Change of pace, or did I just blow your mind?

December 2006 was mild, and early in the month, it rained. I spent about a week in the hospital, staying close to my newborn baby girl who was being treated in the nursery. Meanwhile, her twin brother was in a NICU two hours away, his lungs being supported by machines, his nourishment coming from an IV and then a feeding tube.

It was a confusing time. I had two babies! The prognosis for each baby was good, but I could only be with one at a time. I didn't see my little boy's face for five days after he was born. When I finally held him next to me, he seemed to sigh as he snuggled close. We had missed each other.

An hour later, I would have to leave him to go back to the hospital where my little girl was.

When she was released from the hospital, we relied on family or one very kind and patient friend to watch her while my husband and I (or my father and I, because I wasn't yet allowed to drive) drove two hours so I could hold my little guy for a little while. 

The babies were eight days old the first day I thought he would be transferred to the hospital close to me. My babies would be close enough to each get at least some time with me each day and soon, he would come home to snuggle next to his sister in the wooden cradle I used as a baby. That day was my birthday.

They were so tiny, and they needed help learning to eat. They needed to be held and nursed. They needed me.

Fortunately, H. was being cared for in an excellent NICU. Unfortunately, that hospital is not known for its intermediate care or its coordination with other hospitals. It was late in the day when I learned he would not be coming home that Friday.

What I wanted for my birthday was to be awake all night, shifting between identical cribs, hushing cries, changing diapers, nourishing tiny bodies. I wanted what I didn't know yet - the cold, bone-aching exhaustion that comes from giving yourself over to two other people.

That night, my parents bought dinner at a restaurant and brought it to my house; we probably had cake. My best friend came for dinner. She gave me a gift of feminine little earrings; my mother gave me makeup. Friends and relatives sent flowers. As my parents, husband, best friend and I sat around the table that night, we ogled little L. and we laughed. I took photos of her with the flowers people sent.

That night, I squeezed warm water over her bird legs. She screamed - tinny, puppy wails, bouncing inside the stainless steel sink. I urged her to accept my breast. Pinching my nipples, making a C with my hand, massaging my mammary glands. Weak and down to nearly five pounds, she was not strong enough to extract all her calories from me. When she wasn't with me, I hooked a machine to my breasts and mechanically suctioned breast milk to freeze and take, in coolers, to the NICU.

As I rocked L. in the dark early hours, I swallowed sobs so I wouldn't wake my husband or visiting parents.

My boy would be OK. He would come home. I knew the facts, but my mind was dark.

There were several other babies born to friends and family that same week. We called them "the crop."

A cousin a few days before, a dear friend a day later, and eight days after, on that conflicted birthday, something wonderful entered my world.

Another dear friend gave birth, three weeks early, to a healthy baby boy, the second biggest of the crop. Although he's her baby, her son, I like to think of him as a little bit mine, too.

She and I call him my "birthday buddy."

Fair skin and hair, he is a wide-eyed, earnest boy. He is silly and sweet and just the kind of little boy you know will listen to the teacher and do all his homework.

Every time I see C., I think of how he cracked open my ribs and smoothed my brow. He was a toothache-inducing cinnamon bun, and he gave me the sugar rush to get me through those days. He was the last baby I had to worry about in those weeks, and he was born fine, perfect really.

I like to lay claim to him, although I had nothing to do with his creation, because he was born on my birthday, because he came when I needed news of him. I like to believe we have a bond, whether he knows it yet or not, and knowing me, I'll force one on him if he doesn't feel it.

Now that he's about to turn 4, there are signs we have a cosmic connection.

The other day, my dear friend sent me a text message that might as well have been a message from God that little C. and I share a piece of our souls.

Her text message said simply, "Your birthday buddy's boat he made at school."

Attached was this photo:

I love that kid.