Aila meets Aoife Lily

April 22, 2017, 1:31 a.m.

Sweet Aoife Lily Cosgrove joined her family on April 14th, 2017 at 9:47am. At 7lbs, 4.5oz, she was bigger than Zander and Declan (both weighed in at 7lbs, 3oz) but smaller than Aila (at 8lbs, 1oz).

The first ten days of Aoife's life have been accompanied by a sweeping onslaught of change and a wonderful and overwhelming range of complicated emotions for her brothers, sister, and parents. She is amazing! She had a full head of dark brown hair when she was born, and she has been calm and curious since her first day. She likes warm milk and cozy hugs, and she is very patient as her older siblings hug her and show her their toys, confused when she doesn't think that Captain America is thrilling.

Aoife was born via c-section--her mother's fourth in six years. Our hospital stay was an emotionally confusing experience for everyone, which Brian and I had anticipated. Our room for four nights was on the first floor of Lucile Packard Children's Hospital at Stanford, just down the hall from the Bass Center for Childhood Cancer, where we had lived for a month with Aila when she was first diagnosed and before we had shifted her care to UCSF. Aila and Zander remembered the toy train exhibit in the hallway that separated the two units, and Brian and I of course remembered much, much more. Aila was extremely confused why her mother was in the hospital bed alone, without her. Why her port wasn't accessed and the nurses were not interested in talking to her. Every time she visited, she made comparisons between things at Packard and things at "my hospital," like IV pumps that were similar and food that was different. Fascinated by "my cut where the baby came out" and by the IV in my arm but confused why the attention was focused on Aoife and not on her.

To be honest, it even felt strange to me to sleep in the hospital bed without Aila. Even during her last hospitalization, when I was 35 weeks pregnant, I cuddled up next to her and slept by her side. I felt lonely without her next to me.

Brian stayed with me in the hospital, and Priscilla (our amazing nanny) stayed with the kids at home. They visited every day, and each day I felt a bit more like myself. Compared with collicky Declan or hungry, screaming Zander, infant Aoife has been very manageable, reminding us of her older sister at this age. Compared to leukemia, she is a breeze. The hard part is figuring out where she fits, truthfully. She's new, and she's missed so much that the five of us have endured together. I think none of us quite knows whether to invite her into the pandemonium or to spare her the grief, as if the latter were even a possibility.

Brian and I both wept alongside her when she met the world with a soft and manageable cry, so grateful for the peaceful joy. During her first ten days of life, she has slept a lot and cried very little. Often, we have put sleeping Aoife down in her baby seat to respond to Declan's latest request for "teetee" (his name for milk), Zander's most recent episode of dramatic door slamming, or Aila's demands for a(nother) snack...only to realize a short time later that indeed there is now a fourth, quiet in her chair, making no demands. This has all led me to think that somehow she knows...that we are so very excited for her to join us...but also tired. Worn out from the drama and relentlessness of cancer. Eager for calm, simplicity, and healing.

Her name, pronounced "Eee-fa," is of Gaelic origin, meaning beauty and radiance. It's also often used as an anglicized version of Eve, meaning life. We love you, Aoife Lily. Beautiful. Life.