context.


Well, it got lost. When we moved from the first recovery room to the 'boarding' room (where we, as nonpatient parents of a Special Care Nursery kid were allowed to stay for a few nights), we failed to pack the kitty.

We noticed a couple days later, and when we asked around, nobody had seen hide nor hair ofit. With a big gulp, we put out an all points bulletin around the floor.

Three or four days later it turned up. Not that many things I worry much about, but this was one that definitely put a little lump in my throat when I was forced to imagine it gone for good. Funny how stuff can matter like that.

Another Night, Another Family Portrait

This of our reflection in the northeast-facing window, the lights of north Bellevue appearing behind my face.

Bleary Madonna

Apparently, I am addicted to this form:
I think that it must be hard-wired into a man's head to cue warm feelings, just like the stripes of a tiger are wired in to cue the flight instinct.

Another. Same visit. We were tired, barely keeping our eyes open, and this rendering pretty truthfully conveys my memory.
And successfully triggers my lizard brain "Mmmmm" response.

Babies, Bathwater, and Our Boy's Above Birthweight

Today Amy came home from the hospital (I had to stay home and work--somebody's gotta make some money around here...) and said, "Um, we received a special offer today. What would you think about, when we go to visit Hale for his Five o'clock feeding, if we were to give him a bath?"

And I was all like, "Yes, please!" And so we did. Since he's doing so well (they're telling us), and since the nurses know they have particularly gifted parents on their hands (we're telling ourselves), they are letting us be pretty hands-on. Changing diapers, getting him in and out of the incubator, fixing up his clothes, helping us not to drown him...


It's sweet as heck, really--and totally like we're at craft camp or something. The nurses are so amazingly sweet and patient and confident and caring. It's like they really care how we do at this! And they help us get to where we feel like we can actually sort of do something, instead of being overwhelmed by it.

Seriously: It's cheating.

After the bath he got weighed--he's bigger than ever (meaning he's surpassed his birthweight). When Hale was born, this scale read 3lbs, 11.6oz. That means he's beaten his personal best by three tenths of an ounce. That's about a bite. Crazy.

Yep. He's still pretty darn little. They told us today that by the time he gets sprung out of there, he'll likely weigh six pounds or so.

Just. Amazing. The whole thing, you know?