We've been home for a few weeks now, six maybe? It's hard to tell because the days blend together between feeding times. We're in a rhythm of sorts, with the engine behind the schedule is on a circadian rhythm of like 5 or 6 hours instead of 24.
I wonder often what the little guy is thinking and wish he could tell me. Is he happy? Is he worried? Is he just plain curious about what the wide world is about? On the other hand, I love that he is so tiny and cuddly. At the library yestetday, people walked by and pointed to baby and whispered "Look, he's so little."
He's in a sweet spot right now (and probably for a couple months yet) when he's just cute. Not loud, not demanding. Can't run away, or say no. Everything going on it is supposed to be, as far as he knows.
Members of the ward brought us dinner a few nights and a little present, which was sweet. Soon, a couple friends will be coming into town, to break up the tedium, I mean help with the massive adventure. It'll be fun.
Sunday, September 20, 2015
Sunday, August 30, 2015
11 days in the NICU
After eleven days in the NICU, we're home. We had some great help at the hospital, but we still felt like we needed to be in the room as much as possible. It was stressful and tiring. We made it through and brought the little guy home.
He had to come home on oxygen, as his oxygen levels were a little low. It makes him look a little tragic with the cannula stuck up his nose.
My parents have come, which has been helpfull. And my sister, Val. We're kind of stuck in this baby limbo. Every three hours for 45 minutes or so, it's "change the baby, feed the baby, snuggle the baby" and repeat.
The Saturday after we got home, we threw a party for Andrews birthday. A small fiesta, with tacos and cheese dip and a pinata and a tres leches cake. Even with everyone chipping g in. I was wiped. Although I asked everyone else to please look-dont-touch the baby (too many people in too short a time) of course I knew it was too much to ask for. We gave baby x a bath that night before falling into bed myself.
Val is gone, and replaced with my sister Sonya. It is wonderful having all this help.
He had to come home on oxygen, as his oxygen levels were a little low. It makes him look a little tragic with the cannula stuck up his nose.
My parents have come, which has been helpfull. And my sister, Val. We're kind of stuck in this baby limbo. Every three hours for 45 minutes or so, it's "change the baby, feed the baby, snuggle the baby" and repeat.
The Saturday after we got home, we threw a party for Andrews birthday. A small fiesta, with tacos and cheese dip and a pinata and a tres leches cake. Even with everyone chipping g in. I was wiped. Although I asked everyone else to please look-dont-touch the baby (too many people in too short a time) of course I knew it was too much to ask for. We gave baby x a bath that night before falling into bed myself.
Val is gone, and replaced with my sister Sonya. It is wonderful having all this help.
Pic from one of his early days in the NICU
Sunday, August 16, 2015
Just a month early
The baby came early. Or rather, they took him out early.
Don't get me wrong, baby x is perfect and wonderful, and as it turns our doing much better out than in, but it still makes me sad/mad. I had another month to prepare myself for this. Another month to decide on a name, to complain about heart burn, to read up in how newborns act, and figure out daycare options. I had another month to anticipate this mysterious yet very common thing that was going to change my and Andrew's lives forever.
Long story short, we've been going to the Perinatal office for a few months. They've been screening baby x because he hasn't been growing symmetrically, and it's been slow going, too. Everyone someone comments on my small belly, I have to say "Well, he's on the small side."
Every appointment, they would check amniotic fluid (always fine), movement (always good), "breathing" (the practice movements babies do, always good), and just when I'm feeling like things are going great and the doctor and sonogram tech will say "We're all set, you don't need to come back." But they never did. Instead, we were asked to come back in 3 weeks, and "by the way, we're going to want to deliver your baby by 39 weeks." Then it was, Everything looks good, but you'll have to come back twice a week." Then, "everything looks good but we need to monitor the baby for a while to see if he's good, or we nee ed to deliver today." Finally, it was " everything looks good, but I recommend admitting you and delivering the baby today."
Every damn appointment, we'd go on in a good mood and I'd leave in tears. It was the false sense of hope.
Finally, Friday August 7th, there was no backing out. I'd asked the doctor what my options would be. Or rather what the possible consequences would be if I waited another week or more. This was met with a rather stern look. Basically, he explained it would mean the baby would be more likely to be still born. The blood flow from placenta was pausing these little micro seconds, and the next step after that the blood starts flowing backwards.
I was pissed. Poor Andrew had never seen the full fury of Tina before, but he saw it that day. In the delivery room, after the nurse kindly answered questions and tried to prepare me for what is likely to happen, I went into a rage. If there'd been something to throw out the window, I might have caused real damage. I was being cheated. I'd wasted so much time reading books on natural birth, taken a class in it, read countless blogs about it, and now I didn't get a choice.
My midwife came in a few minutes later, and we discussed the option a for inducement. Three different options, two medicinal, one not. She checked my cervix, which was rock hard. Andrew recalls her "going elbow deep." As any inducement isn't foolproof, there was still the possibility of a c-section. It was now simmering anger that made me say "If I'm going to have a c-section anyway, what's the point of being induced?"
"I know this isn't your first choice," she said. "This sint even my second choice" Did I mention I was pissed off?
The midwife left to give us a moment. Andrew and I discussed our options. When she came back, the midwife said that she thought this baby at this point, shouldn't take the rigors of labor.
She left again to call the surgeon on call. The next thing I knew, the baby's heart monitor slowed down dramatically. Andrew said "wait. In two seonds, there will be a bunch of people on here." A swarm of nurses came in, pulling on scrubs and throwing a set to Andrew. I was given a pair of compression sock things and consulted by an anesthesiologist. "Looks like the baby is making the decision for us," the midwife said.
Less than an hour later, I was being sewn back up. It was so fast.
We were walked to the OR. I was sat on the table, and they wrapped a heated blanket around my shoulders (ORs are cold) when they slipped on the epidural. I lay down on the table, Andrew sat by my head and said nice things. It was weird, knowing all my business was exposed to a room of strangers. Never in the whole of my life (excepting my own birth) have that many strangers seen me naked. It felt like the bottom half of my body was floating. I couldn't feel a thing. It was there i first heard someone use the term IURG. I knew what it meant from my own research, but since no one had told me that's what he had, I thought I was making it up.
They told Andrew he could stand up to see the baby come out. Baby x was hosing everyone down, which is one way to make your mark on the world.
Andrew went over to the little heated bed where they cleaned up the baby and bundled home up. Then brought him over to me, so I could get a little peek. I only got to see him for a couple minutes before they tool him to the NICU.
Then to recovery, then to a "family care" room where I spent the next couple days. Normally, the baby would have been in the room with us, but he needed more care. I couldn't move my legs, much less walk to the NICU until the next morning, so I didn't see baby again until more than 14 hours after he was born.
He's gorgeous, though. And growing quickly. But, if I could do it all again, I still would do it 15 years ago.
Don't get me wrong, baby x is perfect and wonderful, and as it turns our doing much better out than in, but it still makes me sad/mad. I had another month to prepare myself for this. Another month to decide on a name, to complain about heart burn, to read up in how newborns act, and figure out daycare options. I had another month to anticipate this mysterious yet very common thing that was going to change my and Andrew's lives forever.
Long story short, we've been going to the Perinatal office for a few months. They've been screening baby x because he hasn't been growing symmetrically, and it's been slow going, too. Everyone someone comments on my small belly, I have to say "Well, he's on the small side."
Every appointment, they would check amniotic fluid (always fine), movement (always good), "breathing" (the practice movements babies do, always good), and just when I'm feeling like things are going great and the doctor and sonogram tech will say "We're all set, you don't need to come back." But they never did. Instead, we were asked to come back in 3 weeks, and "by the way, we're going to want to deliver your baby by 39 weeks." Then it was, Everything looks good, but you'll have to come back twice a week." Then, "everything looks good but we need to monitor the baby for a while to see if he's good, or we nee ed to deliver today." Finally, it was " everything looks good, but I recommend admitting you and delivering the baby today."
Every damn appointment, we'd go on in a good mood and I'd leave in tears. It was the false sense of hope.
Finally, Friday August 7th, there was no backing out. I'd asked the doctor what my options would be. Or rather what the possible consequences would be if I waited another week or more. This was met with a rather stern look. Basically, he explained it would mean the baby would be more likely to be still born. The blood flow from placenta was pausing these little micro seconds, and the next step after that the blood starts flowing backwards.
I was pissed. Poor Andrew had never seen the full fury of Tina before, but he saw it that day. In the delivery room, after the nurse kindly answered questions and tried to prepare me for what is likely to happen, I went into a rage. If there'd been something to throw out the window, I might have caused real damage. I was being cheated. I'd wasted so much time reading books on natural birth, taken a class in it, read countless blogs about it, and now I didn't get a choice.
My midwife came in a few minutes later, and we discussed the option a for inducement. Three different options, two medicinal, one not. She checked my cervix, which was rock hard. Andrew recalls her "going elbow deep." As any inducement isn't foolproof, there was still the possibility of a c-section. It was now simmering anger that made me say "If I'm going to have a c-section anyway, what's the point of being induced?"
"I know this isn't your first choice," she said. "This sint even my second choice" Did I mention I was pissed off?
The midwife left to give us a moment. Andrew and I discussed our options. When she came back, the midwife said that she thought this baby at this point, shouldn't take the rigors of labor.
She left again to call the surgeon on call. The next thing I knew, the baby's heart monitor slowed down dramatically. Andrew said "wait. In two seonds, there will be a bunch of people on here." A swarm of nurses came in, pulling on scrubs and throwing a set to Andrew. I was given a pair of compression sock things and consulted by an anesthesiologist. "Looks like the baby is making the decision for us," the midwife said.
Less than an hour later, I was being sewn back up. It was so fast.
We were walked to the OR. I was sat on the table, and they wrapped a heated blanket around my shoulders (ORs are cold) when they slipped on the epidural. I lay down on the table, Andrew sat by my head and said nice things. It was weird, knowing all my business was exposed to a room of strangers. Never in the whole of my life (excepting my own birth) have that many strangers seen me naked. It felt like the bottom half of my body was floating. I couldn't feel a thing. It was there i first heard someone use the term IURG. I knew what it meant from my own research, but since no one had told me that's what he had, I thought I was making it up.
They told Andrew he could stand up to see the baby come out. Baby x was hosing everyone down, which is one way to make your mark on the world.
Andrew went over to the little heated bed where they cleaned up the baby and bundled home up. Then brought him over to me, so I could get a little peek. I only got to see him for a couple minutes before they tool him to the NICU.
Then to recovery, then to a "family care" room where I spent the next couple days. Normally, the baby would have been in the room with us, but he needed more care. I couldn't move my legs, much less walk to the NICU until the next morning, so I didn't see baby again until more than 14 hours after he was born.
He's gorgeous, though. And growing quickly. But, if I could do it all again, I still would do it 15 years ago.
Monday, August 3, 2015
A hard week in the middle of a hard year
Last week was hard. My office closed (or the majority of the employees left, with a handful of us here to clean up), so I had to say goodbye to lots of people I've worked with for the last 4 years. And I saw all of them, too. I'm the one that takes their badges and disables them all. It was sad.
Then off to the Perinatal office, to check on baby x. Hard again. It isn't an exact science. Often they have to use best guess, and past experience to figure out what's going on. Baby isn't growing. He has been small from the first appointment, then asymmetrical, and now asymmetric AND undersized. And there is nothing I can do about it. He may have to be an artificially early baby. The most important thing is that he's healthy, right, but dammit, why can't ONE thing go the way it's supposed to?
Add to that, every time I turn on my computer, there are articles on the news pages, or posts shared by FB about dead children: left in hot cars, kicked to death by parents, locked up in basements or to radiators, or some politician going on and on with their scare tactics. This is exactly the stuff my doctors tell me NOT to look at, but there doesn't seem to be a way to avoid it. I don't know whether to cry or punch someone.
Then off to the Perinatal office, to check on baby x. Hard again. It isn't an exact science. Often they have to use best guess, and past experience to figure out what's going on. Baby isn't growing. He has been small from the first appointment, then asymmetrical, and now asymmetric AND undersized. And there is nothing I can do about it. He may have to be an artificially early baby. The most important thing is that he's healthy, right, but dammit, why can't ONE thing go the way it's supposed to?
Add to that, every time I turn on my computer, there are articles on the news pages, or posts shared by FB about dead children: left in hot cars, kicked to death by parents, locked up in basements or to radiators, or some politician going on and on with their scare tactics. This is exactly the stuff my doctors tell me NOT to look at, but there doesn't seem to be a way to avoid it. I don't know whether to cry or punch someone.
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Minor renovations for baby x
We're 5 weeks away from meeting baby x. 5 weeks doesn't sound like a lot, does it? I'm not even sure what there is still left to do, other than maybe organizing. We've got the room painted, thanks to my mother.
It took 4 tries to get the lighter grey right. The first was practically white. The store re-tinted it for us, but it was still too pale. So we bought another gallon, with out the benefit of a paint chip from the darker color, and ended up with something too dark and too blue. Then Mom took the darker color and dumped some into the lighter paint and *presto* the perfect light grey.
It's a tiny room, so tiny. The crib was gifted from my brother's family. We're going to paint it blue, unless Andrew convinces me to buy a different crib. And do you see the little pile of yellow right in the middle of the room? That is bedding from the little bassinet we got from Andrew's mom. Baby Andy used to sleep in it, and soon baby x will, too.
Like I said, it needs some organization.
Here's the blue grey that didn't work for the baby's room transforming the guest bath.
Dad scraped the wall paper the first trip out, and Mom painted it, including the ever-present paneling that made up the cabinet. I love the crisp contrast. Just add a towel rod, and take out the glass doors on the bath, and we're set.
It took 4 tries to get the lighter grey right. The first was practically white. The store re-tinted it for us, but it was still too pale. So we bought another gallon, with out the benefit of a paint chip from the darker color, and ended up with something too dark and too blue. Then Mom took the darker color and dumped some into the lighter paint and *presto* the perfect light grey.
It's a tiny room, so tiny. The crib was gifted from my brother's family. We're going to paint it blue, unless Andrew convinces me to buy a different crib. And do you see the little pile of yellow right in the middle of the room? That is bedding from the little bassinet we got from Andrew's mom. Baby Andy used to sleep in it, and soon baby x will, too.
Like I said, it needs some organization.
Here's the blue grey that didn't work for the baby's room transforming the guest bath.
Friday, July 17, 2015
I'll never be a gardener
For years, I've tried to foster life in the form of tomato plants, zucchini, peas, greens. Every year, I've been a failure. It started with small plants on my patio. When those failed to flourish, I blamed it on the shallow pots.
Then my land lady allowed me to use a small plot of land in the yard. This should have been ideal, but again, things didn't progress. The plants were a lot bigger, sure, but the fruit they produced were measly. I blamed it on the poor soil (lots of clay, and limited direct light.
Then I married and moved to a new apartment with lots of light, and a small balcony. Perfect! Get some nice big pots to give everything lots of room, there's lots of light. I bought some carrot seeds, too, and cucumber seeds, all heirloom and gorgeous. Everything will blossom and be beautiful and I'll have tomatoes aplenty.
Nope.
Now, we're in a home of our own, so I tried again. Went with the pots again, thinking that moving in, cooking up a baby, and dealing with an imminent layoff was enough to deal with in one summer. But this time, limited myself. Zucchini and tomato. From a seedling I bought at a local nursery. What can go wrong?
I think I'm on the only person on the planet unable to grow a zucchini.
Look at this tiny thing. Lots of flowers, no fruit. Again.
Then my land lady allowed me to use a small plot of land in the yard. This should have been ideal, but again, things didn't progress. The plants were a lot bigger, sure, but the fruit they produced were measly. I blamed it on the poor soil (lots of clay, and limited direct light.
Then I married and moved to a new apartment with lots of light, and a small balcony. Perfect! Get some nice big pots to give everything lots of room, there's lots of light. I bought some carrot seeds, too, and cucumber seeds, all heirloom and gorgeous. Everything will blossom and be beautiful and I'll have tomatoes aplenty.
Nope.
Now, we're in a home of our own, so I tried again. Went with the pots again, thinking that moving in, cooking up a baby, and dealing with an imminent layoff was enough to deal with in one summer. But this time, limited myself. Zucchini and tomato. From a seedling I bought at a local nursery. What can go wrong?
I think I'm on the only person on the planet unable to grow a zucchini.
Look at this tiny thing. Lots of flowers, no fruit. Again.
I compare my garden with the one my mother grew in New Jersey growing up. Stuff got huge! We were picking beans everyday just to keep up. We had to foist zucchini off on neighbors. My parents would eat home grown tomatoes as big as your fist for dinner most nights. And all i've got is one tiny tomato.
My sister in Ohio is similarly blessed.
I guess the gene skipped over me.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
The Bump
I realized I haven't taken many pictures of myself during this special time. Pregnancy has done a number on me, though all in all I know it's been an easy one. Many women have a harder time than I, but that doesn't mean much at midnight, then 2:30, then 5am when the heartburn hits.
My natural reticence for picture taking aside, there should be a few out there for posterity (namely, my posterity). If there is a picture of my own mother pregnant with me, I would love to see it. Modesty runs in the family, I guess.
Here I am, in all my pregnant glory, against the back drop of my weedy (it's way too hot and I'm way too tired at the end of the day to care much) back yard.
My natural reticence for picture taking aside, there should be a few out there for posterity (namely, my posterity). If there is a picture of my own mother pregnant with me, I would love to see it. Modesty runs in the family, I guess.
Here I am, in all my pregnant glory, against the back drop of my weedy (it's way too hot and I'm way too tired at the end of the day to care much) back yard.
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