Betterness by Kawika Holbrook

To My Daughter on Labels

Dear Sloan,

I'm watching you sleep in your isolette. You look very peaceful on your back, resting your head on your right hand. Sometimes, though not now, you put one or both hands behind your head, just looking around to take everything in. I love that about you.

You had a big day today. Your mother fed you for the first time from a bottle. You weighed in at 1510 grams, which is another solid gain. A few more weeks like this and ... well, I don't want to get ahead of myself.

I learned the other day that your doctors called you a "micropreemie." The state of California considers you, at least temporarily, "disabled." Later, when we're allowed to take you home, we'll get visits from a social worker because you'll be an "at-risk infant."

These are standard labels to classify your care. But I want you to know that they are not you. As you grow up, schools may label you as someone with "special needs" or "gifted." Other kids may label you with nicknames because of your size, eyesight or some other difference. Adults may label you because it's easier for them if you fit into their understanding of the world.

Just remember that you are filled with infinite possibilities, and no one can predict with certainty your measure or contributions in life.

Your nurses and doctors help me remeber this fact, too. They won't predict when we can remove your nasal cannula or feeding tube. They won't give me an estimate of when you can come home. And each time I ask if some issue or report is "normal," the reply never includes a simple yes or no.

Instead, I sit by your isolette. A monitor beeps out stats. Yours are good for the moment. Other babies fuss and cry. But you, with your hand on your cheek, are sleeping after a big day with your mom.

I am happy.

Love,

Dad

Ants Marching

The Raid Double Control Ant Baits have 24 more hours to work before I go nuclear. 

Through the Looking Glass

Sloan needed her rest, so we just spent this evening watching her.

To My Daughter on Her Care

Dear Sloan,

We leave you each night in the care of kind and gentle nurses. It is hard for us to go when you are awake, but we know you need time to sleep and grow. You have a good home for now in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at the Kaiser Permanente Santa Clara Medical Center. In addition to all the nurses and doctors, each preterm baby there has a case worker. Yours was kind enough to write us a progress report on June 23. I'm saving it here so our family and friends can learn more about how you're doing. They are so kind to us, but we can't always write or call them with updates about you. I want you to know that, next to your health and own happiness, keeping friends and family in your heart is more important than anything else in the world.

Best Father's Day ever (even if it was my first)

Held my daughter for the first time on a few hours ago. Definitely the best gift Father's Day gift I have ever received. Okay, it was my first Father's Day. Still, my daughter is practically glowing with pride for her dad.

(The bili light is a phototherapy tool to treat newborn jaundice, called hyperbilirubinemia, which was a symptom of Sloan's early delivery. It's working.)

To My Daughter on Life's Plans

Your mom is resting right now in a part of the hospital called "Mother/Baby." This is where both moms and newborns recover from the hard work of birth together. Moms learn how to feed their babies, change their diapers, and hold them tight to keep them safe and make them happy.

I hear baby noises in the other rooms. I see families hugging happy dads in hallways. The smell of talcum powder floats from somewhere. New parents are kissing their babies and stroking their faces. After a day or two, they pack everything up and go home together.

But you and your mom aren't in the same room. The two of you have only been together a few times so far. Your doctors say that stroking your cheek or playing with your fingers will hurt you right now. Everyone congratulates us on your arrival, but the timing seems a bit off.

Your mom's friends and family didn't have time to throw her a baby shower. She didn't have time to build a nursery. She didn't get to see her belly grow big like other moms. And, even though it's not her fault, she feels as if she did something wrong because you couldn't stay inside her even one more day.

Despite all of this, last night your mom saw that I was very tired. She told me to go home and sleep in our bed.

I was sad to leave her alone for the night. I dropped off a small bottle of her milk for you at the NICU and said goodnight. As I bent down to kiss the glass of your isolette, you opened your eyes a bit and reached out with your tiny, tiny hand. I didn't want to leave you alone with all the wires and tubes and monitors and scary beeping noises, but I promised your mom I would get some rest and I know your nurses take good care of you.

So I left the hospital and went home. I even left our wonderful dog overnight at a kennel.

But I couldn't sleep. Instead, I thought about everything you and your mom did not get to have. I decided to play some music, hoping it might make me feel better. I played your mom's favorite song, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World" by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. It always makes her cry and smile at the same time.

I played a song John Lennon wrote to his son, explaining that "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." And I played a song by The Rolling Stones called "You Can't Always Get What You Want," where they reminded me that if I try, I might just get what I need.

That's all I remember before falling asleep.

It's morning, now. The sun is shining through the blinds. The time is later than I wanted, but I feel better now.

See, you're going to grow. Your mom will get her shower. The nursery will be built. In time, we'll get to kiss your face and play with your fingers and put you in a stroller to take you home and get to do everything else parents get to do.

And there won't be a single day for the rest of my life that I won't look in the mirror and see the luckiest husband and father in the whole wide world. Because with you and your mom, I have everything I need.

Love,

Dad

To My Daughter on Her Name

Your mother got to see you for the first time yesterday afternoon, and she cried. That made me happy. I know this sounds odd, but I think you'll understand in time.

Your mom was getting medicine that made her sleepy, so she couldn't spend much time with you before going back to her hospital room. In that short time, though, she fell in love.

Your mom saw herself in your face. That made me very happy, because I think she is beautiful.

Late last night, she was able to make the tiniest amount of food for you, which the doctors say will be good for her and good for you. We came to visit one more time with a surprise called "kangarooing." Very slowly, and with a lot of care, your nurse removed you from your isolette and laid you on top of your mom's chest.

For the next two hours, your skin touched her skin. You look at your mom. "She's so tiny," your mom told me. "I didn't know it would be like this."

She was scared. That didn't last long, though, because "skin to skin" made both of you feel better. You stopped fussing and she started beaming. I saw joy wash over her like a warm shower. When you open your eyes to look up at her, everything was right with the world.

You may be tiny, but you're also strong. "She's a trooper," your nurse said. "She's a fighter," your mom's doctor said. "She'll battle through this just like her mother is doing," two friends said.

And that helped us decide your name.

Before she married me, your mom's last name was "Sloan." She liked it very much, and trading it for my last name wasn't easy. In Irish, "Sloane" means warrior. Sloan is a shorter version of that.

So, because you'll need all the strength you can get. And because you're mom's family name means so much to her. And because I thought of it first (ha ha), your first name will be Sloan. It's a good name, and I hope you like it.

We also get to give you a middle name, too. I grew up in Hawaii. My first name, Kawika, is Hawaiian. Everyone loves Hawaii. They are they most beautiful chain of islands in the world. In Hawaiian, "Kai" means sea and "Lani" means heaven or sky. "Kailani," then, seemed only fitting for you because we could search heaven and earth -- or sail the seven seas -- and still not find a daughter better for us than you.

Welcome to the world, Sloan Kailani Holbrook. Get ready for a great adventure.

Love,
Dad

To My Daughter on Her Birth Day

I can't wait for you to meet your mother. She's recovering in the ICU. You're in the NICU, tucked in an isolette, with lots of doctors and nurses to make sure you're comfortable (and me, too -- it's kind of overwhelming to see all the monitors, tubes, and wires all over the two of you).

You came into our lives a couple of months early, and —- to be honest -- we weren't really prepared. We don't even have a name for you yet. Maybe once mom gets to see you in person she'll like what I have in mind.

I named this place "Betterness" a long time ago, not truly sure what the name was supposed to mean. An ironic commentary on life? Storage for the stuff that I found interesting? Thinking aloud to understand myself? Perhaps. But after today, I think I have a much better idea. I'll write more about this soon.

Meanwhile, stay warm, be nice to your nurses, and get ready for a big, wonderful life. I'll see you in the morning.

Love,

Dad

How Social Media Really (Really) Works

Matt Haughey blogged on buying his 4-year-old a new swing set, and used the opportunity to warn against wasting money on self-described social media gurus:

So maybe instead of getting your company on twitter, paying marketers to mention you are on twitter, and paying people to blog about your company, forget all that and just make awesome stuff that gets people excited about your products, hire people that represent the company well, and when your stuff is so awesome that friends share it with other friends, you may not even need "social media marketing" after all.

I decided to comment, which I'm copying here:

As a father-to-be, I'm prowling the net looking for the right crib, the right stroller, the right advice on preventing boys from ever dating her, and the right everything else. I wouldn't know about most of these products (or of Howie Mandel's decision to prevent boys from dating her daughter by not potty training her) if the companies didn't engage in some type of marketing or PR.

For every good company that is fortunate to have news about its products or services included in a popular news story, there are plenty of other good companies that need help getting the word out.

Where to Find Me

So, it's obvious I'm having a challenging time updating Betterness, but I'm having no problem with any of these sites:

• Procrastinating Faster in Tumblr
• Kawika on Twitter
• Kawika on FriendFeed
• Kawika on Facebook

I promise to get it all straightened out eventually.

Tracking All 895 of Obama's Promises

Todd Smith at Ideapalooza cataloged every promise Barack Obama made -- all 895, by his count -- in an Excel document. You can track promises made, kept, and broken by both percentage and quantity. The spreadsheet is too large to upload to Google Docs, I discovered, but it cries out to be a web application. (via Marc Ambinder)

November 4, 2008

I voted for Barack Obama. I am proud to be an American.

100 Days

After dozens of Constitutional violations, hundreds of war prisoners tortured, thousands of warrant-less wiretaps, tens of thousands of soldiers wounded or killed, hundreds of thousands of jobs lost, millions of houses foreclosed, billions of dollars squandered, and trillions of dollars of new debt, Bush and Cheney have only 100 days left in office.

I'd like President Obama to issue specific pardons for each and every one of their violations Pardons would help history record their malfeasance while helping the country move on to cleaning up this mess.

Obama's better than that, of course. I'm just so sad that we've spent the last eight years flushing our values, taxes and potential down the drain.

Contrasts

This snapshot of The Wall Street Journal's homepage tonight pretty much says it all for me. One candidate is focused on his negative campaigning and the other one is focused on the economy. One party is convincing more people to donate while the other loses their fight to stop an ethics investigation. I'm pretty sure I know who I'm voting for (and, believe me, it's nice to vote for someone -- rather than against someone -- for a change).

5 Lies I Tell Myself

1. I'm hungry. More than likely, I'm anxious. Or bored. Or distracted. Snacking, which has historically been most of my eating, is a self-medicating habit born of a desire to avoid thinking or doing something I'd rather not. And, like most people surrounded by food options, I often mistake hunger for thirst. Just having nearby some low-calorie drinks or flavored water often does the trick. Yesterday morning, after running 8.5 miles, I though I'd be ravenous. I wasn't. Just thirsty. After a couple waters I was fine until lunch.
2. I'll do it later. Truth is, plenty of times I never get to it -- whatever it is -- or, by the time I start it, it has morphed into something else less useful, helpful, or effective. Procrastination has been the bane of my existence. I excel in the art of finding ways to put off today what I expect can be done tomorrow. Simply wanting to start a task or project later should inform me that it's best to start it now. And, as is often the case, I have multiple tasks bearing down on me, it's best to start the most challenging of them first. Because there's nothing worse that working all week long to find the biggest chore or toughest project waiting for you when the weekend arrives.
3. I'll stretch after. My legs are as flexible as cement pylons. My left calf and Achilles tendon seem permanently sore. You'd think that running the length of a half marathon most weekends would force me to stretch at least a few minutes before and after. You'd think that, but you'd be wrong. I often take off without any stretching and wrap up with a few toe touches and foot flexings. If I have any hope of qualifying for the Boston Marathon, I have to stretch religiously. Five minutes before and after each run is the least I can do for my legs' long-term health.
4. I do my fair share. My wife works late every day. Her job is important. She faces a management crisis almost every week. And her departments are so understaffed that she has no real hope of catching up in the foreseeable future. Which is why I handle the laundry, garbage, dishes, bills, and most other household chores. When people hear that, I get compliments. I shouldn't. Because my "fair share" would really include more. I've never parked a car in our cluttered garage. I've never had made a home for my wife's paperwork. I've relied too much on paying other people to do things I could do myself. Small chores, no longer left for later, would give her more breathing room. Me too, most likely.
5. I know better. There are millions of people who think John McCain is a maverick ("we want four more years of Bush!"), or hope to eliminate the right of same-sex couples to marry ("gay love threaten me!"), and believe “The Flintstones” was based on a true story ("dumb down science with religion!"). I disagree with their positions and think we'll be worse off if they win in November. However, I won't change a single mind or vote by mocking opponents. The few people who do pay attention to opposing opinions would find it far easier to reflexively defend fact-free positions than listen to someone berating their beliefs. The better argument begins with, "Let me understand you" — and not as a passive-aggressive shiv. I need to re-read "A Conservative for Obama" every time my blood boils over news of another misleading McCain ad, painful Palin gaffe, or misinformed Christian conservative who neither sounds very Christian or acts very conservative. Seek to understand, in other words, before seeking to be understood.