Today was “the big sonogram”, as they call it. Apparently this is some sort of milestone… that we magically had to discover by virtue of the fact that Lesli’s cousin, Taji, is also pregnant (and has the exact same due date as us - believe me that fact is more than a bit unsettling). Perhaps the fact that I was unaware of this indicates that I should be reading more baby books, but I also have to say, Lesli was unawares as well.

Nevertheless, we had the sonogram scheduled at almost random for us, for today at 1:50pm (which is somewhat of an odd time). They let us in fairly quickly - a technician named Jane directed us into the room where she started the sonogram process.

That’s the Caramel Cub, Casey. The part at the very end of the video is stunning to me - how crisp and clear you can make her out. She’s beautiful, a perfect little sweetheart.

We were lucky that Jane allowed us to take video in the room. The sound has been edited out of the video, but I assure you it is absolutely fantastic - Jane’s thick southern accent litters the video with exclamations of what a beautiful, cooperative baby she is, and how much Casey moves and wiggles. She even went so far as to proclaim that Casey was “the best baby [she's] seen all day.” Of course, it’s my girl. What would anyone expect?

Nonetheless, the biggest part of taking this video is, of course, not known to everyone. My mother is currently in the NSICU at John Muir Medical Center in Walnut Creek, with a mass in her right frontal lobe (as far as I can tell from my sister’s description - I really wish I would have been able to speak to the neurosurgeon as I actually studied neuropsychology in college). She was admitted on Tuesday evening, late, with headaches, etc., and the MRI showed that she has a large mass pressing against her cortex. She’s set to have surgery tomorrow, on Friday - a 5 hour operation that should help them determine the nature of the body and how to treat it. Without treatment, we could lose her within a month.

I went to visit my mother on Wednesday, and she said to me, behind a choked sob and her beeping vitals, that she needed to see Casey, to hold her, and after that God can do what he needed to. At this point I hatched my scheme to bring in the video camera to the sonogram and then bring it back to the NSICU so she could view it.

Jane was kind enough to give us some extra print outs of the particularly cute pictures of Casey, one of which is with my mother, on her bed.

I sometimes rail against technology - about its ubiquitousness in our lives and how much it manages to drive us apart by being too accessible. In this situation, I can’t help but thank… whatever… for the technology that we have. My mother, regardless of what happens tomorrow, has seen my baby girl - she’s seen videos of her smiling and waving her arms and wiggling… she’s got a picture of her to watch over her while she sleeps tonight. Technology has allowed me to share my daughter with her grandmother, and while I know it was painful for both my mother and I to contemplate the notion of not being there to see her grandchild born, it was more special for her to experience her grandchild, ten fold.

Casey, you may not know it yet, but your abuela loves you very much, and thinks you’re the most beautiful little angel in the world.

-oz

Categories: Tests, the middle stuff, videos
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I think, over the last few weeks, we’ve gone from the state of wondering, “is Casey moving?” to knowing full well that ”Casey’s been kicking again…”

This is the sort of transition that takes effect in startling speed…  it seems like but a few short days ago (probably somewhere between 14 and 21 to be fair), Lesli mentioned that she felt something going on ‘down South’…  described as onomatopoetically as possible with the word, “bloop!” and a hand gesture that resembled flicking an index finger away from her thumb.  It was an odd sensation to her since, according to her, it was a sensation that didn’t originate in an area where such sensations were normally felt.  This is a polite way of saying that Casey’s original kicks were akin to feeling gas in one’s uterus.

Thus began our experience of feeling Casey actually interact with us.  I spent the good part of a half hour one night with my ear pressed against Lesli’s stomach, listening to the various noises that came out, hoping (quite quixotically) to hear Casey shifting about.  Once or twice, I swear I heard her kick and Lesli confirmed that the times that I “heard” something (for all I know I simply felt it) corresponded with times that she felt the odd sensation of someone inside of her doing…  something.  What, we’re not quite sure.  Gymnastics, ceramics, any sort of *ics.

This morning it’s been as strong as I’ve ever felt it - if I didn’t know better, I’d be convinced Casey wanted out.  Of course, she’s only 4.5 months old, and that’d be a disastrous thing to have happen, but as far as kicks go this one definitely had gusto.

A few (one or two) weeks before the car accident had come about, my mother had it in her to take Lesli and I shopping with my six year old niece Lily (who was absolutely convinced she knew what it was that we should be getting for Casey). 

In some ways this is training - my niece, like most children her age, has an innocent and naive understanding of the world and how things work, so here I was surrounded by 3 women (er, 2.5), prancing about the baby section in a Target, trying to steer this six year old from the horrendously hideous outfits she insisted that Casey would require, never mind they were almost always for three year olds as opposed to newborns.  It wasn’t nearly as bad as I just made it sound (er…), but it was certainly an “adventure”.  My mother managed to wrangle Lily enough to direct her towards things we’d actually require, and by the end of the trip we accumulated a good number of random baby items we’d absolutely need with very minimal nonsense. 

Of course we had our fun, too.  As you can see, it was required that we’d buy some hats.  In particular, one stood out from the crowd of cats, dogs, ducks, and other assorted shenanigans:  a Winnie the Pooh hat.  What kind of parents would we be, having a cub, and not buying her a hat with ears? 

I cannot wait until Casey is born so that I may inflict this hat upon her.  If I had ovaries, the mere thought of how adorable she’ll look with the hat on would make them ache.  Thankfully I don’t, and for now I will pretend that the above statement is in no way emasculating. 

Our next trick will be trying to figure out how to implement a baby shower slash housewarming, now that Lesli is fully moved in.

As an aside, you may notice, the blog now has a soundtrack.  Enjoy! 
-oz

Categories: pictures, the middle stuff, what it is to be a parent
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For whatever reason I’ve managed to avoid mentioning this particular incident, but most of you know already:  this past weekend, Lesli and I were involved in a car accident.

We were coming home from karaoke, a bit on the early side (since of course we don’t want to be too tired the next day and we’re both adjusting our sleeping schedules slowly with Lesli’s current nanny work), traveling Westbound on 16th St. towards Potrero, when a man who seemed to be on his cell phone decided it would be fantastic idea to run the stop sign and t-bone Lesli and I at what had to be about 20+mph.  Immediately, we were stuck in a clockwise spin while pushed two lanes over to end up on the opposite side of the road, facing Eastbound, staring at the crumpled front end of this clearly distracted individual’s car. 

He gets out of the car, on his cell phone still, and says (**** you not), “I need to call you back, I just got into an accident.”

Lesli had been driving, and I had been in the passenger seat, where the impact had been.  My door was now sealed shut - I couldn’t open it, and Lesli had bolted out of hers, so I climbed out from over her seat and nearly fell to the ground.  I leaned over and coughed a few times, lungs feeling pains of compression from the seat belt, and looked up to see a significant amount of liquid pouring out from the man on his cell phone’s car.  Immediately I yelled at him, “TURN OFF YOUR IGNITION”, then clumsily stumbled towards Lesli who was talking to a woman in an SUV who had been traveling Eastbound at the time and we miraculously did not run into.  She was taking her contact information and was on the phone with 911.  I checked in with her and we caught our breath as the shrill tones of a fire engine’s siren tore out:  luckily we were literally a block and a half from the SFFD station on 16th. 

Within 5 minutes Lesli and I were in an ambulance, giving statements to San Francisco’s finest, and we were shuttled off to SF General.  Lesli was given priority over many people there due to the pregnancy.

A text message I sent Eric:  “Dude if anything happens to my baby girl because of that negligent f***hole I swear to God…”  (editor’s note:  I didn’t censor myself in the text)

In the emergency room I was sent to wait outside from 11:15PM until 2:08AM before they let Lesli out with a clean bill of health.  At that time it was my turn to get checked out - my back, neck, shoulders, and head were sore from the impact and getting worse.  Lesli informed me that she had received a sonogram (which I yet again missed - I’ve managed to not see a single one thusfar), where Casey Elizabeth (nee - Caramel Cub) had been OK, simply playing in “her womb”, sucking on her thumb and crossing her feet in a mild fidget.  From that moment on, my aches and pains, and the three or so hours I spent disappeared from my mind, and all that was left was a deep feeling of relief.

Lesli and I were terrified that something was going to happen - already having had a complication (sub-chorionic tear), the accident put that much more strain on poor Casey.  For 3 hours all I could think of was my little girl, and how very much I needed to know she was OK.  Left with one’s thoughts, in shock and pain, not a single one was about myself or about the disarray of the SF General trauma center, with the screams and injuries you wouldn’t expect on a Sunday night:  they were about my girls, Lesli and Casey, and needing more than anything to know that everything would be all right.

We got back to my apartment at 3 something in the morning and managed to creak our way into bed.  Laying beside Lesli, my hand on her stomach, I thought to myself:  this is my life.  In a few short months, I will have this new life - small and helpless - in my arms, keeping me up at night and demanding so much from me, and all I want to do right now is give her everything I have and more. 

Lesli is set to move in to the apartment soon, with Eric’s move-out being today.  The place is eerie empty, with four years of history about to be completely overwritten within a few weeks span.  My room will be Casey’s room.  Eric’s room will house Lesli and myself.  I thought to myself a few days ago that I was on the precipice of change, but now realize that I’m well beyond that point - I’m only now beginning to realize I’ve fallen into change months ago. 

To Casey, in the future, when you’re old enough to understand:  hearing that you, my baby girl, were all right and that the danger you had been in had subsided, was the exact moment it hit me that I will always always always do anything in my power to keep you safe and loved, from now until the day I die.  And even then, past me, I hope that it is all I was able to do with my life to make sure you could live yours in the safety and security that I could provide you, and that whatever life I could give you when you were young could carry you through the remainder of your own no matter what is in store for you.

-oz

Categories: the middle stuff, what it is to be a parent
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