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| From blog photos |
Hey there! Team Martz has reached a major milestone. Our little dude turned ONE last week! I can hardly believe this is the case, but it’s true. This year has flown by with a swiftness I never could’ve imagined.
Last week was very emotional. Lots of happy tears, lots of sad ones. I often wanted to just hug the stuffing out of that boy. On his actual birthday, I was on the floor playing with him. He’s super active and squirmy these days and doesn’t sit still for long. I started getting choked up and told him, “Mommy needs a cuddle.” I held him close. He was still and just relaxed into me. It’s like he just knew exactly what I needed. I breathed in his baby smell, stroked his hair and rocked him. We stayed that way for a couple of minutes. Then it was back to business as usual for him – crawling around shoving everything in his mouth.
That night, Daddy and I had a little cupcake for him, which he promptly smashed to bits, flinging crumbs everywhere. I couldn’t get through the Happy Birthday song without crying. Later, after he went down for the night, we toasted him with a little Dom at exactly at 9:08, the time of his birth, then couldn’t help but take a stroll down memory lane. We remembered Steve’s terrifying ride from Marin to the hospital in Burlingame after my water broke. He thought it was game over and dreaded what would be waiting for him. We remembered watching American Idol 2 nights later waiting for our favorite contestant to perform, but discovering my cord had prolapsed and all hell broke loose.
Everything happened so fast after my cord prolapsed (10 minutes from discovery to delivery). My room filled up with doctors and nurses as we heard calls for stat this and that over the loudspeaker. A nurse hopped on my bed, shoved her hand all the way up in me to hold Jr. up so he wouldn’t compress the cord and cut off his oxygen supply. I winced in pain. I remember still not being clear on what exactly was about to take place and asked a nurse in a trembling voice, “Are you going to deliver him??” She gravely replied, “Oh yes.” I looked at Steve and the fear we both felt was palpable. I told him, “It’s just too soon.” Then everyone took off running for the O.R. (nurse’s hand still up my hoo ha) where they prepped me for an emergency c-section. There was no time for Steve to gown up and get in there, so he stood at the door and just kept saying, “I’m right here. I’m right here.” One thing I never knew until recently is Steve was standing there in his socks. There was zero time to think about putting on shoes. It would almost be funny if it weren’t so tragic.
I remember a really nice black woman, a nurse, with some kind of head scarf on having me drink something she said would neutralize the acid in my stomach. She told me I was doing great. Her voice was very steady and calm. I don’t remember the faces of anyone else in there, including the doctor who delivered Sam. Soon, the doors closed and Steve stood there wondering if his son would come out alive or if he’d be called in to say goodbye. In his socks.
I remember coming to and being so out of it, but asking if our son was alive. Eventually, my entire bed was rolled into the NICU so I could meet our son. He was so tiny, it seemed impossible that he had survived. That was the beginning of Sam’s 110 day stay.
We were there at his bedside day in and day out. We sat there and talked to him, read to him, sang to him, prayed for him and feared for his life. We were glued to the monitors displaying his vital stats. We’d see his oxygen saturation levels drop, he’d stop breathing and we’d have to rub his back and shake him a little to get him to breathe again. Every single day. Many times a day. He had so many setbacks and close calls, it’s astonishing he came through it. He kicked ass. To look at him now is to see a true Miracle. Our sweet boy who is so strong, so beautiful. There are still telltale signs of his battle. He’s got so many little scars on his hands and feet from the countless IVs, the delicate scar on his back from his PDA surgery. Though he is doing great, I will always see those scars and my heart will break a little.
We so looked forward to Sam’s birthday party. It was so humbling and so wonderful to see so many of the faces of those that supported us during the darkest time of our lives. Though there were tears, it was a day full of joy. And tacos. As many of you know, we came *this* close to having a crazy taco truck wedding complete with a mariachi band and buckets of Corona for centerpieces. Clearly, we went in a different direction, but the fun idea always remained in the back of our minds. And hey, it sure was an easy way to feed a HUNDRED people. You read correctly. There were more people at Sam’s party than at our wedding! LOL! Anyhoo, we couldn’t have ordered up a more perfect day. The weather was great, the food was great and we totally felt the love. We felt deeply satisfied and blessed. Btw, a very special thanks to Lamya & Scott for making Sam’s awesome Superman cake! It was absolutely perfect! Sam enjoyed destroying it. The way it smooshed between his fingers was quite fascinating to him.
I realize this post is all over the place, but that’s pretty much how we felt the last week. We would like to thank each and every one of you for the endless supply of love and support we received this past year. There were days that your texts, emails and phone messages lifted us up when we were struggling. We will FOREVER be grateful. We will never forget the blessing of your friendship.
Finally, to Sam…We know you will one day read this. Know that your Mommy and Daddy love you beyond measure. We are so very proud you are our son. The night you were born you filled our hearts to bursting. You make Team Martz complete. Happy Birthday, sweetheart!
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| From blog photos |
