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Just some poems and things relating to premies:

~*~How Premie Moms Are Chosen~*~
(Erma Bombeck)

Did you ever wonder how the mothers of premature babies are chosen?
Somehow, I visualize God hovering over Earth, selecting his
instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As he
observes, he instructs his angels to take notes in a giant ledger.
"Armstrong, Beth, son. Patron Saint, Matthew.
Forrest, Marjorie, daughter. Patron Saint, Celia.
Rutledge, Carrie, twins. Patron Saint...give her Gerard. He's used to
profanity."
Finally, he passes a name to an angel and smiles.
"Give her a preemie." The angel is curious. "Why this one, God?
She's so happy."
"Exactly," smiles God.
"Could I give a premature baby a mother who knows no laughter? That
would be cruel."
"But does she have the patience?" asks the angel.
"I don't want her to have too much patience, or she'll drown in a sea
of self-pity and despair.
Once the shock and resentment wear off, she'll handle it.
I watched her today. She has that sense of self and independence so
rare and so necessary in a mother.
You see, the child I'm going to give her has a world of its own.
She has to make it live in her world, and that's not going to be easy."
"But Lord, I don't think she even believes in you."
God smiles. "No matter, I can fix that. This one is perfect She has
just the right amount of selfishness."
The angel gasps, "Selfishness?! Is that a virtue?"
God nods. "If she can't separate herself from the child occasionally,
she will never survive.
Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect.
She doesn't know it yet, but she is to be envied.
She will never take for granted a spoken word.
She will never consider a step ordinary.
When her child says momma for the first time,
she will be witness to a miracle and know it.
I will permit her to see clearly the things I see--
ignorance, cruelty, prejudice--
and allow her to rise above them.
She will never be alone.
I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life
because she is doing my work as surely as she is here by my side."
"And what about her Patron Saint?" asks the angel, his pen poised in
the air.
God smiles. "A mirror will suffice."

WELCOME TO HOLLAND
by Emily Perl Kingsley.

c1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills... .and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was
supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss. But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get
to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

Welcome to the North Atlantic
by A.D.Chacon

From someone who has heard "Welcome to Holland" once too many times after
the birth of his SGA preemie. With a touch of black humor.

When we decided to have a baby it was a bit like signing up for a cruise.
We heard where we were going to go, Venice, and since many others had gone
there without trouble it seemed like a good idea at the time. We knew it
would take about 40 days to cross the ocean, and so we planned our life around
the ocean trip, bringing books about where we would go, things we would have
to learn, and things we would have to do. We boarded the ship without incident,
and watched as we pulled out, happy to be on board, just barely noticing that
some couples silently watched from the shore, not being able to come.

We went quietly about ship-board life, watching the shows about where
we were going to go, being sure to eat all our meals properly, and
following all the shipboard rules. We, after all, had many days to kill
and a lot of stuff to learn, and wanted to arrive in tip-top shape.

After 32 days we were woken up in the middle of the night. Our first
thoughts were "we can't be there yet - can we?" All the things we were
going to do - we have not done them. We're not ready - we had just started
learning the street names in Venice in the evening shows. That did not
matter, we were escorted down the gang plank and one of the crew said that
it was time for us to get off the ship. We asked "Why us, the others that
had been kicked off had broken rules - did drugs, or caught funny diseases.
We've been so careful." All he said was orders from above. Maybe he
meant the officers, or maybe he meant God, we never found out. We looked
about and saw that we were alone in the middle of the ocean. What was
going to happen? We were told that a boat might come along later.
"Welcome to the North Atlantic" he said as he motioned us into the water.
We jumped, and the shock of hitting the water stopped any idea of further
conversation, and we watched the ship started its engines and slowly slide
away. In a few minutes, we were as alone as it is possible to get and
still be on the planet Earth.

After what seemed like hours, a lifeboat showed up and pulled us from
the water. The crew had shiny uniforms with gold buttons. "Great," we
though, "we're saved. They look so professional." However, the crew
spoke only russian and rarely spoke to us or our boat mates, anyway. The
overworked helpers who did all the work had shabby uniforms, and were
always busy, too busy. When we looked at the navigational instruments,
they looked very fancy and nice, but all the markings were in russian, and
the crew could not explain what they did, or where we where, in words we
could understand.

Soon we settled into the routine. Every couple of days a cloud on
the horizon would fool us into thinking land was near. We'd watch
hopefully, thinking the nightmare was over. And then, every few days,
one of those clouds would be a hugh storm that would blow up, and it
was all the crew could do to keep everyone on board. The crew would
rush about yelling incoprehensible instructions to each other. Sometimes,
not everyone made it. We never knew why, just that one day a space
would opened up.

After a few weeks, when the boat was full to the point of being over
crowded, we came to a beach and the crew motioned us to get off - the
space was needed to rescue other people. So we did, but we had no idea
what to do next. After the lifeboat was out of sight, we realized that
we had come to depend on the overworked helpers, and we had little idea
how to survive wherever it was that we were.

After a time we found that we were in England. So at least we could
understand what people were saying. But, sadly, English english and
American english (our native tongue) are not the same. Whatever they
said rarely applied to our situation. And the clothes we bought were
always the wrong size. The food we were used to, if available, was
a specialty item available in limited quantities. Often we visited
several stores just to get enough for a single meal.

Finally we rented a car, a Morris Minor, and set out after our tour
group. Sadly, we had only a itinerary of places but not dates, and so we
had to head for Venice and then try to catch up. On arriving in Venice
we found that our tour group had left for Paris on the train. All the
seats on the trains were reserved, and we had lost our seats when we
missed the train. So it's back to the Minor, and trying to cross the
mountains and catch up with the train. In Paris we find that the tour
group has left again, and is even further ahead.

Eventually the realization comes to you that you may never catch
up, and that the tours of the museums, schools, and universities that
you hoped for might never happen. Your Morris Minor will never catch
up with the TGV (bullet train). To the natives you will look like a
tourist, but you will have none of the benefits of a tour guide being
able to tell you what to expect and you'll have to continually explain
to the natives why it is that you are not doing what it is that every
other tourist has done since the beginning of time. Every day will be
a new, unexpected adventure, some good, some bad. While this makes
your victories and places you see worth more to you, you also realize
that you will never go one day without wondering what life would be
like if you had been allowed to stay on the ship, and how much easier
(and cheaper) things would have been had you been able to use all the
reservations that the tour group had made for you.

And after that, comes the realization that you have to catch up with
your tour group if you ever want to return home. Everyone else will,
after 18 or 21 months, return home with photographs and memories. Once
home they will return to the routine that they knew before, and look
back at their trip to Venice. They will look forwards to their own
children's European vacations and tell them what to expect and where to
go. You, on the other hand, may be spending the rest of your life in
foreign countries forever getting used to new langauages that most people
will never know, with words to describe things that most people will
never have to face.

With apologies to the author of "Welcome to Holland"
A.D.Chacon

You know you have a preemie when...
Various - Collected from BabyCenter.com mostly

You take your almost 3 year old to their first movie ... and the seat collapses on them because they are *not* heavy enough to keep the seat bottom down ....

When you buy tickets for your child ... who is under 3 (so still goes into places for free) ... and the lady hands you a ticket in disbelief .. Not because she thinks your child is older than 3 .... but because she cannot wrap her mind around a child so small being 2.5 years old.

When booster seats cannot make your children tall enough or close enough to reach the table .... so your toddler kneels in their booster seat while keeping their elbows on the table in a futile attempt for support

When you take your 2 year old to the doctor ... and he is talking and dancing .... then you hear people comment, "I've never seen such a young baby talking so well ... or moving so well .... He is *such* a smart kid ...." And you laugh because you know your baby is doing what 2 year olds do ....

You strike up a conversation with a greeter at the grocery store who says he has a granddaughter about the same age as your 2 year old daughter. Then you find out his granddaughter is 13 months old...

He is 27 months and fitting into 12 mo. clothes!

He has been in a rear-facing car seat for over 2.5 years!

You care more about your child's weight than your own!

You *know* that the little red removable jacket on the GAP teddy bear that he received for his first birthday could have fit him when he was discharged from the hospital at 4 pounds 15 ounces

Your use of NICU terminology prompts someone to ask you if you are a nurse

You cringe when ANYONE coughs while you are out, even when your children are not with you!

You save clothes, not because you think you will have another child, but because they will likely still fit next time this season rolls around.

You may soon consider buying stock in a certain, alcohol based, hand cleaner as you could single-handedly keep them in business.

You know what the term NICU stands for

You fall in love with a doll because that outfit would look great on your daughter

You look forward to the NICU reunion more than your high school reunion.

Your children outgrow the neck size of their shirts before they outgrow the actual shirt size .....

You know your child's adjusted age before you think about their actual age .....

You think your children are HUGE until they start playing with same age peers who look like GIANTS

When your child wears clothes meant for a child 1/3 his age, and you're not that sorry because baby clothes are cuter anyway.

When someone asks you how old your child is and you start with, "Wwwwellllll....". The answer is never really is cut 'n' dry.

When your medical bills are more than you've ever made in your entire lifetime of working, and if you sold everything you own it wouldn't even cover half.

When you gasp at the veterinarians office because your 8-week old kitten weighs the same amount as your preemie did at birth, and you can't believe they were the same size.

When you still use a stroller for your three-year old because he's tiny enough, and because he's too small to push a oxygen cart.

You can connect with complete strangers all around the world who have gone through prematurity, and make life-long friends without ever seeing them in person.

You can convert ounces to cc's and vice versa faster than any doctor, pharmacist or chef.

You still check your child's chest when they are napping, to make sure it goes up and down.

You can count respirations without breaking stride in a conversation.

You think mean nasty thoughts about breast pumps.

When you find yourself in the doctors office doing the happy dance because your child has gained an ounce.

When you want to throw a party because your child got his/her last Synagis shot.

When your Physical Therapist is like your best friend.

When the receptionist at the doctor's office knows your voice.

When your daughter's doll is wearing her clothes.

You can't even pick up a regulation NFL football without being reminded your child was smaller than that at birth.

When you tear up at a bulk box of Lucky Charms because it weighs the same size as your baby at birth

When the answering service people at the medical equipment office recognize your voice.

When you're at the store and your child starts crying and a nosy lady comes up and says 'I hear a newborn crying'...and the look on her face as she eats her words when you tell her 'He's four months old.'

When you see a sanitary napkin package and realize the pads are bigger than your baby's first diaper.

The maternity nurses look at you weird after you answer their 'Is this your first baby?' question with 'My second child but my first full term baby'

You find yourself calling the ped in a panic every time something goes amiss with your second (and full term) child because you have no idea what is 'normal' baby problems

When your child coughs and your first terrifying thought is: RSV (and you fight for a sick child appt to be reassured that it isn't anything serious)

You break into a cold sweat every time you pass the NICU doors

You can't hear about someone newly pregnant without a chill going up your spine or immediately praying that it will be a full-term healthy pregnancy....

You still calculate "corrected age" for your almost six year old

You cry when you hear someone else's preemie is finally coming home from the NICU

You do the happy dance when your friend's almost three year old reaches 20 lbs

You feel that little twinge in you heart when you meet pregnant women who are as far along as you were when you gave birth.

You feel like smacking pregnant women who complain about being "too big" or who "wish they could go early"