One Month Old

So in our family, you get letters on your birthday in your birthday book. Daddy sweetens the deal with a Christmas letter. Birthday books start when you are Very Small, and that first year you get letters each month.

Without further ado, Kyle’s one month letter.

Dear, Precious Kyle,

I’m sitting here eating the cookie cake that Daddy & I decided we earned for your month-old-celebration.This month in Dallas, the season changed and with it your parents’ lives were changed radically by you. Sweet boy, your entrance into our world has been nothing like we planned, yet it has been a beautiful story already.

I’ll start with this: you are a masterpiece, formed by divine craftsmanship. You are made in the image of our perfect God. Everything about you was known before it came to be. This is what I trust in; the God who created you also created your parents, our family, our little village of people who love you. There is no error in any of this, and it soothes my heart to remember the plan and purpose we have already seen in you.

You were born on a Thursday. We left your brother with your grandparents, all four of them, really. We were so excited to meet you. Everything about our initial hospital stay was flawless- our own nurses, a doctor who cares about us, an easy labor for a baby your size. The Lord was gracious to us and allowed so much to go “right.” You barreled onto the scene at 10 lbs 1 oz, 4:45 in the afternoon. You cried heartily, ate mightily, and were proclaimed a tremendous blessing to me & Daddy. It stormed the night you were born… big, beautiful lightning streaked across our hospital window as we cuddled you and counted your fingers and saw your grandpa’s Miller genes shining through. We consulted with your great-grandpa Melvin and your name came from his family. Your middle name came from your great-grandma Martha and she was both classy and spunky enough to give you some merit as you go on.

Saturday, October first, we were headed home. I woke up freakishly early for a person who has a newborn sleeping a nursery down the hall. I remember not waking Daddy, but vividly feeling like that day was going to be significant. Not an ominous feeling, per se, but that something was happening. We were to ready plunge you into our corner of the world: a vivacious doting brother; a daddy who gives snuggles, gentle care, and kind ears; a mama who ferociously loves her boys and adores the domestic “work” of running our little house. However, you took us to a different pocket of the world. You had a five-minute seizure when you weren’t even two days old. We were already discharged and had a plan. You pointed us on a different one.

After I noticed your seizure (and one small one the night before, in hindsight), you  were whisked away from us a to the NICU. There they poked and prodded and harassed you. You were the biggest one in there by 7.5 lbs. You bruised up your nurse and howled at the top of your lungs. Then they gave you a lot of medicine and you had a sad cry and didn’t open your eyes for a while. Daddy worried, Mama lost control. You taught us to rely on others and turn to the Lord. We went home without you that night. And oh, Kyle, you scared your mama.

Then your seizures kept going, though not as bad, so they gave you more medicine. The tests and images gave us frightening results. We rode in an all-teen-girl-driven ambulance to Children’s Medical Center. We were given the very-sick-baby-treatment, the one where nobody had hopeful words. Nobody was cheery or optimistic. We were terrified. You were brave, alone in your little bed, zoned out from your medicine and still getting poked and prodded. Our friends came around us to pray and sit with us on the night when it was really scary. We had conversations that no new parents want to have. I’d prefer not to repeat this experience ever. Got it?

The onslaught of Texas autumn- you know, that first sweeping cold front that is so anxiously awaited- will always remind me of what I felt the first week we had you. Fear was first. Deep, dark, trickling fear that wakes a person up at night and turns your heart from sunshine to darkness. Doubt. Chaos. Swollen faces from all the crying. Inability to communicate. Yet still: nurses who are gifted at their jobs. Friends who drop everything and rally around you. Priorities that were shifted come back into clarity. People who are still quick to tell us you, Kyle, have pointed them back to Truth when you were 5 days old. Poignant reminders to remember our broken world and hold things loosely, as they are all the Lord’s.

Being a NICU parent, even for a small season, is something that leaves a mark on a person. Daddy and I were at a loss for words and you will know that this never happens to both of us collectively. One month later, we still are numb and shocked, thinking about the whirlwind that was your entrance into our hearts.

We got you to fancy doctors who were tossing around neurosurgery and long-term deficits and a pretty lousy prognosis for your tiny life. Then, a turning point: a better diagnosis. Some hope. Your ridiculously cute smiles at less than a week old. Some perspective from the sickest of the sick minuscule babies who are in the NICU for months. The opportunities to show our God to others through you and your story. The reminders that nothing surprises our God, and that He gave us you- exactly the way you are- on purpose.

Sweet, sweet little Kyle. We brought you home the next Wednesday after thinking we were in the hospital for a long haul.  We were cautious with you, shielding you from a reality that had been so unpleasant for all of us. Mama stared at your left arm for hours, awaiting your next seizure. Granna brought your brother home and we started a normal that included us jumping up at your every move and giving you medicine twice a day. Then a week went by with no seizures. We celebrated and slept a little better. Two weeks. Walks to the park in the double stroller, trips out with Jack and library story time. Three weeks. Less zoned-medicated-sleepiness and church with your adoring fans there. A month. Cookie cake, pumpkin carving, photos. A pleased pediatrician. Milestones met: turning to Mama’s voice, cooing to your friend the ceiling fan, bright blue eyes that are starting to focus, flopping your head around. Huge grins that are reserved only for Jack (and not when he is poking your eyes, picking you up by your head, or crawling on you). Growth- 12.7 lbs(!!), 22.75 in. “Normalcy.” Something I dreamt of while staring at you with electrodes plastered to your blonde baby hair. Googly eyes and successful nursing. Things I wrote off as privileges when I contemplated your first year. How quickly I jump to conclusions. Thanks for reminding me not to do that.

So as I think through each day, settling more into our routine, I am reminded that we are promised nothing except a life that is hard here on Earth, because we live in a broken world. Are there blessings here, my brave little boy? Oh, yes. Abundant and amazing ones that come when you aren’t even looking. Big stories like a 10 lb boy who turns your life upside down and is loved all the more for what he has taught us in 31 days… supremely delightful reasons to drink deeply of the Truth and the promise of salvation and eternal life.

Kyle, our boy, our little miracle baby. So much about you and your story is unknown. So much about all of our stories is unknown. Will you be “well?” What is “well,” anyway? Are the seizures and drama over? Will we all stay and dwell in the moment of clarity you provided us? Doctors, pokes, medicine… We don’t  know. What we do know is that you, son, are a gift to us. We loved you when we first got you 10 months ago. We love you a lot more now. We will always love you and fight for you. We will pray desperately for you to grow in wisdom, in stature, and in more favor with God and man. We pray for you to know, love, and serve your God.

Tonight we will tuck you in. Size 6-12 month blue robot pajamas handed down from your brother. A cold October night with the promise of a fresh fall day tomorrow. You will snuggle with Daddy in the big bed where you sleep the best, then you will get booted out to the pack n play. But you will get to borrow my brown fuzzy blanket because it makes you happy since it smells like Mama. You will grunt and snore all night and we will whine. We will whisper about how much we love you and your brother and we will pray for you both after we watch Frasier and not the Rangers in the World Series. We will treasure each time we get to have an evening or a morning or an afternoon with you, as we are not promised any of it.

Welcome, baby. Welcome to us. Welcome to your crazy mama, your cheeky brother, your sweet daddy. Welcome to our version of love. We hope we can reflect what we know to be true. You seem to be better at it than we are.