My youngest son was born at 32 weeks due to lack of movement. I woke up one morning(ish) around noon, ate a pop tart, Baby didn't kick me, and by 5pm I was being transferred to a hospital with a Level III NICU.
Next would come 3 weeks in the NICU, 9 days home, 1 horrific apnea episode, 3 firetrucks full of EMTs, one month bouncing between the PICU and Pediatrics at the Children's Hospital, then coming home for 4 therapists to do 6 sessions 5 days a week, and countless specialist appointments before, at 11 months and 2 weeks old, he finally got the diagnosis of 18p-
I still don't really know what that even means, but I've got an almost 3 year old and and almost 2 year old in addition to Baby, so I'm not even sure I have 30 seconds to Google it.
Welcome to the Sloth House. We sleep late, eat too much cheese, have more pets than a zoo, and don't know what the heck we are doing.
