Sweet Chunka

2.5.19

Sweet Chunka,

I wish that I could say that I lost the letter that I wrote to you when you were on your way home, but the truth is I never wrote it. It’s been a small source of disappointment ever since that day. It was September 2nd. 

I drove to the hospital in Mr. Lopes’ car with your car seat base fastened in the back on the passenger side. Your car seat was already at the hospital. You were oh so tiny at the time. Just about 4 pounds. By this time I remember being sad that you had to leave the NICU. I was learning so much from the nurses, they were fantastic, they loved you, and I still wasn’t comfortable feeding you, burping you, or changing your diaper. Bathing you was a huge source of stress. I was scared I would drop you when you were wet. There were so many things that I didn’t feel prepared for. 

Mr. Lopes met me at the hospital and rode with us home. When we finally walked in the door your Mother, Grandmother, and sister were sitting in the apartment with your two brothers. 

I remember the tears in your Mother’s eyes. They showed up before you were out of your carseat. I felt emotional too, but there were too many people there for me to be that open. My mind was on logistics. At the time you had only just begun to feed exclusively from the bottle. Soon enough I found myself more frightened than I have been (except for maybe one other time when we were at the eye doctor and I’ll tell you about that later). Before I even knew what gas could do to you I was in a position of trying to feed you your ounce of milk when all you would do is shriek like I’d never heard every time I put the bottle to your lip. Mr. Lopes was watching the US Open with the volume on 10 and his own volume on 18. Nana Linda and Hillary were busy with other babies. I remember Loryn being the only person that was aware of my concern for you and your discomfort. I was scared and you seemed to be in a helluva lot of pain. Panic welled up in my chest. Eventually I took you into what is now your bedroom and literally sucked the gas out of your chest. I put my mouth over yours and gave one strong inhale. I don’t know why I did that, or where the idea came from, but I did it and lucky for my nerves it worked. You seemed to be instantly more comfortable, went on to immediately finish your bottle, then go to sleep. 

Fear shook me up that day. I was also empowered by moving through that first hour. I thought you were choking and had thoughts of us headed right back to the hospital to take you to the emergency  room. Weeks went by before I realized that colic would be out to get you from time to time. 

That was day one. Now, almost six months later, you’re still kickin’, you’ve tripled in size, and your smile is one of the most precious sights I’ve ever seen. 

I love ya, lil fella. 

What a day that first one was.

I’ll see you soon.

-Tyler