Angry Bird.....

Little Bird is well. Better than yesterday or the day before. She's still on IV antibiotics, but her labs came back clean. With the exception of the trachea bug, she's not fending off anything else, and nothing viral. Her vent pressures and oxygen level have both been lowered back down to where they were. She's also no longer under isolation. Her fundo wound site looks a hundred times better than it did seventy two hours ago. The surgeon came in an removed a sketchy looking patch of skin. That in itself isn't pretty, but it's what needed to be done in order to keep the infection from turning into something uncontrollable. I've made another deal with her. Now, I hate needles. And I'm probably one of the few remaining people on the planet who doesn't have a tattoo. But, as she gets older, if this or any other scar ever makes her feel anything less than perfect, I'll have the same patterns inscribed on myself. Same sizes. Same locations. Although, her's will always be more beautiful.

She was pretty tired today, and a bit clammy. But her fever broke, and she's catching her second wind. Today was laundry day, so ya'll will get a kick out of the itty bitty patient gown she was sporting until her sleepers came back from the cleaners. I am sooo keeping it when we come home. She looks more miserable than she actually was in the photos. Don't let the boo-boo faces fool you. She was more of a bossy Buddha than anything else. And that's a good thing. Unless they're too sick to complain, kids generally are bitchy when they're under the weather. She was just practicing for those pre-teen sighs and eye rolls. It's going to be interesting having her here at home. Number Five and Number Four argue every single day over who's supposed to listen to whom. Of course, Number Four claims top position on the female totem pole in this family. Neither of them ain't seen nuthin' yet. Little Bird may be tiny, but I wouldn't mess with her!

"You don't want none of this!"

"Not that shiny box again!"

"And now you're gonna play with my tubes?!"

"You're not funny, Momma!"

Putting The Maloik On Us

"You hold me right now, Momma!"

"I mean it!"

"You want a piece of me?"

"I not gonna smile for you! So there!"

Even her nurse was intimidated by her! Little Bird has trach care twice a day. This involves changing the ties that hold the Bivona in place, as well as the sponge that's there for her comfort, and cleaning all around her neck. Or, lack there of. Let's face it. Babies don't have necks. They all look like turtles until approximately a year old, and even then it's damn near impossible to differentiate. This kid's got so many rolls that I wouldn't be surprised if they found Hoffa under one of them. So, in order to accomplish keeping her skin healthy, they need to swaddle her straight-jacket style, and contort her enough to get in there and get it done. Never has she ever allowed them to do it without a fight. But for some reason, she tolerates MFH and I. Dare I say, she even cooperates? They swear it's true. And in terms of them grading us on our care giving capabilities, so far, we're scoring pretty damn high. A combination of both that and grace under pressure. Tonight, as I held her and the trach in place, MFH did everything else. But as he removed the sponge, the trach dislodged. He caught it immediately, and - don't even ask me how - but we managed to not panic. We just reinserted it and kept doing what we were supposed to be doing. And apparently, we shocked the hell out of her nurse. She told us that we were the first set of parents that she's seen not completely lose it. We credit one too many previous close calls. Little Bird didn't so much as flinch, either. She's well aware of the fact that she's coming home to live with Ralph and Alice. Might as well get used to it now, kid. 
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