I always hesitate writing posts that I know will make me emotional and other people sad. But I created this blog to document the good and the bad of our life, because both are important.

Sam has been doing amazing in therapy. Over the long weekend I started the “transition” process–Sam is in his last week of clinic and next week home visits start. And so does the road toward being TUBE FREE. We have finally figured out what works best–the Haberman. Unfortunately, this has not become Sam’s best friend as well all hoped.

So far, I am the only one trained and “allowed” to feed Sam at home. It is a huge responsibility, and over the weekend, I had a Mommy Meltdown.

Sam usually tolerates being orally fed. It’s not like he enjoys the process, but he has never, ever cried for me. Until Sunday. Sunday afternoon, Sam decided he was MAD. He saw me coming with the bib and stack of paper towels, and I swear… the kid threw daggers into my heart with the look he gave me.

After being done with the set-up, I walked over to get him and the crying started. I put him in his feeding seat, and the crying intensified, along with him doing everything in his little 15-pound power to get out of that seat. I strapped him in and felt like I was security at a psych ward. The crying got louder, and as I went to drape him in paper towels (to weigh the “spillage”), the crying turned to outright hysterics.

We’re trained to ignore inappropriate behavior because it could just be Sam’s way of trying to get out of something he doesn’t want to do: i.e. EAT.

Try telling that to a mom whose child is crying uncontrollably and is still supposed to say, “Sam, here are the rules!” in a super chipper voice and smile as I clamp his mouth shut after squirting in formula and counting “1-2-3-4-5” in sing-song. It’s horrible.

The hysterics continued, and pretty soon the inevitable happened… he had a major vomit. Guess what I’m trained to do? Keep going.

Yep, wipe that vomit away, and keep going and act like nothing happened.

Momma kept going, sing-song voice and all, and called Adam in from outside. I told him to take care of picking up Sam and weighing the paper towels/bottle/etc. because I couldn’t take it. I started crying; crying out of frustration, crying out of sadness, crying out of terror–what if he never learns to eat?

I picked myself up, and went upstairs to shower. Sometimes it’s the only thing that relaxes me.

My mom told me something last week and it’s what I had to keep thinking about in the shower–no matter how frustrating this time is, it is NOT last Thanksgiving. Be grateful I have this to be frustrated about. Be grateful I have my little boy who cries.

I’m of the firm belief that preemie-parents are the only parents who ever want their children to grow up faster. We just want to know that they’re going to get there. Whatever there is.

My poor Jack has started to notice we are dealing with Sam the majority of the time too, and has started just randomly crying. The minute I even start to walk his way, he lights up and smiles his big, beautiful smile. If I turn around to leave again, the tears start flowing. It kills me.

Adam is on nightfloat this month (basically, he works M-F nights from 6:00pm-7:00am the next day), and being a single mom is HARD. I won’t lie. In the past, I wanted to be Super Mom, and thought I could be. No one can be.

We do our best not to let the boys see how frustrated we are with our situation. But after a weekend of having family in town (Gma and Gpa Stibbe!), we can’t help but realize how much easier life would be if we were near family. Omaha is wonderful, but it’s not home. We have a handful of friends left in Omaha, and that’s it.

If I sound like I’m complaining, I really don’t intend to! Venting–yes. Venting with the world–feels weird, but cathartic.

Here are some pictures of my beautiful boys!