An Interview with My Preemie

Even though I’m taking a break from blogging here, I’m still blogging over on the Preemie Babies 101 site.

You can read the beginning here and then head over there to read the rest of the fun interview I did with Andie!

An Interview with My Preemie

Kasey with children

At the end of this past summer, I sat down with my 15-year-old boy and interviewed him about being the sibling of a preemie.  After that interview, it seemed only natural to interview the preemie herself.  So my daughter, Andie and I recently sat down across a table from each other at a Panera Bread.  She slurped her chicken noodle soup, and I pretended to put on my journalist persona.

Nice to meet you, Andie. Thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet me. 

No problem, Mom!

So, tell me, do you think of yourself as a preemie?

Not really.  Well I mean, sometimes, like when I’m not good in math, or something else, like if I drink my water weirdly, like Tucker says I do, I wonder if other preemies do that?  That’s how my mind works…I compare myself to other people and wonder about how other people do things.

Do you ever tell people you were a preemie?

If it comes up.  Sometimes I want people to know.  I mean, like, I don’t say, “Look at these scars on my tummy,” but I want people to know if they’re wondering. Like at the soccer party, when we went in the hot tub, and I was in a bikini and one of the girls asked what happened to my stomach.

What’d you tell her?

Be well,



Before My Eyes


Yesterday he was one,

and then he was five,

soon eight, then ten, then twelve.

Today he’s fourteen, turning fifteen in a month.

 And all along, so much more little boy than man;

his talks of someday fanciful and improbable.

And then six months ago, 3 inches and 11 pounds overnight.

Suddenly the boy who subsisted on air was eating five meals a day.

And then another 3 inches and who knows how many more pounds.

We often stand back to back;

I still have a 1/2 an inch on him,

but not for long.

Each morning now I drive him to work at the local farm.

    As I study him telling me about pigs and fencing, chicken coops, soil composition and cooking garlic scapes, I realize that before my eyes he’s gone from little boy to so much more man.

But I’m not sad like I thought I’d be.

Because really it didn’t happen overnight.

Just like he first learned to roll over and then sit up; crawl and then stand,

I learned right along with him then,

Just as I am learning right along with him now.



At the urging of my publisher I began writing a blog to promote my book before it was published.  “You need to build a platform, an audience,” the publisher had said.  But I don’t want to write a blog I whined in my mind, and then I began a blog.  And a funny thing happened.  I discovered that I absolutely love keeping a blog.  And then a not so funny thing happened.  My publisher, like so many others, was looking at an uncertain financial future.  Which meant that my book was also looking at an uncertain future.  More to the point, it meant I was back at square one looking for a new home for my “baby.”

More often than not, I’m a “look for the silver lining” sort of gal.  Yet, this time, as much as I tried saying out loud, “I’m sure my book will end up in an even better place!” I had a terrible stomachache and even whispered the words, I don’t care if the book ever gets published and I don’t want to write anymore.

I tried pulling myself out of the shock, depression and grief, but long walks, frequent naps and chocolate bars only left me feeling more sick, exhausted and hopeless.

When I went into premature labor with Andie 10 years ago, I looked desperately into the eyes of a nurse and saidthings like this don’t happen to me and she looked right back at me and said they do now.

Now, 10 years later I’ve learned that the book about my daughter’s uncertain birth faces and uncertain birth and I cried to a friend and said, things like this don’t happen to…  and even though I caught myself before I could finish, it didn’t matter.  My friend and I laughed at what I’d almost said.  And I know now, as I knew then, that yes, things like this – uncertainty, grief, sorrow, trauma – do happen to me.  And that I am strong and that I can overcome and that I must trust and believe and know… that anything is possible.