Reemie The Preemie By Michael Tilford Illustrated by Hazel Mitchell www.Reemie.com
Copyright Š 2010 by Michael Tilford All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publishers and/or authors.
Dedicated to my little sister, Robin. Thanks for being there for me.
They cook babies, you know, at the hospital. Mom said so. She said “Robert, your sister Reemie didn't stay in the oven long enough, so she has to stay at least three months in the hospital.�
I knew that story about the stork was lame, but an oven! I get nervous when I think about it. I'm glad I don't remember that part.
Mom says Reemie's really sick, a preemie, which is what they call babies born before they're supposed to be born.
My name is Robert. Yeah, Robert. Dorky name but it's better than the nickname my brother Richard gave me when I was a baby. Richard is ten, I'm nine. He was a slow talker and he couldn't say Robert so he called me Boo.
I hate it. He still calls me that sometimes to get on my nerves and he's still kinda slow, if you ask me. I try not to let him know it bothers me. How would you like to be called "Boo", like someone’s trying to scare you? I ain't afraid of nothin. Except, maybe, Reemie not coming home.
If you hadn't noticed, we're kind of a weird family. Mom and Dad have this thing about "R" names. Richard, Robert, Reemie? Don't ask. It makes no sense to me. Dad is really going to have a breakdown trying to get our names straight. I can hear him now. "Richard-erReemie-er-Robert! Get in here now!"
Anyway, I guess it could be worse. Mom was real queasy when she was first pregnant with all of us and she could only eat Jell-O. We're lucky were not named Orange, Lemon and Lime!
Reemie only weighed one and a half pounds when she was born. She's been born for two weeks now. Her lungs still aren't big and strong enough. She has a tube down her throat that goes to her lungs and it's hooked to a breathing machine.
Mom says the machine vibrates her tiny chest a million miles an hour and she doesn't have to breathe unless she wants to. That is too cool! I want to see her myself and hold her and tell her all kinds of things.
I can’t wait to tell her all the things she’ll need to know, like "don't chew with your mouth open, like Richard", or "don't eat yellow snow" and "make sure to keep backup copies of your hard drive” and other important stuff. But I can’t visit her until she’s bigger and stronger.
Mom brings me pictures of Reemie. It's like something from a fairy tale. She has tubes stuck in her everywhere. That's how she gets her food and medicine. That's good if you ask me, I bet the medicine tastes yuck. She also has this blue pad under her that glows. I think it makes her look like an angel.
I guess I'm the middle child now. Dad was a middle child too. The middle child gets hardly any pictures in the family picture album. Years from now, when they look at our family history in pictures, they'll think I fell off the face of the earth at age nine.
Reemie's getting bigger. They finally took the tubes and the breathing machine away. I still can't visit her, something about RSV disease, it's like a really bad cold. She can get it real easy from kids my age.
Reemie's almost four pounds now. She sucks a bottle. Just like a real baby. It won't be long now till she comes home. Hooray!
The nurses play music in Reemie's crib. The nurses say Reemie really likes country music. Country? She's ruined for the rest of her life!
She'll probably grow up and marry a cowboy and I'll be an uncle to a bunch of snotty nosed kids runnin' around with ropes, spurs and cowboy hats! I'm ruined! Somebody help me, please!
Reemie came home today! I'm so excited. That's me, her big brother holding her. Hey, I'm in the picture! She is too beautiful. I love her so much.
But, when she gets old enough we are gonna have a serious talk about this cowboy music thing. Reemie the preemie, welcome to your home sweet home on the range.
The End