We’ve noted less willingness to eat, but that could be the switch to whole milk. Or so we have read.

Today:

People close to us know what last year was like. Joyous, because Daniel arrived, but then scary, as we were forced to navigate the NICU, and Daniel’s prognosis was not clear. We got him home after a week. Now, for some parents, getting the baby home after just six days would have been a dream. We saw a lot of sick children up in that unit. Daniel’s needs were critical, but with the exception of a couple of days mid-week, there always seemed to be light at the end of the tunnel. But those two days. Again, We’re very lucky, but I think those days were the hardest of my life. Hard, because all we could to was stand by. We prayed. We hoped. It was difficult reading what the staff were telling us, but Cheri and I were perceptive enough to see that we weren’t being given the full picture of how bad things could have been. It wasn’t evident anyone could really say. So we all pressed on. I’m usually composed, but that Wednesday was particularly hard.

Finally, we were given the green light to go home. I credit the nurse manager in Bay 5 with giving us that. She assured the MDs we’d be responsible enough to bring Daniel in should he need any help. We were so grateful. We ran into her months later at a restaurant, and she remembered us and asked how Daniel was doing.

Now, he’s one year old, and he’s flying.

The ultrasound was at 10:30. This was all driven by the techs, with our MD doing a follow-up visit just a half-hour afterward. Cheri’s been nervous about this, and I don’t blame her. I think I choose not to worry about anything until there is something to worry about; I kept that attitude until we entered the clinic and, bam, we went right into the ultrasound room. The techs were understandably poker-faced during the session. Added to that, this visit was handled by the tech-in-training, who whispered back and forth with her lead instructor. This was stressful for Cheri and I. I have no knowledge of what makes a “good” ultrasound visit, but I do know what it means to instruct interns and students, so I relaxed after a while. At the end, we were informed everything looked normal. Our baby continues to move around a lot, just as she did during the first sonogram, now so many weeks ago.

And, of course, we were open to the inforamtion that we are having a girl. Cheri and I decided a while back we have no desire to wait on this information. My logic is simple: the baby has fingers, toes, a spine, so it goes without saying we want to know the sex as well. It adds to the comfort of knowing who our child is.

I took the whole day off, and so now we are at home, getting ready to take a dip in the pool.

As for that first bit, the man-culture bit: It has become clear to me I’ve made some huge assumptions about how I’d conduct myself, and what I’d engage in if/when parenting became a reality. To first qualify this statement: I consider myself more open to different things. I think of myself as, oh, less constrained to Midwestern folkways.

That said, did I ever think I’d quit my job? From the time I could ask myself that question until this year, the answer was always the same: Never. Not ever.

Perfectly sane people have asked me if I’d take a permanent leave of absence. One the face of it, this is fair to ask. I’m a hospital social worker. Cheri is a state attorney. Ultimately, we both work for the same government system, but she makes more. Had the recession never happened, our pay gaps would have widened further this year. Of course, that’s not happening now; wages are frozen for many people. Both of us acknowledge neither of us can take a huge leave. We’re in a boat shared with millions of people. We incurred debts to go to school, now we need to eliminate them. We also want the things new families want, such as a house. I’ll get into that in another post, but for now, both of us see ourselves as continuing to work.

My job, however, does not exist in my own private vacuum. A case in point: my voluntary on-call scheduling. One of the most rewarding parts of my job is to come in on the weekend and work with families who are facing the death of a loved one. I also work with the state organ procurement organization should the family support organ donation. It’s grueling work, but also work I love to do.

As of today, I quit that.

I didn’t want to quit, but I couldn’t take just a few months off; new people have be trained, and that is more work and more complicated, had I kept a foot in it. As of July 1st, I’ll make even less money (though negligible in the long term). But, I’ll have my weekends back.

Breakfast is another story. If I get up early enough, I can whip up a toasted egg-and muenster-cheese bagel. That seems to go over well. Cheri commutes a long distance every weekday, and my hope is to help her not pull into McDonald’s every day. Not that she can’t do that, of course, but it’s just cheaper to send her off with something to eat. I may have to come up with a menu. Hmmm.

To sum up, Cheri’s definitive quote: “Everything just tastes wierd.”