This is an anonymous quote I put in the front of that journal I was keeping when Piper was a baby. It's not a very smooth collection of thoughts because, let's face it, I had a newborn and an 18 month old, was working full time and taking 12 hours of college courses. But since I've been posting this vein of the early days of the kids AND today is Sis's 11th birthday, I thought I'd share an excerpt from said journal, written in 2000:
"At the hospital the new babies are transported to and from the nursery via clear, plastic bassinets atop rolling wooden cabinets. It was by way of one of those "porta-cribs", that I was given my first glimpse of my about-to-change life.
Now of course, I knew that the baby inside - the tiny, beautiful, health, blue-eyed girl with the blonde fuzzy head - would change my life, but I thought I was prepared for the transition from one child to two. Raising a healthy girl, after my first child, my son's, traumatic birth and first year - that was a change I was expecting; anxiously, excitedly.
Piper Leighel came into this world easily and swiftly. After looking at her fuzzy black and white image nearly every 2 weeks for the almost 5 months, I could hardly wait to see her in color! The instant I saw the doctor lift her from me, I knew in my heart that all of those possible complications from her SUA weren't there. In my soul, I knew that she was perfect. I held her immediately, creating such a bond that, looking back, I realize took me days to forge with Wyatt. I could touch her, smell her, feed her - an opportunity that came achingly late with him. That instant closeness was there without effort, without worry. I wanted only to enjoy it and found myself pushing down the feeling of jealousy and being cheated of this intense feeling with Wyatt, just to be her mom that first night. It was bliss.
After spending the next morning with Piper, I took her to the nursery to shower. When she returned, it was then I saw a small piece of paper held to the side of the "porta-crib" with Scotch tape. A piece of handwritten paper that held the introduction to my new life. It simply said "REFER." Refer; a small word meaning hint to, direct toward.
I paged the nurse - "What does 'refer' mean?" I asked. She told me that Piper's hearing had been tested and "we just want to check it again this afternoon." She assured me not to worry - these tests were new and babies often 'refer' due to fluid in their ears from birth. So I didn't worry. After all, she had passed her all of her SUA tests so far - the renal sonogram, the echocardiogram, all her chromosomes were complete and located in the right places. She was just a bit small. And this was just another test for her to pass and prove again how perfect she was.
They came for her the next morning to test her again. I went with her. They put electrodes on and headphones in. They started the test and left. I sat there watching her, watching the screen of the laptop computer and watching Todd and Wyatt through the nursery window. I didn't know what I was looking for but I watched. All they had said was that she needed to be asleep and still. Each time she moved, the test began again. It seemed like an eternity before the test was finished. When it was, the same word stared at me from the computer screen. Right ear - REFER. Left ear - REFER.
'Stupid broken machine', I thought to myself."
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