When we had our son, the rage in parenting was attachment parenting. Attachment parenting encouraged a strong emotional bond with your child. It also championed child centered parenting: listening to your child's cues to figure out what to work on developmentally. So the training of us parents began at birth.

The concept I grasped with both hands was the idea that a child is trying to communicate from the moment of birth. Our son had three basic messages: feed me, I'm uncomfortable, and I'm lonely. For feed me, he would move his head toward a touch to the cheek, rooting. If we didn't respond in time, he cried. For uncomfortable, he had a different cry or scream. When he was lonely, he would start by squeaking; the squeaking turned to screaming if he was not comforted.

Attachment parenting allowed that not everything worked for every baby or every family. I went from being a person who vowed never to have a baby in their bed to a co-sleeper. I had two basic choices: either we slept for a half-hour alone or two hours at a time together. I went for more sleep. Breast feeding, though I tried everything in my power to accomplish it, was not really possible for me. I could, though, hold my son close to me everytime he ate.

We made our home child-friendly (plug protectors, anchored furniture, pots and pans at kid-reachable height for play), so when we did say "NO!", it really meant something crucial. We didn't say "NO!" just to keep muddy feet off the carpet. It all felt natural, and I do feel very connected to my son. So when we went to have our second child, I planned to do the same (though I wondered how I would keep meeting both child needs).

My daughter, who was whisked from my arms minutes from birth to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), had to have a moderated plan. I was suffering pneumonia when I gave birth to her, and I was not admittable to the NICU. I would be a life-threat to all the premature children in there. I understood this, but I found myself sending my husband to see her as much as possible. I knew she must have felt horribly lonely. I knew we would spend the rest of our life making up for those days of isolation before we could take her home.

Where I could wander the hospital, I looked for books on attachment parenting for children with medical needs. There were none, so I looked for books on parenting children with medical needs. There were diagnosis-specific books. I found none for "hmmmm we've never seen this combination before." So I had to throw out the idea of a book that would cover my needs. Instead, I created my own attachment parenting program for incorporated attachment principles with my daughter's medical equipment accessories.

As soon as I could get into the NICU, I was there, spending six to eight hours with her at a time. I made sure I arrived at a feeding time and held her close to me while feeding her through her g-tube. I sang to her and read young readers to her. Of course, I also snuggled and kissed her the whole time I was there. When we got her home, all I could think about was figuring out a way to co-sleep with her. Like my son, she developed her own language. Some of her medical needs were different then my son's, but basic needs were not: feed me, I'm uncomfortable, and I'm lonely. Together, my daughter and I developed our routine.

Despite the time in NICU and a later, three-month hospitalization, when I walk
into her room today, my daughter lights up and smiles. Yes, despite the earlier
obstacles, we are very much attached to each other.