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Posts published in “Life”

Hello, Wilhelmina!

On Thursday March 30, we welcomed Wilhelmina Shields Dillingham to the family. Some quick nickname options for those who find four syllables to be too many syllables: Willie, Billie, Mina, and (if you’re dad) Wilbur.

Her birth was reasonably quick and, for her, uneventful. She emerged at 34 weeks and 4 days at a healthy 5 pounds, 15.2 ounces. Quite a big baby for that developmental age.

She was whisked off to the NICU for monitoring, as we expected with a premature baby. Her stay in Hotel Neonatal Intensive Care was similarly uneventful. She just had to learn to eat through her mouth. That’s something you don’t expect one needs to learn, but it is. For the first few days her nutrition was supplemented through an NG tube. What she didn’t take through her mouth was forced into her stomach through her nose. Calories are more important than style, sometimes. A few nights later she pulled the tube from her nose in a grand declaration that she would only be eating through her mouth from then on, thank you very much. And she did!

She was strong enough and big enough that some of the scary things that happen with premature babies—and happened with her older sisters—didn’t happen. No oxygen saturation issues. No heart rate issues. No digestion issues. She’s what the doctors referred to as a “feeder and grower”: an easy, boring baby that just needs a little bit more time to cook under medical supervision. It’s really all you could hope for in the circumstances. Miraculously boring.

The NICU and the related PCICU at Johns Hopkins are hard places for Sarah and me. We experienced some of our very worst days there. And it would be disingenuous to claim we didn’t go into this with that trauma hanging over our heads and clouding our expectations. So to have Wilbur’s stay be so profoundly boring? That was the greatest relief.

On the thirteenth day, she was released to come home. Her sisters, who until this point only had a vague notion that there was another baby on the way and were convinced that mommy and daddy had new babies in their bellies, greeted her warmly and proceeded to try to kill her with a toddler’s kindness.

In the days since, the accidental homicide attempts have continued but so has the love. Fortunately, Wilbur is growing more robust by the day and will soon be able to withstanding her sisters’ clumsy expressions of adoration.

Welcome, Wilbur! We love the crap out of you!

Goodbye, Judy! Goodbye!

A few years ago, when we moved back to California from New York, we needed a car. Well, we needed two cars, but that’s beside the point. We needed a car because we were coming from a place where we needed zero cars. And where we had zero cars.

A generous friend of mine let me assume ownership of a well-used Honda Civic he was not using. Sarah named her Judy. She was a good car and she served us well first as a commuter for Sarah, then as a second car during the pandemic, and finally as a family car we didn’t mind getting a little sandy with the children.

With the recent acquisition of a minivan, Judy became redundant. I wasn’t sure what to do with her so I asked my friend if he wanted her back. She’s about 60,000 miles further down her road, but she’s been well maintained and even got a brand-new air conditioning system a couple years back when the old one decided to die in July in New Mexico.

So I asked my friend if he wanted her back. I figured if he didn’t I could probably sell her for a decent bit of coin with how ridiculous the used car market it right now. I told him her could have her for the price of coming to get her. He agreed that it was a good deal and hired a company to come load her up and drive her to Santa Ysabel, CA. For a pretty fair price, too! He paid the trucking company basically what he would have spent to fly out here, get from Baltimore to Delaware, and then drive all the way back, except that he saved himself five days of travel and crappy roadtrip meals. Good move.

Last Saturday, a man came from Pennsylvania and loaded her up on one of those trucks I’ve seen many times before and as many times wondered about how they got cars on there. The answer is: they drive them.

It was pretty cool! I thought he was going to screw it up a couple of times, especially as he came back down the wheels going toward a car with a much greater resale value than Judy. He didn’t, however, which is good.

Before he loaded Judy up, he walked around with his phone making notes on where there was damage, as if I were renting a car. He showed me the diagram covered in dots indicating existing damage. “She’s not a looker,” I told him, “but she goes,” and signed to release the car.

And there she goes! Easily the nicest car on the truck. Goodbye, Judy! You were a good car and served our growing family well. If I could have fit three car seats across your back row, I would have kept you until your wheels fell off. Enjoy your new-old home and may you drive many many more miles.


Apologies for no audio version on this one. Ran out of time before relocating to Maryland for the new baby’s arrival. I’ll come back and record it down the road once settled.

Happy Merry from the Four of Us

Another year has come and another year has mostly gone. That means holidays, and holidays mean holiday cards. Consider this my holiday greetings if you celebrate or don’t or whatever.

Check our this year’s holiday card. I think we’ve outdone ourselves this year. It started out as a Halloween card idea, but with a couple of minor tweaks it became a Christmas card. Sweet.

HAPPY MERRY

And, yes, Penny was not at all happy about being held upside-down for the photo. Fortunately, she is resilient and two blue M&Ms turned her mood right around.

Watering the Neighbors’ House

Yesterday I taught Beatrice how to use the garden hose nozzle. After a few back-and-forths regarding the proper usage of the nozzle trigger, she understood and started to get a feel for the mechanics of it. Meanwhile, Penny was looking around the neighborhood for birds (BOID!) and dogs (PUPPA! WOOF WOOF!) and demanding walks (WA!).

Next week, I’ll get Beabear on the pressure washer so she can help clean our house. It’s pretty polleny after a tumultuous spring and summer. She’s already got a bit of practice spraying the neighbors’ house, as seen in the video below. I think she’ll do just fine.

Psyche! Four* more weeks!

Do you remember six weeks ago when I was all, “I’ve got to wear this silly little finger brace for six weeks”? Well, as it turns out, that was a lie! I have the pleasure of wearing this stinky little thing until the doctor sees me again. He asked me to make a follow-up appointment in four weeks.

But guess again! The next available appointment was in six weeks, not four! Cool! That will bring the total time wearing this gross splint to 13 damn weeks. Woof.

I have a physical therapy appointment for Monday. I was able to bend the finger at the recent follow up, but not all the way. The doctor says if I try to make a fist right now, I’ll just tear through the scar tissue that has developed, which is not the ideal result apparently. Instead, we want to slowly stretch out the healed tendon. Sounds pretty tedious and boring, but better than a permanently messed up pinky.

The doctor wants me to go twice a week. Pretty cool. I was really hoping for a chance to have more chores integrated into my life.

Fortunately I still have an extra splint from my ER visit. I purchased a Dremel rotary tool after my appointment, even though I have one in my friend’s garage in California. Nothing fancy, but sufficient to cut the long, non-stinky splint down. I thought about buying snips which would have been cheaper and done the job just fine, but the rotary tool will be more useful in the long run for a wider variety of tasks.

Yesterday, I stressed the joint trying to hold Beatrice down so I could get her dressed. I heard a lovely cracking sound and the finger’s been all sorts of sensitive today. That bodes well. Afterward, I redressed it so the tape was much tighter than the doctor had applied it. There was too much wiggle room before which allowed for enough flexibility that my finger could try to bend. No good. Now it’s tight and straight and unbending.

Finally, and most importantly, the fingernail on my pinky is getting super long and gross. I suppose I could take the tape off and clip the thing, but where’s the fun in that? If it’s funny gross and not just gross gross when this is all done, I’ll share a photo of what 13 weeks of fingernail growth looks like.

Download the audio of this post.

Six Dang Weeks

Six weeks!

I have to keep my finger in this tiny, stupid splint for six weeks!

Look how cute and little the splint is.

I suppose, though, it could be worse. It could be my whole hand. Or a finger on my dominant right hand. Or my arm! OR MY NECK!

It all happened last Thursday. I was home, getting the girls ready for their evening bath. I had Penny undressed in my right arm and Beanut in her diaper in my left. The bath was run and the water was warm. Everything was going swimmingly.

Then Beatrice saw something so fun on the floor and dove for it. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but 1 year olds do not possess the world’s greatest self-preservation instinct. Luckily, I was there to get my hand under her to prevent toddler suicide. The bad news was that I got my left pinky under her sternum at just the wrong angle. It snapped.

The child was, and still is, totally fine. I caught her and she had no idea about the fate she narrowly avoided. I placed them both down on the sofa, set my broken finger back into place, and moved them to the tub. I sent Sarah the following text message:

Nothing like being direct, I guess.

She promptly called me back and I told her what happened as Penny and Bea splashed in the background. She promised to be home as soon as she could. I gave the girls a cursory bath, got them dressed, and set them up with some milk. I’d be lying if I told you I combed their hair, though. That really requires two hands: one to stabilize the squirming child and the other to operate the comb. Getting them dressed usually requires two hands as well, but I managed to pin them down with my forearm. No left hand fingers needed for that task.

By 6:45pm Sarah was home, and by 7 I was on the road to the local ER. They did a round of x-rays, determined that the photos were inconclusive, wrapped my finger in a splint, and sent me home. I was home by 9. It might have been the fastest ER visit I’ve ever had. Of course, they barely did anything and arrived at no answers, but, still, it was quick.

I was doing my very best to hold it straight here.

For a week, I’ve lived with the busted pinky. I’ve shoveled snow more than once. I’ve cared for tiny children. I’ve deboned chicken. All successfully, if a little slower than normal. Each day, I took off the splint for my shower and carefully redressed it afterward. I definitely splinted it more securely than the ER did.

On Thursday I had my follow-up appointment. The ER discharge paperwork told me I should have gone in on the 29th, but that wasn’t going to happen because A) a blizzard rolled through on the 28th and B) it was a Saturday. So Thursday it was.

I got another set of x-rays done and this time we were able to see the tiny bone fragment floating in my finger where the tendon snapped the bone. Pretty cool! I regret not asking for a copy of the images, though. Then the doctor told me that every time I take my finger out of the splint I tear through any new scar tissue formed and that if I want it to heal correctly—that is, heal in a way that allows me to fully straighten my finger—I need to keep it in the split for six weeks.

One of these is not doing what it’s supposed to. Chili for scale.

What a pain in the butt. At least the doctor cut the finger-length splint down to a knuckle-length splint to allow me to partially bend my finger.

So for the next six weeks I’m living with this adorable pinky splint that I need to keep clean and dry. I’ve ordered some extra-large nitrile gloves from the site that shares a name with a rainforest which will hopefully get me through six weeks of dishes, diapers, and cat litter. I already want to take the thing off and bend my finger. But I am going to be good.

Download the audio of this post.

Happy birthday, ladies!

Today is the first birthday of my wonderful, screaming monsters. Sarah made them a confetti cake and they got a visit from Grandma Bev and Grandpa Redge. Snow fell. Diapers were changed. They made a huge mess. Photos were taken. Bath time was torture. Getting dressed and having their hair brushed was an unbearable misery. Overall, a perfect first birthday.

Today is also a day tinged with sadness as we remember our lost Olive. Milestones come fast during a child’s first few years. First teeth. First steps. First words. First Christmas. First lawsuit. You get the idea. And, as we see Penny and Beanut make all these steps growing up, we can’t help but be reminded that Livvy didn’t get a chance for any of them. I miss that little baby and I miss the person she could have been.

When the sadness of the situation is overwhelming, I feel comforted in the two girls we do get to see grow, learn about the world, and chase the ever-patient Noodle, and knowing that Livvy’s essence has gone back to the universe that made her. In the end, we are all just stardust and she has gone back to the stars earlier than we would have liked.

Happy birthday, girls. I love you all very much.

Enjoy some photos of babies with a bunch of cake on their sweet, little faces.

Go to bed, Penny

Penny. It’s almost midnight. Why have you been laying in bed with your eyes open for nearly 30 minutes? PenPen, it’s night-night time. Go to sleep, Penny. Stop staring at the ghosts. They know you can see them. But you’re a growing girl and there will be time for spirits.

Get some sleep.