Beyond the Smiles

When couples get pregnant, no one expects their bundle(s) of joy to be prematurely born with complications. Most of the time, babies are carried to full term, birthed, and headed home after a day or two.

We didn't get that memo.

Those of you who have read The Dad Chronicles know Caeli was born February 13 weighing one pound and eight ounces and have been updated with her progress as we feel like sharing it with you. Some things do belong in the memories section of our family's existence, and may of the pictures will stay there. Her birth has certainly not been a fairy tale, yet we thank God for every day she is with us. So far that's Day 84 and counting; for those not thinking that far, Caeli is twelve weeks old (because of the February birth, she actually hits three months on Wednesday the 13th). She has had some exceptionally terrific days, and there were even a few I thought we would lose her. The tears shed and mounting frustrations from our days in the NICU have noting on the milestones Caeli has accomplished - from the weight gain to needing less oxygen assistance to be being able to maintain a consistent body temperature to even wearing clothes, learning how to suck, and rocking out the nasal cannula!

I love the Lord, for He heard my cry!

Somehow, I feel like Job. Am I super upright like he was, even in his trials and tribulations? Naw. Not even close. For all of the prayers and solitude, the uncertain worries and frustrations do mount. Why aren't you working with Caeli's legs? How are her eyes? May I hold her? To top off the issues, there have been weeks which I have lived like a zombie and couldn't tell my head from my posterior. For example, I didn't get to cut the umbilical cord and Chastity was unconscious during her emergency C-section labor; this was no ordinary pregnancy. I still feel slightly robbed for missing that part, but that was a part of God's plan. Do I understand it? Nope. My friends who have served our country during wartime understand PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) and some of its symptoms:  flashbacks, nightmares, and severe anxiety, as well as uncontrollable thoughts about the event. Before the term hit our lexicon, it was known as being shell-shocked. I've endured some of the signs. Ask my wife if you disagree - I've been angry, lost desire for the things I used to enjoy such as basketball, reading, writing, and sunlight; had trouble sleeping or concentrating; and more irritable than I was when I worked two full-time jobs and had not rested. A few of you (namely my in-laws) might be shocked to know that I briefly lost interest in eating! Unfortunately for me, it has not exactly translated to significant weight loss as I still weigh 260 pounds.

The days I feel like losing it are the ones God picks me up and carries me. Have you ever read Footprints?

It's hard to write during the storm when I've been knocked over by the winds, pelted by the hailstorms, and the box of pens seemingly runs dry. Not knowing when or what the next curveball thrown at me will do to my psyche is tough. While people see me standing tall and trying to be Chastity's rock, I'm scared. I do not want anything to happen to my ladies and there are days I wonder if I can sufficiently provide enough for them. As good as Rineco has been to me over the past three years, my life circumstances demand a departure from the nightlife to a more family-friendly role that does a better job of paying the bills. Therefore, I've added finding a new job to the list of things that worry me.

Beyond the smiles and stoic demeanor, I hurt like a man kicked in the family jewels. Keep us in your prayers.