Skip to main content

Breathing is Good for Babies

Tonight I held a baby who stopped breathing.

While I was holding him.

But you know what? That's how he rolls.

At 3 months old, he has graduated from being ventilated 100% of the time to breathing on his own while he's awake. Mostly.

Even though I knew that his little breath-holding escapade wasn't uncommon, that his parents are well-equipped to deal with this, that the beeping of the monitor warned us with plenty of time to spare, AND that there was a nurse in the room, it was still frightening for that split second.

His parents are more good people that I will miss from Vancouver. If you're curious to hear more, they're blogging about their little bundle of fun and how every breath is a gift.

We also ate delicious Indian food and wasted time on websites like the one that gives us this beauty:

image courtesy of awkwardfamilyphotos.com

That's right. An entire website devoted to awkward family photos. My life is complete.

Comments

  1. sarahtp6:37 AM

    OMG. This site is priceless. I especially like the AFP Grandparents.

    ReplyDelete
  2. sarahtp6:38 AM

    … and the creepy Easter bunny in this one: http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/2010/04/02/the-visitor/

    ReplyDelete
  3. afro-chick8:16 AM

    HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.
    you need to come see my family pictures. (:

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thin
1 comment
Read more

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro
2 comments
Read more

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st
Post a Comment
Read more