I’m The Milkman

Let’s face in. When it comes to pregnancy and the first few months of a child’s life, your wife is the starting quarterback and us guys are the 3rd stringers, desperate to get in the game. At least some of us are. I’ll never understand fathers who want to be on the sidelines, content to watch from a far. Anyway, to get back to my point, women have to endure changes to their body, constant nausea, difficulty in breathing, and slew of other things that usually make pregnancy very difficult to endure. Same with a starting QB. He gets hit, tackled, stepped on, blindsided and just plain ol beat up. The 3rd stringers would LOVE to get a small piece of that. I can’t imagine what it’s like to grow a human inside me. I can only observe and to me it’s beautiful. Even now, I watch my lovely wife feed our boys and it leaves me in awe. But still, I want to get in the game. I want to do anything possible to help, or be a part of the experience. So I make deliveries. Since the #BrunoBrothers are still in the NICU, Jenny, my lovely wife, is pumping during the night. I can’t really help here but what I can do, is deliver the milk to the hospital every morning. Essentially, I’m the Milkman. And I love it. Every morning I get to see my smiling, beautiful boys and contribute in an ever so small way. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m changing diapers, soothing their cries, reading to them, and having my own bonding time, but being “The Milkman” makes me feel part of the magical experience of providing important nutrition for my boys. I know it’s nowhere near the experience a woman feels but it’s as close as I can get for now… At least until I’m able to give them a bottle. For now, I’ll gladly be “The Milkman.” 

The Earth split… I fell in.

It’s impossible to communicate what it feels like when a doctor says there is something wrong with your new son. No matter what they say after that initial reveal, the earth splits open and you fall in.  The doctors told us that one of our boys, Lucas, has a small hole in his heart. That’s where the earth opened for me.  Never mind that he said It’s very common and happens to a lot of premature babies.  It’s called ventricular septal defect (VSD).  It will (hopefully) close up on its own after a few months… Still, the earth opened and I fell in.  It’s a feeling of helplessness. I can’t do anything to protect my new son and it’s awful.  It was exacerbated by walking in and seeing blue lights shinning down on his tiny little body.

Another very common side effect of premie babies they refer to as Bilirubin.  Just the day before, as I walked through the NICU and saw blue lights spilling from room to room, I thought how grateful I was that my boys didn’t need that. Well, so much for stress free dad. I’ve since renamed the bililights as “Blue Lights of Hope”.

But after having the doctor explain the situation 3 more times, my unrelenting google searches, and leaving the hospital to get some air, I climbed back out of the hole. Leaving to get some air gave me time to let it all out, stop, take a breath, and asses the situation.  It sucks, yes. But both Lucas and Elijah are going to be fine. Every day the nurses tell us how great they’re doing.  I think the nurses all have crushes on my boys.  But who wouldn’t?  

Lucas                                     Elijah

Thankfully my lovely wife, Jenny was released from the hospital.  When we got home we found this.

My neighbors created the most awesome signs EVER!

We brought this one over to the #BrunoBrothers lair at the hospital. It’s a big hit.

I’m so grateful to all the people that have shared their love and support. I promise my boys will grow up knowing how they are loved by the social media family.

 

The force is strong with my little Padawans!

Waiting for the #BrunoBrothers

There’s no way to explain what it feels like to sit in a hospital room, waiting for the birth of your babies… Yes, we’re having twins. As my incredible wife tries to rest, I watch the baby heartbeats and her blood pressure numbers… Which at first were way too high and then too low and now looking good. I guess that’s how my emotions feel. I’m on a roller coaster and have been for 3 weeks now, since Jenny, my incredibly beautiful and talented wife who is going to make the most incredible mom, was checked into the hospital because one of the twin’s water broke. I usually try to stay calm all the time. I feel like, worrying over things you can’t control is like getting punched in the face by your own fist. Well, sometimes my fist finds its way to my face. I know things will be ok. I can truly feel it. Still my fist finds my face. When that happens, the center of my forehand feels like it’s getting hit with a baseball over and over, hence the fist to the face. But like I said, I usually try to stay calm, especially as I get older. I try to do this by first bringing myself back to the present moment, not thinking about what happened or what’s to happen. Just this moment, right now with a deep breath. Then I say to myself, no one is dying. This gives me perspective and helps make a better decision. It doesn’t always work, as the past 3 weeks have reminded me. But it does help. For those of you who know how hard it was for us to get to this point, you’ll understand what and why I’m feeling the way I am. For those that don’t, I’ll probably talk about it in another post but you can read a little bit about it in the Arkansas Times article that my good friend David Koon wrote. http://www.arktimes.com/arkansas/baby-boom/Content?oid=3207782

And so, as I sit in the hospital, waiting for my babies to be born, my fist repeatedly finding my face, I’m writing this to remind myself to take a breath. To remind myself that I want to teach my boys to always take a breath. I know I’ll never be stress free but if I remind myself to take a breath I may be able to dodge the fist on every other punch.