It’s so easy to get in a reading rut. It’s even easier to not realize you’re in one. The key to reading more and often is choosing good books.
“OBVIOUSLY, JENNY,” you say.
“OBVIOUSLY, READER,” I counter.
But how do you choose good books? I don’t know how you do it, but here’s my convoluted method.
I am a member of the Goodreads community. I started by logging all the books I’ve read – alllll the way back to my grade-school days (I loved reading then, too, but took a long break when school got more intense).
1. Goodreads offers suggestions based on what you’ve read and rated.
2. I pick a book I’ve read and liked and read the reviews other Goodreads community members wrote for it. If I agree with their opinion, I click on their profile and browse their book selections.
3. I listen to my friends. We don’t all share the same taste in books, but a really great book often transcends typical preferences, and some of my favorite books have been ones that were forced on me by excited friends.
4. I’m a serial reader. If I find an author I love, I read everything that author writes, including books co-authored with other people, whose books I then read. I follow that author on Twitter, and I read books that author recommends. I read books by authors with whom that author interacts. It’s a giant snowballing process of awesome books and authors, and while it doesn’t always turn out five-star reads, it does always introduce me more books.
5. I get out there and look at physical books. I browse cover art, jacket synopses and worn library books. If it looks interesting, I visit Goodreads for a quick rating check (I don’t bother with books with a high number of low ratings, even though it might be a book I end up loving – I’m not generally a risk taker and prefer reading books with some sort of clout).
6. I’m a sucker for sales. I follow several publishing companies, authors and book bloggers on Twitter. They alert me to eBook sales. I browse local bargain stores and the library’s book sales. If a book is $2.99 or less and looks/sounds good, I buy it.
7. I subsidize my reading habit with the library. I’d read far less if I had to pay for each book I read. Public libraries are amazing places. My county’s public library lacks a lot of what I want to read, so I pay an annual fee for access to a neighboring county’s system. The cost/savings ratio is ridiculously tipped in favor of savings.
To be perfectly honest, I use all seven “methods” together. I cross reference, cross multiply, carry the one, subtract the four and multiply by the power of infinity because a good book is worth the extra hunting effort.
Are we friends on Goodreads yet? If not, WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM?
Callista threw a fit on the floor when I wouldn’t let her take spoons from the kitchen. While I’d normally let a tantrum play out until it dissipates or escalates, Eleanor decided her sister deserved a time out, and Callista obliged.
Me? I watched, laughed and recorded it. I mean, what else would I have done?
There’s a sweet spot between focusing too much on what could have happened and being drop-to-your-knees thankful that it didn’t, or so They want you to believe.
“Be grateful for what you have.” “Just focus on the positive.” “Don’t think about what could have happened.”
It’s impossible to appreciate a near miss without acknowledging what you narrowly avoided.
Sometimes I look at Callista and need to pull her in my lap and cover the top of her head in kisses because I remember the day we learned via ultrasound that she had “expired.” I remember feeling that word yank away my hopes and dreams for Baby C, but I also remember her miraculous comeback. She was gone, yet here she runs and plays and sings and hugs and kisses.
Thank you, God.
Sometimes I marvel at Eleanor running and jumping and remember how terrified I was during her first few days. She was quieter and moved less than her brother and sister. She was smaller. She lost more weight. She looked sick. Her test results landed us in a long, scary conversation with her neonatologist and left us with a wait-and-see partial diagnosis. I remember finally pulling myself apart from my fear by focusing on the one fact that hadn’t yet been questioned: Eleanor is alive. She turned the corner quickly after that, and since then, my focus has been blurred by her constant movement and achievements and absolute zest.
Thank you, God.
Sometimes I look at Toby and remember curling into myself on the big chair in our bedspace, watching a neonatologist with his hands through the portals on one side of his isolette and the charge nurse with her hands through the other side. Flanked by their sides were his nurse for the day and a respiratory therapist, and hovering about, nurses who peered in to check on our little charmer, monitor alarms going off, no improvement and no answer as to why. I couldn’t move. I wanted to scream, to cry, to know what was happening and that it would be OK. They finally stabilized him, and we waited for his blood test results while his new IV administered precautionary medication. They could never determine a cause, but he somehow recovered.
Thank you, God.
Our busy life lets a fog settle over thoughts of what could have happened and even acknowledgment of what did. My three miracles are growing too quickly for me to reflect on the scariest moments of their past, but I sometimes have a quiet moment that allows the fog to lift and the memories to flood back into focus.
Thank you, God.
I ran across a blogger’s rant about National Infertility Awareness Week today and just shook my head.
The author, who shall remain unlinked, claims that NIAW is nothing more than a self-serving week to allow infertiles to push their medical advice down unsuspecting victims’ throats.
That’s paraphrasing, of course.
Nay, dear readers. This particular blogger couldn’t be further off the mark.
NIAW exists to encourage people to Join the Movement, just as this year’s theme directs.
It’s not to spread unsolicited medical advice to people who either don’t care or who already know because their doctors have shared such information.
NIAW sets aside a week for us to join together at once and pass along treatment experiences, a glimpse at diagnoses and possible avenues that haven’t yet been explored.
We share our medical knowledge to help our sisters and brothers who are currently fighting infertility. We share our medical experiences to underline the need for further research and discoveries. We share our medical jargon to plant a seed of trivia in the brains of others in hopes that someday, if they or a dear loved one or friend someday start their own infertility journey, they’ll remember us as a source of support – be it direct or indirect.
We share our pain because that’s the human experience. Part of having friends and family is having a support system that helps carry your load. Humans are social animals, and we’re designed to run in packs. We work best when we work together, even if that means having a sad conversation over coffee.
We share our hopes because they’re the same as so many. Hey, Curious, Caring Family Member! I know you think Husband and I will make wonderful parents some day and are super excited to see us in that role. We agree! We aren’t holding you back from an expanding-family experience – one in eight people take longer and need more help than others to grow their family, and guess what. We’re part of that small fraction. Maybe you were once upon a time, too.
We join the movement and we encourage others to do the same because we want to make this path easier for everyone it affects, including the children we work so hard to create.
Our family is one of the lucky ones. We beat infertility but the W only goes in my generation’s column. I can’t predict the fertility of my children once they reach their reproduction years, but I can work now to help their world prepare for the battles they or their peers might face.
Visit Resolve.org for an easy-to-follow explanation of infertility, who it affects and how or to learn more about National Infertility Awareness Week. For a quick rundown of my own infertility journey, check out my About page, for the long story, read my past entries on infertility.
I’ve experienced nothing more helplessly frightening than giving birth to premature infants. I felt like I held my breath from the moment I rolled into the operating room until the moment we drove away from the NICU with three occupied car seats (honestly, I didn’t let go of that breath for a long time after that). Trust is something that’s normally earned, but with premature birth, trust becomes an instant requirement.
Nick Hall, the founder of Graham’s Foundation and a fellow NICU parent, has provided tips for new parents who are facing time in the NICU after a premature birth.
Read and print out your Crib Sheet WIth NICU Tips Now..
So Where Do You Fit In?
Hall starts off by explaining how you’re an important member of your child’s or children’s NICU team. As you spend more time in the unit, talk with your nurses, therapists, doctors and other staffers about more than health and care. Getting to know the staff will show you that they care, that they aren’t just about business and moving babies in and out. Knowing that they care will ease your mind and help you find your comfort zone. You’ll be at your strongest when you aren’t intimidated, and your preemie needs you to be strong.
NICU Day 3: I wasn’t yet allowed to hold anyone, but I got my hands in their isolettes whenever I could. Here, I’m lingering after doing a containment hold during a heel stick on Callista.
Find Balance in Knowing the Right Amount for You
Being thrown into NICU life is overwhelming, but I agree with the old adage, “Knowledge is power.” As your preemie’s parent and guardian, you will be asked to make decisions from the moment you first meet. You can’t make decisions without knowing your choices, so be informed. Maybe you don’t need to know that your baby’s hematocrit is low because neonates before a certain gestation don’t rapidly create enough red blood cells to replenish the frequent blood tests preemies need, causing your baby to struggle and need more intervention with breathing and heart rate. Maybe you just want to know that your preemie is struggling with more apnea/bradycardia/desaturation events because he or she needs a transfusion. There’s a difference between thirsting for the reason behind every tick and tock and knowing simple cause and effect. My bottom line is know enough to keep you comfortable, but know something.
I manage a grin through tearful relief at holding Tobias for the first time
Emotional Roller Coasters
While I don’t think it’s possible to simply let go of guilt, the reality is that the emotions of a NICU parent are vast and various. I don’t think it’s possible to squelch guilt if that’s what you’re feeling, but that useless, dangerous emotion is best shelved until later. Use your emotions and brain power during your time in the NICU for forward thinking as often as you can and take time to talk with friends, a religious figure or your doctor when you have some down time. A surprise outlet I found were our NICU nurses — many of them were former NICU mothers themselves, and their combined experiences as NICU mothers and nurses was a priceless resource.
Kangaroo care with two preemies is double the cuteness.
Bonding Time
Many families can’t freely touch their babies let alone hold them, and when you’ve either experienced newborn care with older children or you’ve merely witnessed the hands-on bonding of other parents, it feels absolutely unnatural to sit beside a plastic box with your baby inside. As Hall says in the crib sheet, the good news is even the tiniest, sickest babies still need care, and your NICU will welcome your eagerness to step in. Change diapers, check temperatures, hold the feeding tube as tiny amounts of breast milk or formula are administered, or simply cup your hands at the baby’s feet and head for containment therapy. The staff may look busy and in a routine that shouldn’t be interrupted, but you’re still the parent, and they want you to feel like a parent.
There are continuing arguments, studies and specific-case details that may have your NICU team recommending you wait to participate or heavily limit your kangaroo care. Because every NICU, every NICU nurse, every neonatologist and every baby are different, request kangaroo care often. Our team set restrictions for us early on. For weeks, each of my triplets could only be held once every three days. The rotation allowed me or my husband to hold one baby each day, and we felt lucky. It took some time before I realized our luck (or the fact that we were complacent and not argumentative about the decision) wasn’t important. Getting each baby into loving arms as often as safely possible was the most important thing. Our nurses later admitted to being too restrictive with care and not putting enough faith in the healing, loving touch of parents and our babies’ strength.
The more you interact with your baby, the more you’ll see his or her personality shining past the wires, tubes and plastic walls. Your voice will soothe, your stories will be heard, your hands will be welcome, and your scent will be craved. Your baby wants you more than anything else. Do what you can to meet that basic need.
Three weeks of motherhood behind me, I finally take charge during bath time with our nurse holding Toby’s oxygen support.
For the Times You Can’t Be There
When I couldn’t be in the NICU, I always knew I could call. I made more than one 3 a.m. phone call during our 67-day stay just to check in and see how everyone was doing as I set up my breast pump parts, ready to make my “off-duty” deposit.
Everybody is different, and for some — like my husband — spending hours upon hours in NICU is understandably difficult. Aside from hospital claustrophobia, things need to get done, such as career, family time, housework, and groceries. Time away from the unit is necessary, but time spent in the unit is time spent with your child. How is that unhealthy?
Spending 10-14 hours each day was feasible and was healthy for me. People tried telling me otherwise, but as a healthy adult, that choice was mine to make. Two years later, I still don’t regret it. It’s your decision, too.
Make family moments where you can. Here we are on our first Christmas together – two in my arms and one in the isolette after a particularly sever bradycardia event. We had attempted to get all three together in my arms but settled with Toby and Callista meeting for the first time post-birth while Eleanor recovered nearby in her bed.
Celebrations Abound
NICU milestones can be the same as those shared by all parents -– the first outfit, the first outfit in the next size up, the first bath, etc. –- but there are many unique to NICU parents. For instance, celebrate eating. I cheered for the first 1 mL (1/30 oz.) of milk each baby tolerated, given to them by a tube that ran into their mouths and down to their stomachs. I remember celebrating successful burps coaxed by me or my husband, impressively wet diapers and the decreasing frequency of heel sticks. If something changes in a positive direction, celebrate!
Equipment can get in the way of clear images, but the message can be just as cute as any newborn-at-home photo: “I’m this big!”
Take Care of Yourself Too
The only thing I can think to add to Hall’s advice is a hearty, “YES!” You can’t care for anyone else if you aren’t cared for first. Accept what people offer, and don’t be afraid to ask for more help. What’s the worst they can say? No? Chances are you’ve heard worse than, “No,” but chances are greater they or someone else will be happy to step in.
We four, reunited for the first time since they left my body six weeks earlier.
This post is part of the Absolute Beginners editorial series, made possible by Pampers and BlogHer. Our advertisers do not produce or approve editorial content.
