Pop quiz:  For all you Dobsonites- what year’s yearbook featured “hip slang” including the word “chillax”? Benjy’s in daycare.  I think I’ve mentioned that.  In Finland (I seem to be using that phrase a lot recently- I guess I’m really educating you all, huh?), daycare is heavily, heavily subsidized.  And it’s provided by the city.  And there’s a law that states that the city must provide a child with daycare within four months of his/her application.  The catch?  They might place your kid in a daycare 5 miles from your house (I know by American standards, this is not a big deal, but keep in mind that I don’t have access to a car to retrieve my child from daycare) if that’s the only place with room at the end of four months. We started the daycare process back in August.  I had no intention of putting Benjy in daycare when Henry was born. We’ll be fine I thought.  But then I was watching him in the park, watching him try to play with other kids and being rebuffed.  And it broke my heart.  Right in half. Benjy needed friends. Benjy, of course, has friends, but they all live in various places throughout the Helsinki Metro Area.  Again, keep in mind that I don’t have access to a car (yes, we own.  No, I neither know how or am legally

I’ve interrupted Henry’s diaper change to bring you this important update. Henry’s scar is healing nicely.  That is all

I know the cliche.  All babies do is eat, sleep, and poop. But this baby?  My little Henry?  He- get this- SLEEPS WHEN HE’S SUPPOSED TO. He’s awake during the day and sleeps at night. Like, for real. Sure, he wakes up to eat, but then it’s right back to bed.  This means that I, too, the mother of a two week old, including my afternoon nap, get a whopping EIGHT HOURS OR MORE of sleep day!!!  Insane, right? Insane

This is the only picture I took to remind me of the worst 24 hours of my life. Worse than being pregnant with the stomach flu. Worse than traveling across the ocean as a single parent with Benjy. Worse than the worse teenage breakup heartache ever. I’m talking about the 24 hours in the hospital that I spent living and dying with every x-ray, as a team of nurses, technicians, and surgeons struggled to find out what was wrong with Henry. The ultimate verdict?  Nothing.  There is nothing wrong with Henry.  He’s just gassy. But it took 24 hours of blood tests, x-rays, an IV, and overnight observation for them to determine this. It all started Tuesday morning, with his “before you leave the hospital” check up.  Henry had been throwing up.  Throwing up a bit more than they were comfortable with.  We got the go ahead to leave, with the warning that if he threw up even once more that day, we’d have to return to hospital. I was so ready to get out of there that I was willing to risk it. But as we were getting everything packed and ready for our departure (I had JUST changed out of my hospital gown into normal clothes), he threw up.  Darn.  We had to stay. Our ward nurses eventually sent us down to the NICU to get their opinion