Marissa's grad school roommate, Amber, flew in for a long visit last week, all the way from Chicago. The day she arrived, Brad came over for a family dinner, and during dinner prep began telling me about a hiking trip he and Thompson were planning for the next day. Following the Black Mountain Crest north from Mt. Mitchell, it's a beautiful, rugged trail that I've only done once for my "bachelor party". As I'd resigned myself to a life devoid of backpacking until at least the fall, and maybe next year, I listened with a "sounds great, have fun" attitude.
It was then that my wife, mother of a demanding two-month old baby, piped up and said "That sounds fun, Zach, you should go!" Confused, my jaw hung lower and lower with each second that passed without a punch-line. Granted, Amber would be a big help, but a friend is not a co-parent. When I eventually accepted that she was serious, I quickly started planning the trip with Brad before she could change her mind.
What woman does that? Marissa, that's who. The same woman whose boundless energy and patience leaves me in the dust day after day. "Transformation" is too strong a word for what motherhood has done to her, because you could always see a strong mother in her. Back in college, after the first extended period of time I spent with her, I remember saying to a friend, "I'm not sure if I could ever date Marissa, but I'd want her to raise my kids." (Turns out I could date her, too.) Now, it's as if she's the same person, but with a new button, one that only Asher can push, and doing so injects her with the energy, drive, and focus she needs to be an amazing mom.
An example of her motherly predisposition: As a young child, Marissa says that, in addition to being fiercely defensive of her baby dolls, she would "breastfeed" them. Only when I think about this fact do I get truly disappointed that breastfeeding hasn't worked with Asher. It's unfair that someone with such a strong drive to mother is denied that most mothering of acts. Yet that's her lot, and on the whole, it feels normal now. Life would be easier with breastfeeding, but we've managed to incorporate pumps and bottles into a routine that works.
The biggest factor making this and every other aspect of our lives easier is a generous gift from Asher, one that, I'll warn, might drive you parents to throw the nearest blunt object at your computer monitor. Most nights lately, Asher sleeps from sundown to sunup. I sleep all night, and Marissa gets up once to pump. It's amazing. He's also chilling out, having longer stretches of calmly absorbing the world, and mostly limiting his "happy hour" to right before dusk. More and more smiles are appearing, and in the past few days, our favorite Woody Guthrie song has even gotten some quasi-laughs.
Clearly, all this helps daddy's sanity, but it's also great for his brain. Sleep is the best time for his brain to repair any possible damage, while being calm mean he can learn, and maybe get in some homework from his physical therapist.
Most of what we work on for PT is just encouraging him to do normal baby stuff using both arms and legs. The primary concern is still about cerebral palsy and whether or not he'll have full use of his right arm and leg. We'll put him on a ball on his stomach and roll him around, encouraging him to lift up his head and use both his arms to stabilize. Or, we'll try to get him to grab on to a toy and track it with his eyes.
His favorite, though, is his funhouse mirror with toys that dangle in his face when you hold it over him. He's mesmerized by his own reflection, sometimes staring at it for half an hour while batting and grabbing at the toys. It's baby catnip, but it's also good for his brain.
At first, his right hand would stay closed much of the time, letting his left do most exploring of toys, my face, or whatever was in front of him. More and more, though, his right hand joins the party. If you lay him on his stomach, you can tell his left arm is much better at holding up his body than his right. He leans on his left elbow, while his right is often stubbornly sandwiched beneath him. Still, we feel like he's made a lot of progress on this, and see no reason he can't keep it up.
*****
A couple weeks ago, we went back to the NICU. A social worker there called us about a family whose baby, Zander, had gone through something similar to Asher, and she asked us to meet with them for peer support. On our way there, I remember almost looking forward to seeing the unit again, like some kind of reunion. Being there, though, I was reminded of how easy it is to let your mind slip back into negativity. Asher started wailing and couldn't stay in the room with Zander, so I paced the halls in mostly unsuccessful attempts to calm him. I noticed that, after being in the NICU and hearing Zander's story, Asher's cries made me worry like I did after our team meeting from hell. Was he crying because of his brain injury? Because he was in pain? I wanted to go home. The NICU saved my son's life, and maybe his brain, but there, he is sick. At home, he's just my son.
I wanted Zander and his family to go home, too. Their mourning felt deep, and I wanted them to have a chance to move on with their lives, the way we have. Later that week, they got that chance. If you'd like to help Zander, Hope and Ray, his grandma is trying to raise funds for an expensive trip south from New York so that she can meet her grandson. You can donate by clicking here.
