Isaac is speeding along and finally making some significant progress. I find myself being torn between being very excited and very cautious. I certainly want to enjoy the progress, but I am admittedly afraid of whether it will last. It seems so foreign to me that he's doing well. I almost don't know how to handle it. Strange.

The NICU has certain criteria that must be met before they will allow a baby to go home. One of those is Isaac must be at least 4 lbs and gaining weight steadily. He's 3 lbs 12 oz and should hit 4 lbs in a couple of days if his weight gain continues as it has been. Crazy.

The other criteria are a ways off for us--but the fact that he's even accomplishing one is huge. In order to come home 1) He must be off the vent and CPAP and breathing on his own (sometimes they'll send babies home with an oxygen cannula, but we'll see). 2) Able to get food from a bottle or breast. 3) No apnea (stopping breathing) episodes for 7 days.

His PICC line (PICC is a long, thin, catheter. It is inserted into one of the large veins of the arm near the bend of the elbow. It is then pushed into the vein until the tip sits in a large vein just above the heart. It is used to administer fluids and medication) has been removed since he no longer needs his food through IV and he's no longer getting so many meds. Besides his leads (little stick on sensors that monitor heart and respiratory rates and oxygen saturation levels) he's virtually tube free. He just has his CPAP. It's so much easier to get him in and out of his isolette.

I realized today that I have a growing resentment towards his isolette. On the one hand it is keeping him alive. On the other, it is keeping him from having a normal interaction with the world and keeping him from us. Having to look at my baby through a sheet of plastic has become more and more frustrating for me--especially as he gets bigger and more responsive.

During the first 6-8 weeks, Isaac was too immature and sick to really benefit much from our presence. It was beneficial, but also super overwhelming for him. Often, even speaking to him or just touching his little hand would overwhelm him and we would have to stop. That was difficult in its own way, but at least when we left we knew it was also beneficial because he needed peace and quiet so badly.

Now, he's more able to tolerate stimulation and does benefit from our interaction with him--especially the skin to skin holding. Today when I put him back after holding him, he got so super angry. It was amusing, but it also broke my heart. He knows who I am now--he knows the difference between when I am there and when I am not. He loves when I hold him, hold his little hand, give him his pacifier, etc. I know he doesn't need me there around the clock, but the 4-5 hours it ends up being each day is so glaringly inadequate--for him and for me.

I can't help thinking of those stories of babies in orphanages in Romania who die or are completely catatonic because no one has ever held them or shown them love. Obviously, that is not the case here but I'm becoming paranoid as to whether or not he will suffer from spending the first 4 months of his life in a plastic box. Ohhh--it's driving me crazy. I have to stop thinking about this or I will lose my mind. There is nothing I can do about it. ARGHHHHHH.