Sally had her first appointment with Dr. L this morning! He's a rather important person in the life of our little ear-infection-prone family, so this one-week-old well-visit was a special milestone indeed.
Getting there was a bit of an adventure: Sean and I were up with Sally from 2-5 am while she got increasingly hungry and exhausted and decreasingly able to latch and nurse. She managed a fairly inadequate meal and we all collapsed, waking up a little later than we'd hoped when Walter started stirring at 7 am. Sean got Walter set up with some peanut butter toast while the two of us scurried around trying to get both kids and all our kid-related accouterments ready to go as quickly as possible to get Sally to her 8:15 appointment on time.
I came out of the bathroom and the sight of Walter sitting in his booster seat (contentedly) eating his peanut butter toast all alone made me lose my mind with weeping. So, that took up a little time, too, though I mostly held it together until later this morning so my crying wouldn't alarm Walter. When we talked about it later, Sean made many very reasonable observations, including the fact that this was far from the first time Walter has eaten breakfast while we've been in and out of the room getting things ready, and having a sibling means more people who love Walter and whom Walter loves, not less. I am not entirely reasonable these days, but I appreciate that Sean's observations on this are correct, and well-informed by his experience with having siblings. I'm just feeling a little extra protective of my first born, these days. My baby.
We got both babies dressed and in the car, and even though Walter's breakfast was cut a little short and Sally's was put off until we could get her to the doctor's office, both settled in quite well in their carseats. Walter was incredibly pleased to be sitting next to Baby Sally. He went to day care and we made it pretty much on time for our appointment. I was desperate to nurse Sally and it felt like it took forever to get checked in, taken back to the exam room, and get Sally measured and weighed before we could try to nurse. It did not, in fact, take forever, and as usual the folks who work with Dr. L. were awesome about getting us settled in as quickly as possible. Thankfully, Sally latched immediately, even though we were nursing without a boppy pillow in a strange position in a strange place and she was crazy hungry, which often makes it hard for her to latch right when she needs it most. But this time it worked, and we were nursing quite well when Dr. L. came in and were done in time for him to look her over after we talked for a short while.
Sally's one week stats: weight, 6 lbs 15 oz (before eating breakfast, Sean notes); length, 19.5 inches; head circumference 13. 6 inches. Pretty much right on the median curve for all things--slightly lower than average for weight and height, right at 50% for noggin size. We are quite skeptical of her height measurement ... it seems unlikely that she would grow an inch and half in a week, especially considering that she's not back up to her birth weight, yet. I was disappointed, but not surprised, to hear her weight, but Dr. L. said that her weight is on its way up and that's all that matters. Same thing for the bilirubin--it's on it's way down, and it's not going to start climbing again. We're headed in the right direction on all counts.
It's funny ... I got very used to seeing Walter's extraordinary measurements as a measurement of (or maybe a helpful shorthand for) his overall extraordinary-ness. Sally's measurements aren't extraordinary, but clearly she is. Some first impressions of our bug:
**Sally is extraordinarily sweet and snuggly. She seems to love snuggling with us, and actively snuggles herself in to whoever's arms she's in. She seems to enjoy being in my arms, especially. I'm holding her right now, in fact ... she's in her favorite spot on my chest again.
**Sally makes a wonderful and very wide range of expressive noises and facial expressions. A recent example: after a rough start, Sally latched and started to nurse well. Right at the start, though, she unlatched and re-latched twice to look up at me and give an indignant, "EH!" Commentary, just to let me know she was not pleased with recent goings-on. She's not shy about stating her opinion.
**On a related note: though small, Sally is very very strong. When she's angry and I put her on my shoulder she climbs up my torso at an alarming speed and tries to make a break for it. She is rather persistent in pursuing what she wants, including nursing on my fingers instead of my breasts, or kicking to avoid getting a new diaper (she prefers to pee in freedom.)
**Sean says that Sally is so alive, and has been right from the start. The way she immediately started crying, before she was even fully out my womb, has been consistent with the way she seems to approach life: fully engaged. We're seeing more and more of that as the jaundice wears off and Sally has more awake and alert time. When she opens her eyes she seems really pleased by everything she sees. Unless it's 2 am and the first thing she sees is Mama trying to get her to nurse.
**On the subject of nursing, I am maybe being overdramatic. It's going well, all things considered. She's pretty new, still, and it makes sense that we wouldn't have all the bugs worked out. And when it goes well, it goes spectacularly well. I hopeful and grateful for being able to connect with Sally this way. For as many mutually frustrating moments we've had nursing so far, there have been far more tender, loving moments.
**Sally is beautiful. She seems to look a lot like me as a baby, but she also looks quite a lot like Walter (which was very disorienting for me, at first ... in my post-surgical haze I was pretty convinced that I was nursing newborn Walter again.) She's got a nice amount of hair--same brown/blonde color as Walter, but not my hairline (which Walter did have.) She has the same stork bite birthmark on the back of her head/neck that Walter has. Her eyes seem darker than Walter's, and I'm thinking they might end up being hazel/brown like Sean's. I love her mouth best of all ... so expressive.
As Dr. L. says: "She's perfect." That's his official medical opinion, and it seems right to me.
Showing posts with label visits to the doctor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label visits to the doctor. Show all posts
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Negotiations and plans
I'm listening to Walter negotiate with Sean for more, more lullabies. It's a nightly thing. He tries to make it last as long as he possibly can, in part because he wants us to stay in his bedroom with him forever, in part because he doesn't want to go to sleep yet, in part because he loves singing with his whole heart.
"Other one. Chicken, please?"
"I gave my love a cherry, it had no stone. I gave my love a chicken, it had no bone ..."
"OTHER ONE! Chicken!"
"Ok ... *sings the chicken dance song*"
"Other one" is Walter's new favorite phrase, joining (not replacing) such classics as "no" and "my turn." It drives us all a little crazy. There are only so many "other ones" out there, you know. Particularly when it comes to lullabies about chickens. He really, really loves sung Alleluias, and there are a whole lot of "other ones" of those to sing, but he quickly exhausts all the ones we know. His appetite for Alleluias is insatiable. For the record, I think this has (almost) nothing to do with him being a pastor's kid, and more to do with his love of vowel sounds, words with the letter "l" in them (see also: "Aubriella"), and words that have a joyful connotation.
Walter is really, really good at singing, and getting better at it every day. He sings whole songs by himself, now. He seems to be repeating the sounds he hears rather than associating those sounds with words, although as he hears a song more and more the approximations of words gradually become actual words. Last week he went on an almost non-stop jag of singing his version of this new daycare favorite:
Baby bumblebee
Walter's mommy peapod-a-me
Baby bumblebee
Ouch. Stunna me.
I love that "won't my mommy" became "Walter's mommy." I bet he's got all his classmates singing it that way, too. He tends to be a bit of a trendsetter at school. They all say "uppaday," for example, and they all evidently asked their parents for hats like his, too. Just keep using your powers for good, Walter.
***
I had my 36 week appointment with Dr. M. today. We're into the every-week appointment time ... but of course, that time is not very long at all ... just three weeks before Sally day! It was a good appointment. Measuring well, heartbeat great, moving like a champ, urine clean, blood pressure perfect. My weight gain leveled off after going a bit off the rails the past few weeks; I celebrated this good news by eating some Oreos.
Dr. M. and I had a good and candid discussion about all the bad things that happened last time I had a baby, from the botched IV placement to the terrible complications after the c-section. I told him I was hesitant to write up a "birth plan" because I know that plans, goals, any sort of illusion of control is kind of silly when it comes to childbirth. I want him and my other caregivers to know that I trust them, and that we'll work through whatever happens together. He encouraged me to write it down, anyway. "Limiting the number of IV attempts is a perfectly reasonable thing to ask for," he said. "And the process of writing it down will help you think through everything you're worried about and hoping for."
So ... Birth "Plan" Draft #1:
1. I'd like for the anesthetist to place my IV.
2. I'd like to spend as little time with the catheter in as possible. I'd like to get up and moving as soon as I'm able to after surgery. If I can't get to the bathroom on the first day, can we consider removing the catheter and using a bed pan?
3. When Sean leaves the OR to go with the baby, I'd like my mom to be gowned up and ready to come into the OR to hold my hand while I'm being stitched up.
4. I'd like to not throw up on the operating table, have uncontrollable diarrhea in my bed, have a huge blood pressure drop right after surgery, or go into renal failure. I know my docs and nurses can't promise these things won't happen, but maybe knowing that they did happen and could happen again will help, somehow.
5. I'd like to hold and try to nurse Sally as soon as I can after she's born. Even though this was hard with Walter, it was so important to me to make that connection as soon as possible.
There's more, of course, but that's enough for now, enough for a first draft. Mainly, I'm hoping for a healthy baby. Walter was such a gloriously healthy baby! What I'd like to be different, this time, is that the healthy baby would also get a healthy Mama. I know recovery will be hard, but I'm hoping it's not as hard as last time. Not something we can plan for, but definitely something we can hope for, and pray for.
"Other one. Chicken, please?"
"I gave my love a cherry, it had no stone. I gave my love a chicken, it had no bone ..."
"OTHER ONE! Chicken!"
"Ok ... *sings the chicken dance song*"
"Other one" is Walter's new favorite phrase, joining (not replacing) such classics as "no" and "my turn." It drives us all a little crazy. There are only so many "other ones" out there, you know. Particularly when it comes to lullabies about chickens. He really, really loves sung Alleluias, and there are a whole lot of "other ones" of those to sing, but he quickly exhausts all the ones we know. His appetite for Alleluias is insatiable. For the record, I think this has (almost) nothing to do with him being a pastor's kid, and more to do with his love of vowel sounds, words with the letter "l" in them (see also: "Aubriella"), and words that have a joyful connotation.
Walter is really, really good at singing, and getting better at it every day. He sings whole songs by himself, now. He seems to be repeating the sounds he hears rather than associating those sounds with words, although as he hears a song more and more the approximations of words gradually become actual words. Last week he went on an almost non-stop jag of singing his version of this new daycare favorite:
Baby bumblebee
Walter's mommy peapod-a-me
Baby bumblebee
Ouch. Stunna me.
I love that "won't my mommy" became "Walter's mommy." I bet he's got all his classmates singing it that way, too. He tends to be a bit of a trendsetter at school. They all say "uppaday," for example, and they all evidently asked their parents for hats like his, too. Just keep using your powers for good, Walter.
***
I had my 36 week appointment with Dr. M. today. We're into the every-week appointment time ... but of course, that time is not very long at all ... just three weeks before Sally day! It was a good appointment. Measuring well, heartbeat great, moving like a champ, urine clean, blood pressure perfect. My weight gain leveled off after going a bit off the rails the past few weeks; I celebrated this good news by eating some Oreos.
Dr. M. and I had a good and candid discussion about all the bad things that happened last time I had a baby, from the botched IV placement to the terrible complications after the c-section. I told him I was hesitant to write up a "birth plan" because I know that plans, goals, any sort of illusion of control is kind of silly when it comes to childbirth. I want him and my other caregivers to know that I trust them, and that we'll work through whatever happens together. He encouraged me to write it down, anyway. "Limiting the number of IV attempts is a perfectly reasonable thing to ask for," he said. "And the process of writing it down will help you think through everything you're worried about and hoping for."
So ... Birth "Plan" Draft #1:
1. I'd like for the anesthetist to place my IV.
2. I'd like to spend as little time with the catheter in as possible. I'd like to get up and moving as soon as I'm able to after surgery. If I can't get to the bathroom on the first day, can we consider removing the catheter and using a bed pan?
3. When Sean leaves the OR to go with the baby, I'd like my mom to be gowned up and ready to come into the OR to hold my hand while I'm being stitched up.
4. I'd like to not throw up on the operating table, have uncontrollable diarrhea in my bed, have a huge blood pressure drop right after surgery, or go into renal failure. I know my docs and nurses can't promise these things won't happen, but maybe knowing that they did happen and could happen again will help, somehow.
5. I'd like to hold and try to nurse Sally as soon as I can after she's born. Even though this was hard with Walter, it was so important to me to make that connection as soon as possible.
There's more, of course, but that's enough for now, enough for a first draft. Mainly, I'm hoping for a healthy baby. Walter was such a gloriously healthy baby! What I'd like to be different, this time, is that the healthy baby would also get a healthy Mama. I know recovery will be hard, but I'm hoping it's not as hard as last time. Not something we can plan for, but definitely something we can hope for, and pray for.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Today is Tubesday
When we got back from our Michigan road trip/vacation, the day after Walter finished a course of antibiotics for an ear infection (his fourth) he started getting sick again. As we geared up for the fifth ear infection and another round of antibiotics, we started talking tubes. Our pediatrician was all for it, as was the ENT. Even when he was ostensibly healthy in the few days he had between infections, Walter's ears did not look good. We scheduled the surgery to happen right away, a week after our appointment with the ENT (today.)
And then ... Walter got sick again. We called the ENT and got another course of antibiotics prescribed, hoping to head the inevitable infection off at the (very small, not very well-draining) pass. We spent four days nervously (and goopily) awaiting today ... and it all went really, really well.
Sure, there were rough spots. Walt had to fast after 2:30 am, which is kind of hard to explain to a 10 month old who loves to nurse upon waking. Getting him up at 2:15 to nurse actually went really well, and getting him up again at 5:30 to go to the hospital was bad but not too too bad. He listened to his beloved magic lullaby cd from Aunt Audrey and Uncle Curtis and clung to my hand and arm which got us through the ride there. Curiosity and stranger anxiety kept him occupied for a little while during the pre-op check in, but soon he started getting insistent about breakfast, which was after all right there in front of him. After an hour or so he started to angrily pinch and claw at the skin on my neck and chest, at which point Sean pried him away and took him on a tour of the pre-surgery area. We'd arrived at the hospital at 6 and surgery was supposed to start at 7 ... but the ENT was late. He'd slept in/forgotten/thought it started at 7:30 (kind of depended on which nurse was delivering the news). It was just 30 minutes but that makes a difference for everybody: hungry hungry Walter and his increasingly desperate parents, the four year old who was scheduled to go into surgery after us and had to wait even longer, the surgical staff who were then running late all day ... no good.
But for us, it was mostly OK. As we walked down the hall with him to the OR we worried about the handoff at the door ... until the door opened and there was an especially pretty nurse standing there, smiling at Walter and holding out her arms. He practically leaped.
We were in the family waiting room long enough for me to drink a small decaf coffee and not long enough to finish a sudoku. The ENT came in and told us Walt's ears were full of pus and really inflamed. Four days of antibiotics, started right when he was first getting sick, and he still got a raging ear infection. The tubes, they were a good idea. They drained the pus and put the tubes in with no trouble. The ENT prescribed antibiotic ear drops to keep the tubes from getting clogged up. 4 drops in each ear twice a day ... he's done that twice now and has been incredibly brave and good both times.
Speaking of brave ... Sean and I did great. The only point where I started to lose my cool was when they told us he would meet us back at the pre-op room and when we got there he hadn't arrived yet. I knew he was fine, but I wanted him right then and no later. A nurse came into view wheeling a bed with his things on it ... I completely ignored that nurse's friendly smile and wave and strained to see the nurse coming in after him, the one holding Walter. The friendly nurse turned out to be one of our neighbors, and once I had Walt in my arms and registered that I was very grateful indeed to know that a kind neighbor had been taking care of Walter.
After nursing and some vitals checks we got to take him home, arriving around 9:30, greeted by a rather worried dog. We gave him his medicines, nursed some more, and got him (and us) to bed until he woke up at noon, famished again. We'd been warned about crabbiness, but for most of the day he's been very happy and chatty and active (and hungry.) He got a little sad around 4 ... we figured his pain killers wore off about then, gave him some Advil, and he perked right back up in time for dinner and a polka or two at the Polish festival.
Our boy loves, loves a good polka. For the rest of the night, he'd start dancing again randomly, keeping time to a polka beat I can only assume was stuck in his head. On the way home from the festival I gave him a serious case of the giggles/snorts/hiccups and kept making him laugh until I realized it might make him lose his cabbage roll. As strange and sometimes difficult as this day was, it was pretty wonderful to spend it together, and pretty wonderful to think of all the laughing, learning and growing he'll do more fully now with fewer ear infections.
Look out, world. Here comes Walter. He walks, he sings, he polkas, and his ears are draining.
And then ... Walter got sick again. We called the ENT and got another course of antibiotics prescribed, hoping to head the inevitable infection off at the (very small, not very well-draining) pass. We spent four days nervously (and goopily) awaiting today ... and it all went really, really well.
 |
| Walt's Easter lamb assisted with surgery |
But for us, it was mostly OK. As we walked down the hall with him to the OR we worried about the handoff at the door ... until the door opened and there was an especially pretty nurse standing there, smiling at Walter and holding out her arms. He practically leaped.
We were in the family waiting room long enough for me to drink a small decaf coffee and not long enough to finish a sudoku. The ENT came in and told us Walt's ears were full of pus and really inflamed. Four days of antibiotics, started right when he was first getting sick, and he still got a raging ear infection. The tubes, they were a good idea. They drained the pus and put the tubes in with no trouble. The ENT prescribed antibiotic ear drops to keep the tubes from getting clogged up. 4 drops in each ear twice a day ... he's done that twice now and has been incredibly brave and good both times.
Speaking of brave ... Sean and I did great. The only point where I started to lose my cool was when they told us he would meet us back at the pre-op room and when we got there he hadn't arrived yet. I knew he was fine, but I wanted him right then and no later. A nurse came into view wheeling a bed with his things on it ... I completely ignored that nurse's friendly smile and wave and strained to see the nurse coming in after him, the one holding Walter. The friendly nurse turned out to be one of our neighbors, and once I had Walt in my arms and registered that I was very grateful indeed to know that a kind neighbor had been taking care of Walter.
After nursing and some vitals checks we got to take him home, arriving around 9:30, greeted by a rather worried dog. We gave him his medicines, nursed some more, and got him (and us) to bed until he woke up at noon, famished again. We'd been warned about crabbiness, but for most of the day he's been very happy and chatty and active (and hungry.) He got a little sad around 4 ... we figured his pain killers wore off about then, gave him some Advil, and he perked right back up in time for dinner and a polka or two at the Polish festival.
Our boy loves, loves a good polka. For the rest of the night, he'd start dancing again randomly, keeping time to a polka beat I can only assume was stuck in his head. On the way home from the festival I gave him a serious case of the giggles/snorts/hiccups and kept making him laugh until I realized it might make him lose his cabbage roll. As strange and sometimes difficult as this day was, it was pretty wonderful to spend it together, and pretty wonderful to think of all the laughing, learning and growing he'll do more fully now with fewer ear infections.
Look out, world. Here comes Walter. He walks, he sings, he polkas, and his ears are draining.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Happy Celebrate Hank Day!
Our plan was to walk as a family in the Stevens Point 4th of July parade. Red white and blue outfits and stroller decorating paraphernalia were purchased. The threat of super hot weather loomed ominously and led to the purchase of a red white and blue water bottle/fan/mist-maker.
Walt's report on his second day in room 2 tipped us off that something was wrong: he spent the day sitting and quietly observing everything. Not very Walt-like. That night his longest stretch of sleep was maybe 2 hours. Usually much less than that. He had trouble nursing and cried while eating, a bad sign.
So, on the morning of July 4, the day we celebrate our Independence as a nation as well as the day that Hank the Dog joined the Edison-Albright family, we prepared Walter for a trip to the urgent care clinic. As Sean headed out the door with Walter, Hank followed ... unleashed. He went straight for our densely woodsy (or really, weedy. Densely weedy and tick-infested) back yard. As he made his way around the side of the house I noticed some truly motivated bunnies running just ahead of him. He turned around and headed for the back again, where Sean caught up with him and picked him up--holding him like a baby, just like he always loved as a puppy. He was the picture of doggy happiness. Sean got him back into the house and we headed off to urgent care.
Walt charmed everyone at the clinic as usual, and has an ear infection, also as usual. We got the usual antibiotic prescription and headed out, now definitely for certain not going to make it to the parade. But it was OK. We went to Ranchito, our favorite Mexican restaurant, for brunch while we waited for the prescription to get filled, which is something we've wanted to do for some time. It was delicious and felt like a holiday meal, with Walter gamely trying out nibbles of rice, beans and tortilla while he flirted with the other restaurant patrons and showed off his much-improved Cheerio-eating skills. We picked up the prescription and spent the rest of the day inside, with brief outings for Sean and Hank to take care of doggy needs, and for Sean to grill us some hotdogs. And that was probably a smart way to go on such a hot day, anyway. We all took an almost two hour nap in the afternoon and spent the rest of the day playing. Hank got his Celebrate Hank Day toy, a new nylabone which he immediately set to chewing. Walter was sick and sad and snugly but also started looking better right away and did some more "no hands!" standing, staying up without support for longer and longer intervals. I only cried twice: once when I heard a story on the radio about active duty soldiers taking the oath of citizenship, because it was quite moving, and once when Walter looked up at me with his sad face, the one with the extended lower lip that he's made since he was a little baby, because that was pretty moving, too.
I got the baby to bed about an hour ago and have been lying on the couch with Hank on my feet since then, tired and glad and grateful for my family, furry and otherwise. It's not the day we planned, but it was a pretty good day, all things considered. Happy Celebrate Hank Day!
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Walt's report on his second day in room 2 tipped us off that something was wrong: he spent the day sitting and quietly observing everything. Not very Walt-like. That night his longest stretch of sleep was maybe 2 hours. Usually much less than that. He had trouble nursing and cried while eating, a bad sign.
So, on the morning of July 4, the day we celebrate our Independence as a nation as well as the day that Hank the Dog joined the Edison-Albright family, we prepared Walter for a trip to the urgent care clinic. As Sean headed out the door with Walter, Hank followed ... unleashed. He went straight for our densely woodsy (or really, weedy. Densely weedy and tick-infested) back yard. As he made his way around the side of the house I noticed some truly motivated bunnies running just ahead of him. He turned around and headed for the back again, where Sean caught up with him and picked him up--holding him like a baby, just like he always loved as a puppy. He was the picture of doggy happiness. Sean got him back into the house and we headed off to urgent care.
Walt charmed everyone at the clinic as usual, and has an ear infection, also as usual. We got the usual antibiotic prescription and headed out, now definitely for certain not going to make it to the parade. But it was OK. We went to Ranchito, our favorite Mexican restaurant, for brunch while we waited for the prescription to get filled, which is something we've wanted to do for some time. It was delicious and felt like a holiday meal, with Walter gamely trying out nibbles of rice, beans and tortilla while he flirted with the other restaurant patrons and showed off his much-improved Cheerio-eating skills. We picked up the prescription and spent the rest of the day inside, with brief outings for Sean and Hank to take care of doggy needs, and for Sean to grill us some hotdogs. And that was probably a smart way to go on such a hot day, anyway. We all took an almost two hour nap in the afternoon and spent the rest of the day playing. Hank got his Celebrate Hank Day toy, a new nylabone which he immediately set to chewing. Walter was sick and sad and snugly but also started looking better right away and did some more "no hands!" standing, staying up without support for longer and longer intervals. I only cried twice: once when I heard a story on the radio about active duty soldiers taking the oath of citizenship, because it was quite moving, and once when Walter looked up at me with his sad face, the one with the extended lower lip that he's made since he was a little baby, because that was pretty moving, too.
I got the baby to bed about an hour ago and have been lying on the couch with Hank on my feet since then, tired and glad and grateful for my family, furry and otherwise. It's not the day we planned, but it was a pretty good day, all things considered. Happy Celebrate Hank Day!
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Friday, April 27, 2012
Off the charts
Dear Walter,
You are six months old. It's cliche to talk about how fast the time has gone by, but it's also true. And it makes me really anxious about the next six months, and all the baby-proofing we probably should have done by now! For example, you used to enjoy table cloths on an aesthetic level. You liked looked at the patterns and scratch the surface with your fingernails. Now, you grab and pull. Hard. With intent to topple.
You are mind bogglingly smart and coordinated. I love the way you nonchalantly do new and amazing things. When Grandma Sue and Grandpa Paul were here for Easter, you started un-stacking rings. We all completely flipped out over it and you were like,"hey, no big thing" as you effortlessly passed the ring from one hand to the other, waving it around while making UFO noises. You can re-stack the rings, too, but that's kind of boring to you. You prefer taking two similar-sized rings and clapping them together in time to music.
Yesterday, Daddy and I were feeling a little down, a lot sick, and very broken. We let you play with your spoon for awhile while we gazed morosely into space for a moment. We looked back at you just in time to watch you perfectly hold your spoon and, without any hesitation, put it into your mouth and serve yourself a little rice cereal. You're not supposed to be able to do that yet! We showered you with claps and yays, and you smiled back at us, pleased and wondering what all the fuss was about.
The sickness and brokenness is in its second week. Your fifth month was fabulously healthy right up until the last week before you hit that six month milestone. You started getting sick on Sunday; by Wednesday you had pink eye in both eyes; a week later we started you on antibiotics for a double ear infection and a sinus infection. Daddy and I are sick, too. Sometimes the three of us sit around and cough at each other (occasionally, you think this is kind of funny, but you're also pretty sick of coughing these days.) You've been incredibly resilient and a very good sport about it all, interspersed with times of extreme-but-understandable crankiness.
Right in the middle of the sickness, we took you out of state for the first time. The timing, it could have been better. But you were brave and took Minnesota by storm. While I went to my meetings, you and Daddy strolled the Minneapolis Skyway, charming many sandwich and cupcake vendors along the way. We found out that you're scared of elevators, but by the end of the weekend you'd decided they were tolerable. Because you were sick and far from the comforts of home, you got to do things you're not normally allowed to do, like watch TV and jump on the bed. You were quite pleased with both of those activities! You also got to spend time with Aunt Arden and Uncle Ben, and your cousins, Craig, Gina, Lydia and Eleanor Edison. Eleanor is almost 2 and was pretty amazed by you. She kept coming over to me and saying, "Baby? Baby?" whenever you went out of sight. She gave you the sweetest, most gentle hug.
Because you've been sick, you haven't had your 6 month check-up/vaccines with Dr. L yet (although you have seen a lot of him, lately!) We did get some stats on you this week: height, 26 and 3/4 inches (Daddy thinks they didn't stretch you out to your full height); weight, 22 pounds and 2 ounces. You're in the 90th percentile for height and head-size and off the charts for weight. We are very proud of how robust and strong you are. We think it helps you weather the ups and downs of baby life with grace and a little extra padding for safety.
Other highlights of your fifth month and sixth-month-so-far:
**As mentioned above, you're eating solid foods now! You're doing great with the rice cereal and most of it does seem to end up in your belly (while a good portion is always reserved for mushing with your fingers.)
**You can roll all the way from your belly to your back and back to your belly again. You can sit on your own without support. You are getting really good at the "controlled fall" when you get tired of sitting up and want to be on your belly.
**You like to do leg extensions while you nurse. Also, you do full-on push ups, with your arms extended all the way, your knees off the ground, balancing up on your toes. It's pretty incredible.
**Sometimes you say "Da Da" for several minutes straight.
**When you're mad, the space between your eyebrows furrows deeply. You look like President Eisenhower.
**You love baths. Splash splash splash! You have mixed feelings about bathtime ending.
**We don't have to trick you into sleeping in a crib anymore. We used to get you to sleep (by nursing/rocking/repeated singings of "Rainbow Connection") and then very carefully transfer you into your bed. Often, when your head hit the mattress you would wake up, screaming of betrayal. Now, you get a little sleepy in our arms and start arching away from us, casting longing looks in the direction of your crib. We put you down on your side and tuck you in with a blanket. You cuddle one of your favorite toys--one of your monkeys, often, or your lullaby seahorse--sigh, blink heavily, and eventually fall asleep.
This morning I gave you your antibiotics and you said, "phhhbbbbt. Aghaghaggh. *head shake.*" I looked in your mouth and caught sight of a newly erupted tooth, right in the front on the top. The one right next to that does not look to be far behind. You sucked happily on a wet wash cloth for awhile, and then I got you dressed up for picture day at day care (your first school pictures!) I've lost my voice, so I had to whisper your morning song: "Good morning to you! Good morning to you! We're all in our places with bright shining faces. Oh this is the way to start out the day!" You leaned in to hear me, smiling conspiratorially.
You, my dear Walter, are off the charts.
-Your Goopy Mommy
You are six months old. It's cliche to talk about how fast the time has gone by, but it's also true. And it makes me really anxious about the next six months, and all the baby-proofing we probably should have done by now! For example, you used to enjoy table cloths on an aesthetic level. You liked looked at the patterns and scratch the surface with your fingernails. Now, you grab and pull. Hard. With intent to topple.
Yesterday, Daddy and I were feeling a little down, a lot sick, and very broken. We let you play with your spoon for awhile while we gazed morosely into space for a moment. We looked back at you just in time to watch you perfectly hold your spoon and, without any hesitation, put it into your mouth and serve yourself a little rice cereal. You're not supposed to be able to do that yet! We showered you with claps and yays, and you smiled back at us, pleased and wondering what all the fuss was about.
The sickness and brokenness is in its second week. Your fifth month was fabulously healthy right up until the last week before you hit that six month milestone. You started getting sick on Sunday; by Wednesday you had pink eye in both eyes; a week later we started you on antibiotics for a double ear infection and a sinus infection. Daddy and I are sick, too. Sometimes the three of us sit around and cough at each other (occasionally, you think this is kind of funny, but you're also pretty sick of coughing these days.) You've been incredibly resilient and a very good sport about it all, interspersed with times of extreme-but-understandable crankiness.
Right in the middle of the sickness, we took you out of state for the first time. The timing, it could have been better. But you were brave and took Minnesota by storm. While I went to my meetings, you and Daddy strolled the Minneapolis Skyway, charming many sandwich and cupcake vendors along the way. We found out that you're scared of elevators, but by the end of the weekend you'd decided they were tolerable. Because you were sick and far from the comforts of home, you got to do things you're not normally allowed to do, like watch TV and jump on the bed. You were quite pleased with both of those activities! You also got to spend time with Aunt Arden and Uncle Ben, and your cousins, Craig, Gina, Lydia and Eleanor Edison. Eleanor is almost 2 and was pretty amazed by you. She kept coming over to me and saying, "Baby? Baby?" whenever you went out of sight. She gave you the sweetest, most gentle hug.
Because you've been sick, you haven't had your 6 month check-up/vaccines with Dr. L yet (although you have seen a lot of him, lately!) We did get some stats on you this week: height, 26 and 3/4 inches (Daddy thinks they didn't stretch you out to your full height); weight, 22 pounds and 2 ounces. You're in the 90th percentile for height and head-size and off the charts for weight. We are very proud of how robust and strong you are. We think it helps you weather the ups and downs of baby life with grace and a little extra padding for safety.
Other highlights of your fifth month and sixth-month-so-far:
**As mentioned above, you're eating solid foods now! You're doing great with the rice cereal and most of it does seem to end up in your belly (while a good portion is always reserved for mushing with your fingers.)
**You can roll all the way from your belly to your back and back to your belly again. You can sit on your own without support. You are getting really good at the "controlled fall" when you get tired of sitting up and want to be on your belly.
**You like to do leg extensions while you nurse. Also, you do full-on push ups, with your arms extended all the way, your knees off the ground, balancing up on your toes. It's pretty incredible.
**Sometimes you say "Da Da" for several minutes straight.
 |
| Like this, but really really angry. |
**You love baths. Splash splash splash! You have mixed feelings about bathtime ending.
**We don't have to trick you into sleeping in a crib anymore. We used to get you to sleep (by nursing/rocking/repeated singings of "Rainbow Connection") and then very carefully transfer you into your bed. Often, when your head hit the mattress you would wake up, screaming of betrayal. Now, you get a little sleepy in our arms and start arching away from us, casting longing looks in the direction of your crib. We put you down on your side and tuck you in with a blanket. You cuddle one of your favorite toys--one of your monkeys, often, or your lullaby seahorse--sigh, blink heavily, and eventually fall asleep.
This morning I gave you your antibiotics and you said, "phhhbbbbt. Aghaghaggh. *head shake.*" I looked in your mouth and caught sight of a newly erupted tooth, right in the front on the top. The one right next to that does not look to be far behind. You sucked happily on a wet wash cloth for awhile, and then I got you dressed up for picture day at day care (your first school pictures!) I've lost my voice, so I had to whisper your morning song: "Good morning to you! Good morning to you! We're all in our places with bright shining faces. Oh this is the way to start out the day!" You leaned in to hear me, smiling conspiratorially.
You, my dear Walter, are off the charts.
-Your Goopy Mommy
 |
| Singing together on your 6 month birthday. |
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
News from the Womb
We learned many things about our Scooter today:
The question of the day, truly, was this:
The answer is known and shall indeed be revealed, but a couple of thoughts, first (I'm just trying to recreate for you the experience we had this morning, when the ultrasound tech did every other possible measurement before giving us a blessed glimpse between Scooter's legs.)
First, I'd like to reiterate that "Scooter" is an entirely sex/gender neutral nickname. It was, in fact, one of my nicknames. Video evidence exists: during the epic Easter Egg hunt of 1986 one of the clues read, in part, "To the computer/scamper, dear Scooter." It's also been a favorite term of endearment used interchangeably between me and Sean (see Seinfeld, "shmoopy.") You can clearly see our preference for the nickname in these photos from the Edison-Albright archives:
So, no matter what we saw on that ultrasound today, "Scooter" is a nickname we will continue to use proudly and often. (More family name trivia: Sean's mom was nicknamed "Skeeter" by her dad. And my grandpa was named Kermit. So, a rich precedence for Muppet-related names on both sides.)
Second, keep in mind that the ultrasound revealed our baby's sex, but not our baby's gender. (For more on that, scroll down to part II of this post, and read the excellent comments, too.)
I'm trying to think of other ways to stall, but I'm all out. So, if you're still curious about the sex of our baby ...
- The Scooter is limber. Baby spent the whole ultrasound with feet right up next to face, which is some kind of advanced yoga move, we think. We have amended our prediction from "soccer scholarship" to "yoga scholarship."
- The Scooter is coordinated. We watched in awe as Scooter did the most energetic thumb-sucking the world has ever seen. So cool!
- The Scooter has two kidneys, a brain, a heart, a diaphragm, a stomach, an umbilical chord, two hands, two feet, and long-looking arms and legs. Based on the amount of heartburn I'm getting, we're also thinking that Scooter has hair (the ultrasound did not reveal anything to do with this. The war between my Scandinavian genes and Sean's hairy genes wages on unseen.)
- The Scooter is terrifically uncooperative. It turns out that impressive yoga positions are not the best for getting pictures and measurements of the spine. We tried turning me over on one side, then the other. Then some walking around, then some orange juice and graham crackers. The solution ended up being the classic "dig the ultrasound wand into Mommy's belly as painfully as possible" maneuver. The radiology tech's comment: "Oh, the things we do for our children!"
The question of the day, truly, was this:
OR
The answer is known and shall indeed be revealed, but a couple of thoughts, first (I'm just trying to recreate for you the experience we had this morning, when the ultrasound tech did every other possible measurement before giving us a blessed glimpse between Scooter's legs.)
First, I'd like to reiterate that "Scooter" is an entirely sex/gender neutral nickname. It was, in fact, one of my nicknames. Video evidence exists: during the epic Easter Egg hunt of 1986 one of the clues read, in part, "To the computer/scamper, dear Scooter." It's also been a favorite term of endearment used interchangeably between me and Sean (see Seinfeld, "shmoopy.") You can clearly see our preference for the nickname in these photos from the Edison-Albright archives:
 |
| Jersey Shore; Wonderland Pier; Circa 2007 |
 |
| Park Ridge, IL; Jewel; Circa 2009 |
So, no matter what we saw on that ultrasound today, "Scooter" is a nickname we will continue to use proudly and often. (More family name trivia: Sean's mom was nicknamed "Skeeter" by her dad. And my grandpa was named Kermit. So, a rich precedence for Muppet-related names on both sides.)
Second, keep in mind that the ultrasound revealed our baby's sex, but not our baby's gender. (For more on that, scroll down to part II of this post, and read the excellent comments, too.)
I'm trying to think of other ways to stall, but I'm all out. So, if you're still curious about the sex of our baby ...
Monday, May 16, 2011
I just happened to be in the neighborhood ...
You may recall that, at my last check up, a wonderful nurse told me I could drop by any time to hear baby's heartbeat. Today I happened to be in the neighborhood, and by that I mean I called ahead and made a special trip to the clinic which is about 45 minutes away.
I had no particular reason to be worried but I wanted a little reassurance. Scooter's heartbeat is as strong as ever and the nurse was impressed with the amount of scooting going on in there. She assured me that I probably am feeling the baby move and dismissing it as gas. "If it doesn't come out," and here she did the cutest pantomime of farting I've ever seen, "then you're feeling the baby!"
She was so nice. More crying, of course. We already have pie at home from the pie auction at church, so I upheld the tradition and helped myself to a good slice when I got home.
Then Hank and I took a nap on the couch in the warm afternoon sun. I woke up, sat up awkwardly, drank some water and YELP! Hank raised his ears and his eyebrows, alarmed. We sat in tense silence. Finally, I said the only thing one can say in such a moment: "Scooter, was that you?"
From the way it felt, I can only guess that Scooter did a forward roll into my bladder, simultaneously kicking as hard as a baby can kick. We are speculating that this is the baby's way of saying "No more random dopplers, Mom. Trust me. I'm in here."
I had no particular reason to be worried but I wanted a little reassurance. Scooter's heartbeat is as strong as ever and the nurse was impressed with the amount of scooting going on in there. She assured me that I probably am feeling the baby move and dismissing it as gas. "If it doesn't come out," and here she did the cutest pantomime of farting I've ever seen, "then you're feeling the baby!"
She was so nice. More crying, of course. We already have pie at home from the pie auction at church, so I upheld the tradition and helped myself to a good slice when I got home.
Then Hank and I took a nap on the couch in the warm afternoon sun. I woke up, sat up awkwardly, drank some water and YELP! Hank raised his ears and his eyebrows, alarmed. We sat in tense silence. Finally, I said the only thing one can say in such a moment: "Scooter, was that you?"
From the way it felt, I can only guess that Scooter did a forward roll into my bladder, simultaneously kicking as hard as a baby can kick. We are speculating that this is the baby's way of saying "No more random dopplers, Mom. Trust me. I'm in here."
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Baby or Indigestion?
Had a good, quick and routine visit to Dr. M's office this Monday. The nurse tech always makes me feel like I'm in good hands. On this visit she said, "There are no proteins or sugars in your urine, so we know your liver and your kidney are doing well." Kidney. Singular. She remembered! That makes me feel very cared for indeed.
And then she made my day again.
Nurse C: Are you feeling the baby move?
Me: I can't tell. I think so. I can't tell if it's the baby or indigestion.
Nurse C: Does it make you fart?
Me: No.
Nurse C: Then it's the baby!
Me: Sweeeeeeet!
So, I think I've been sensing some movement. A little scooting here and there. Still can't say for sure, though ... I've been kind of overdoing it with the dairy products.
Heartbeat: very easily found, hanging out in the 150-160 range. I wonder if I'll ever hear it without crying. Nurse B. said I could come in any time just to listen. That's pretty awesome.
Other than dehydration, I seem to be "progressing well." Get ready for some electrolytes, baby! Next appointment is May 31--ultrasound! If Little Scooter is not overly modest, we'll have some more news to share. In the meantime, electrolytes. Throughout the pregnancy so far my beverage of choice has been an extra large Ovaltine right before bed. Sean captured these glimpses into our decadent, glamorous lifestyle. Cheers!
And then she made my day again.
Nurse C: Are you feeling the baby move?
Me: I can't tell. I think so. I can't tell if it's the baby or indigestion.
Nurse C: Does it make you fart?
Me: No.
Nurse C: Then it's the baby!
Me: Sweeeeeeet!
So, I think I've been sensing some movement. A little scooting here and there. Still can't say for sure, though ... I've been kind of overdoing it with the dairy products.
Heartbeat: very easily found, hanging out in the 150-160 range. I wonder if I'll ever hear it without crying. Nurse B. said I could come in any time just to listen. That's pretty awesome.
Other than dehydration, I seem to be "progressing well." Get ready for some electrolytes, baby! Next appointment is May 31--ultrasound! If Little Scooter is not overly modest, we'll have some more news to share. In the meantime, electrolytes. Throughout the pregnancy so far my beverage of choice has been an extra large Ovaltine right before bed. Sean captured these glimpses into our decadent, glamorous lifestyle. Cheers!
 |
| A fine, chilled Ovaltine |
 |
| OJ and Metamucil, stirred |
Thursday, April 7, 2011
This Week in Baby
Subtitled: "Vignettes pulled from Edison-Albright family life." If you have any squeamishness about bodily functions (the word "vomit" makes you want to vomit, for example) you'll want to skip the first one. How often in the history of writing do you think that warning has preceded a "vignette"?
***
It's sometime after midnight, Monday blurring into Tuesday time. I'm sitting on the floor of the bathroom, adjacent to my good porcelain friend. Sean is nearby ... reading to me, reminding me to breathe, trying to distract me. We've had a long night.
The doctor on-call chides me for calling at such an hour (really? When should I call the emergency help line about going to the emergency room with non-stop vomiting and a migraine?) But then she gives some good advice: if you're still peeing, you're not dehydrated enough to need IV fluids.
I tell Sean the vomiting is never going to stop, the migraine is never going to go away, and I will probably need an ambulance. He encourages me to focus on how overtired I clearly am and try to sleep instead. Suddenly filled with a wave of courage and determination, I announce: "I will try ... to pee!"
At this point my memory gets a little fuzzy. I think I fell asleep for a minute or two. I remember the bathroom floor mat felt very comfortable and my body felt impossibly heavy. I came back to reality when Sean said (very softly, gently, lovingly):
"Are you peeing?"
I was not. But I was laughing, and that laughter lifted me from the floor and eventually got me back to bed for a few hours of fitful-but-healing sleep. Little known fact: if you can laugh like that, you are not dehydrated enough to need IV fluids.
***
You would think that merely hearing a baby's heartbeat after actually seeing the baby jump and kick and squirm around on an ultrasound would be anticlimactic. This is what I told myself, anyway, before our appointment with Dr. M on Wednesday. I was trying to prepare myself for the very real possibility that we wouldn't hear anything; at this early stage, you can't really tell with the Doppler if no heartbeat is a problem or if no heartbeat means the baby is just really good at dodge ball and hide-and-go-seek.
Dr. M also tried to prepare us for this. "Your uterus tilts to the back," he says. I nod, sagely. Sean gives me a look that says, "How could you possibly know that?" A woman knows. The good doctor continues: "Given that, and even under ideal circumstances, we often can't hear the heartbeat until 14 weeks, and you're at 12 weeks. So you MUST NOT worry if we can't find it today." Everyone in the room silently acknowledged that we would worry anyway.
Dr. M stared into the middle distance as he tried one spot, and then another. The nurse did the same, and I wondered what they could see that I couldn't. Another try. One more just in case and then ...
Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump
There's our Little Scooter! Found you! The doc mercifully lingers on the spot, and we all just listen. And cry. At one point there's a sound like a record scratching. Dr. M's eyebrows fly up: "Your baby is KICKING! Did you hear that?" Yes, we did. Two words: soccer scholarship.
More crying ensued, followed soon after by pie. Banana cream. Mmmmmm.
***
For the past three months, my interaction with Hank the Dog has mostly taken the form of napping. I haven't had a lot of energy and I feel bad about it. On Monday I tried to make it up to him by taking him for a beautiful walk in the early springtime. We set out, some of us hoping to suddenly realize the benefits of exercise during pregnancy, some of us hoping to kill and eat a small woodland creature or two. It was a day full of promise and potential--a celebration of new and renewed life.
We'd gotten about a block from our house when it started to hail.
Me: "I'm so sorry, buddy. We gotta go home."
Hank (with his soulful eyes): "You must be joking. It's just a little hail! Ow, something's hailing in my soulful eyes!"
We made up for it today with a nice long morning walk. Hank was pleased to get his nose and paws dirty in the melting snow. I even let him look menacingly at a robin for awhile. It must be Spring.
***
And that's the news from the Edison-Albright family, where all Scooters kick mightily, all the pie is gladly shared, and all the dogs are above average.
***
It's sometime after midnight, Monday blurring into Tuesday time. I'm sitting on the floor of the bathroom, adjacent to my good porcelain friend. Sean is nearby ... reading to me, reminding me to breathe, trying to distract me. We've had a long night.
The doctor on-call chides me for calling at such an hour (really? When should I call the emergency help line about going to the emergency room with non-stop vomiting and a migraine?) But then she gives some good advice: if you're still peeing, you're not dehydrated enough to need IV fluids.
I tell Sean the vomiting is never going to stop, the migraine is never going to go away, and I will probably need an ambulance. He encourages me to focus on how overtired I clearly am and try to sleep instead. Suddenly filled with a wave of courage and determination, I announce: "I will try ... to pee!"
At this point my memory gets a little fuzzy. I think I fell asleep for a minute or two. I remember the bathroom floor mat felt very comfortable and my body felt impossibly heavy. I came back to reality when Sean said (very softly, gently, lovingly):
"Are you peeing?"
I was not. But I was laughing, and that laughter lifted me from the floor and eventually got me back to bed for a few hours of fitful-but-healing sleep. Little known fact: if you can laugh like that, you are not dehydrated enough to need IV fluids.
***
You would think that merely hearing a baby's heartbeat after actually seeing the baby jump and kick and squirm around on an ultrasound would be anticlimactic. This is what I told myself, anyway, before our appointment with Dr. M on Wednesday. I was trying to prepare myself for the very real possibility that we wouldn't hear anything; at this early stage, you can't really tell with the Doppler if no heartbeat is a problem or if no heartbeat means the baby is just really good at dodge ball and hide-and-go-seek.
Dr. M also tried to prepare us for this. "Your uterus tilts to the back," he says. I nod, sagely. Sean gives me a look that says, "How could you possibly know that?" A woman knows. The good doctor continues: "Given that, and even under ideal circumstances, we often can't hear the heartbeat until 14 weeks, and you're at 12 weeks. So you MUST NOT worry if we can't find it today." Everyone in the room silently acknowledged that we would worry anyway.
Dr. M stared into the middle distance as he tried one spot, and then another. The nurse did the same, and I wondered what they could see that I couldn't. Another try. One more just in case and then ...
Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump
There's our Little Scooter! Found you! The doc mercifully lingers on the spot, and we all just listen. And cry. At one point there's a sound like a record scratching. Dr. M's eyebrows fly up: "Your baby is KICKING! Did you hear that?" Yes, we did. Two words: soccer scholarship.
More crying ensued, followed soon after by pie. Banana cream. Mmmmmm.
***
 |
| For the record, Hank also enjoys napping. |
We'd gotten about a block from our house when it started to hail.
Me: "I'm so sorry, buddy. We gotta go home."
Hank (with his soulful eyes): "You must be joking. It's just a little hail! Ow, something's hailing in my soulful eyes!"
We made up for it today with a nice long morning walk. Hank was pleased to get his nose and paws dirty in the melting snow. I even let him look menacingly at a robin for awhile. It must be Spring.
***
And that's the news from the Edison-Albright family, where all Scooters kick mightily, all the pie is gladly shared, and all the dogs are above average.
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