I’ve talked before about how Scott was born premature. I’ve shared little bits and pieces of how I’d spent 10 days in the hospital prior to his emergency c-section, and how my blood pressure finally got too high on a day when the ultrasound results showed Scott in serious distress, and the doctor – who had been waiting for either one of us to start failing before he would take action – realized that both of his patients were critical and he needed to move NOW.
Now, wherever we go, so goes Wightning. And Scott replays the movie as he races Lightning over the backs of chairs in the dentist office waiting room, his car seat arms, the back of the couch, his bed, his stroller frame, the slide at the park. He is never without Wightning unless we’re at the table (“No cars at the table, here, Mommy,”) or in the bath, (“Wightning will get ruined in the bath, here, Mommy.”). The only time he wakes up in the middle of the night anymore is when it falls out of his hand. I’ve spent many a 3AM pulling the fallen car out from behind Scott’s bed or digging it out from under his pillow.
I don’t know what time Johnathan was born. Before 9AM, I think. He was 6lbs, 7oz, and 19 inches long. Those extra 6 weeks he got beefed him up compared to his brother’s 3-pounder birth. Like with Scott, I was too sick to see him after his birth, and he went straight to the NICU. When Gregg brought me pictures, I joked that his nickname didn’t need to be Jeb, it needed to be Biff, because he looked like a little football player.
The only thing he doesn’t seem to like about it is that his head is facing the opposite direction of his crib.
He and Scott share a room. The second night in the new bed, they snuck out of bed and quietly played with their toys. I likely wouldn’t have caught them if they hadn’t have started fighting. I put them back to bed and told them not to get back out again, and five minutes later they were both asleep.