Strange, long week. Started out with us kind of despondent about our baby’s slower pace of progress, frustration about lack of continuity with nurses, worry about something going on that the doctors were missing.
In a lot of books and articles I’ve read about startups, founders talk about the “trough of sorrow,” the long slog after the initial burst of energy, before you can see the light, before the upward momentum is clear. I keep coming back to that idea this week, as we…
A bunch of people — this time and last time with our 4-year-old — have asked us if we’ve made any friends in the NICU. “At least you can bond with the other parents… right?”
Dear Son,
By the time you’re able to read this, I’m confident that this will all be ancient history. For you, no memory, just a story we tell, the irrelevant reality of your first months of life, and, for us, something from the past that we try hard not to think about.
Last night, my wife and I were talking about our NICU experience this time as opposed to four years ago—has the pace of progress been faster or slower, how was the weight gain, how many days were good days and how many days weren’t so good?
In these first two weeks since our baby was born, I keep coming back to that wish that we could have had a “normal” experience this time, a “normal” first few months with a baby who wasn’t quite so fragile, an “easy” transition from one child to two — ha!
Let me cut to the chase. The hardest part of having a baby in the NICU is having to forget that this is your baby, and he’s living alone in a box. Even if my wife or I can be there for four, five, six hours a day — that’s still eighteen, nineteen, twenty hours a day that he’s all alone, no one…
Over the summer, I wrote a pilot script for a hypothetical TV series about a young couple, dealing with life after a baby in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). A dark comedy inspired and informed very much by my experience over the last four years with my 4-year-old son, who arrived…