So here we are, in the critical care waiting room at Wake Med.

They've taken your father back already to prep him for surgery, which should begin around 8:00 a.m. or so (it's 7:00 a.m. now--we've been at the hospital since 5:30 a.m.). Your brother, Alex, and your sister, Lizzie, are here with me and your grandmother, Becky, and Nana Carol will also be up here in awhile.

I'm pretty sure that I haven't posted before about any of this...so let me give you some background: A few months ago now I pleaded with and threatened your father enough that I finally convinced him to go have a physical (your arrival helped my case). A result, though, of that assessment was an elevated cholesterol reading, which in turn resulted in your father having to take a cholesterol lowering drug, and which also prompted his GP to recommend a test known as a cardiac calcium score (it looks for and measures the build up of calcium in the plaque that has occurred on the arterial walls). Well, this test came back with not-so-good results, which prompted the GP to recommend yet another procedure known as a stress test to see just how well the blood supply was getting to his heart. This test, too, came back with some concerning scores, so this time the GP recommended going to a cardiologist and having a cardiac catheterization to determine, once and for all, if your father had any blockages.

The day we went in for the catheterization (23 May), we expected that, worse case scenario, your dad would have to stay overnight at the hospital because the doctor had to put in a stent or two to unblock a mildly blocked artery. Fortunately that didn't happen. Unfortunately the result was worse: four, or perhaps five, of the arteries leading to his heart were so blocked that stents just wouldn't do the trick--he'd either have to have bypass surgery to repair them or he could spend the rest of his life trying hard not to exert himself physically because to do so would eventually result in a heart attack.

So here we are, at the hospital, waiting while the surgeon repairs your father's arteries.

And speaking of surgeons, Dr. Robert Peyton, your father's surgeon, just came by to tell us that he'd be getting started soon and to not worry (Yeah, right!) that things would be fine and he'd have a nurse call around 12:00 or 1:00 to give us an update.

Meanwhile, your at home with your Aunt Lizze who, thankfully, recently retired and is able to take care of you for us while we take care of all of this. If there is a such thing as good timing for this to have happened, this was a good time. I'm not sure what I'd have done if Aunt Lizzie wasn't able to take care of you. I guess I'd either have to find a daycare (I can't imagine!) or else figure out a way to take care of you while waiting all day at a hospital (I can't imagine!). Thank goodness for Aunt Lizze!!

It's now 7:47 a.m. In roughly 10 minutes they'll begin surgery. I'm trying not to be frightened and worried, but truth is, I'm frightened and worried. And although in reality we've only been here for a little over two hours, it's feels like we've been here for a week already. I can but imagine that the time between now and that noon-ish phone call is going to feel like an eternity.

I love your father so much. He's truly my everything. It hurts me for him to hurt and I just want this to be over and done with. I miss him already and I wish I could somehow make this better for him and I feel so powerless that I can't...

Nana Carol is here.

It's 7:56 a.m.

Dear Benjamin,

Today, Mother's Day, you are seven months old!

Some accomplishments of the past month:

• You crawled. Sort of. Suffice it to say you achieved forward motion, even if your form still leaves a little to be desired. (You'll get there, though! Practice makes perfect!)
• A tooth has broken through. Bottom left (your left). It's still not visible to the naked eye, but when I run my finger over your gum I can feel it!
• You have added the 'p' sound to your growing repertoire of raspberries, squeals, and myriad other noises.
• You're eating three 'meals', plus about 24 oz. of formula, per day. (I believe you've had, at this point, every kind of stage 2 baby food on the market. You're still not crazy about the meats, at least not by themselves, but you'll eat them when they're mixed with fruits or vegetables.)
• You enjoy 'eating' (i.e. voraciously gumming) teething biscuits.

Every single day you change. Small changes, but ones that quickly add up to become significant changes. I mean, just think, a mere seven months ago you could do nothing more than lie there and reflexively wave your arms and legs. But now you've perfected your pincher grasp and can pick up a toy using only your thumb and index finger. That's amazing stuff!

And I'm enjoying every moment with you. I look forward toward seeing you in the morning, peering between your crib slats, greeting me, and the day, with a smile on your face. I miss you terribly during the day when I have to go to work (but I'm so glad that you get to stay here with your father--it helps to know that you're with someone who loves you just as much as I do). And then I can't wait to get home in the evening to see you again! I have always looked forward towards the weekends, but I do even more now that it means that I have entire days to spend with you!

It's such a wonderful experience having you. And having you at the age I am now. When your brother and sister were small I doted on them just the same as I do you now, but the difference between then and now is I didn't have the hindsight and the life experience then to know how quickly they would grow up and stop being babies. (Not that they aren't still my babies...but they didn't stay little babies for long. Your brother, in fact, turned 18 just last month. Incredible stuff. I vividly remember him being born and it wasn't that long ago!) But now I know. I realize all too well how short-lived this stage in your--and my--life is going to be and it makes every day, every moment, with you that much more special.

Sorry if I'm being overly mushy, but I want you to know these things. I want you to know how
absolutely fantastic I think you are, how important you are to me, and how much I love you. I'm afraid that because your father and I are 'older' parents (your father certainly falls into that category more so than me, but even I am considered an 'older' mommy) we have perhaps added a dimension of difficulty to your life that most kids don't have to deal with. If we have, I apologize. But please, please know that it was not our intent. Our intent was only to expand our love for each other by creating a child together. You, of course, are that child. And we love you so very much! You're the light of our lives!

And I promise that I'm going to do better about posting to this blog. I'm sure you've noticed the trend: I post once a month on your 'birthday.' So I'm going to work on that. It's just that I stay so busy watching you and enjoying you, it's hard to find time to write about you!

But until next time, I remain,

devotedly yours,

Mommy

P.S. Thank you so much for the pretty flowers and plant you and Daddy gave to me for Mother's Day, as well as for the sweet note you wrote to me!