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Apr. 25th, 2009 07:10 pmHow could a ten-week-old possibly be cutting a tooth?
He's been drooling and biting, but I just figured it was one of those baby things. And then Michael looked in his mouth and pointed out the unmistakable shape of a tooth on the gumline. You can even feel a tiny little sharp point when you run your finger along the gum.
What. The. Hell?
He's been drooling and biting, but I just figured it was one of those baby things. And then Michael looked in his mouth and pointed out the unmistakable shape of a tooth on the gumline. You can even feel a tiny little sharp point when you run your finger along the gum.
What. The. Hell?
Developmental update: the next generation.
Apr. 9th, 2009 09:40 amColin is two months old today. To celebrate, over the last few days I have put away almost all of the 0-3 month clothes and broken out the 3-6 month size. Alex always marched neatly along with the calendar matching the clothes sizes exactly, so this is kind of a departure for me although I realize it's par for the course for a lot of babies.
Colin feels very solid and heavy. He's got big hands with fat juicy fingers, and big solid meaty thighs, and cheeks that look like he's storing up nuts for the winter. He looks well-fed and satisfied and prosperous. I feel so good about being able to support this kind of growth with my milk.
He still nurses a lot. I think we just came off a growth spurt, actually, because there were three nights in a row in which he had one two-hour stretch of sleep before waking to feed and then the rest were shorter. (Last night went much better.) I'm curious to see what his eating patterns will be like when I go back to work, because when he's around me all day and I smell like milk and my breasts are right there and impossible to overlook he wants to latch on very, very frequently. Often just a few sips is enough to re-establish that all is right with his world.
Despite the frequent wakings, the nights aren't so bad. Okay, that three-night stretch was pretty bad. But for the most part I can't even tell you how many times a night he nurses. We co-sleep. When he starts grunting and rooting around it wakes me up and I haul myself into a sitting position (still can't nurse lying down) and feed him. Then a while later I realize that I've been asleep sitting up against the headboard, and he's asleep in my arms. I don't really wake up all the way unless something unusual happens. So I get decently rested.
Beyond eating and sleeping, there are now actually other things: quiet alert periods and active alert periods. Active alert periods involve lots of kicking and arm waving and vocalizations. Quiet alert periods are all about high-intensity gazing. He likes to look at us, but even more he likes to look at areas of high contrast, like a dark wood doorjamb against a white wall.
He does this fantastic thing where he initiates a long period of eye contact, smiles a lot, and coos. He actually says "goo, goo" like a baby in a comic strip. That and "ohhh." He'll coo at me and then I'll coo back and then he'll coo again - it's so cool the way conversational turn-taking gets established so early. And the smiles are fabulous.
He continues to be a very content, happy little boy. There are things he hates with nuclear intensity - riding in the car, having his clothes changed, sponge baths - but apart from those things he has few complaints. Although he prefers to be held, he can be put down in the swing or on a floor blanket for 10-15 minutes at a time without flipping out. That makes things so much easier!
Not much else is going on. I can put a lightweight rattle in his hand and he'll grip it, but he doesn't examine it or move it purposely. I think that happens next month.
Colin feels very solid and heavy. He's got big hands with fat juicy fingers, and big solid meaty thighs, and cheeks that look like he's storing up nuts for the winter. He looks well-fed and satisfied and prosperous. I feel so good about being able to support this kind of growth with my milk.
He still nurses a lot. I think we just came off a growth spurt, actually, because there were three nights in a row in which he had one two-hour stretch of sleep before waking to feed and then the rest were shorter. (Last night went much better.) I'm curious to see what his eating patterns will be like when I go back to work, because when he's around me all day and I smell like milk and my breasts are right there and impossible to overlook he wants to latch on very, very frequently. Often just a few sips is enough to re-establish that all is right with his world.
Despite the frequent wakings, the nights aren't so bad. Okay, that three-night stretch was pretty bad. But for the most part I can't even tell you how many times a night he nurses. We co-sleep. When he starts grunting and rooting around it wakes me up and I haul myself into a sitting position (still can't nurse lying down) and feed him. Then a while later I realize that I've been asleep sitting up against the headboard, and he's asleep in my arms. I don't really wake up all the way unless something unusual happens. So I get decently rested.
Beyond eating and sleeping, there are now actually other things: quiet alert periods and active alert periods. Active alert periods involve lots of kicking and arm waving and vocalizations. Quiet alert periods are all about high-intensity gazing. He likes to look at us, but even more he likes to look at areas of high contrast, like a dark wood doorjamb against a white wall.
He does this fantastic thing where he initiates a long period of eye contact, smiles a lot, and coos. He actually says "goo, goo" like a baby in a comic strip. That and "ohhh." He'll coo at me and then I'll coo back and then he'll coo again - it's so cool the way conversational turn-taking gets established so early. And the smiles are fabulous.
He continues to be a very content, happy little boy. There are things he hates with nuclear intensity - riding in the car, having his clothes changed, sponge baths - but apart from those things he has few complaints. Although he prefers to be held, he can be put down in the swing or on a floor blanket for 10-15 minutes at a time without flipping out. That makes things so much easier!
Not much else is going on. I can put a lightweight rattle in his hand and he'll grip it, but he doesn't examine it or move it purposely. I think that happens next month.
(no subject)
Apr. 8th, 2009 09:07 amThis morning Colin was having a little trouble nursing. He kept smiling at me and breaking the latch.
I gazed down at him fondly, mentally composing an LJ post titled "Nursing problems I don't mind having." Oh, the diabetes-inducing sweetness.
At that moment, he peed around his diaper somehow, drenching both of our clothes.
There's motherhood for you, in a nutshell.
I gazed down at him fondly, mentally composing an LJ post titled "Nursing problems I don't mind having." Oh, the diabetes-inducing sweetness.
At that moment, he peed around his diaper somehow, drenching both of our clothes.
There's motherhood for you, in a nutshell.
Kid pictures of the day.
Apr. 5th, 2009 05:45 pmColin has great smiles every day, but as soon as one of us picks up the camera he sobers up. This was a lucky catch.
A couple of times a day, in one of his active-alert periods, he catches my eye and then starts making a lot of eye contact, smiling, and cooing. "Oooh! Goo! Oh!" I coo back at him, and then he coos again. I think it's so neat that the impulse to have a conversation starts this early.
Here's the Alex picture of the day:
"This is a pretend electrical magnet. Here's the magnet, and this spring is the wire for the electric current to go through."
(You can blame The Magic School Bus and the Electric Field Trip for that one. It's been her favorite for ages, which is a shame because I find it incredibly boring.)
A couple of times a day, in one of his active-alert periods, he catches my eye and then starts making a lot of eye contact, smiling, and cooing. "Oooh! Goo! Oh!" I coo back at him, and then he coos again. I think it's so neat that the impulse to have a conversation starts this early.
Here's the Alex picture of the day:
"This is a pretend electrical magnet. Here's the magnet, and this spring is the wire for the electric current to go through."
(You can blame The Magic School Bus and the Electric Field Trip for that one. It's been her favorite for ages, which is a shame because I find it incredibly boring.)
(no subject)
Mar. 24th, 2009 09:32 pmIt's the end of the day, and they're both still alive. I have done my job.
I had planned to go in to work for an hour or two today, with Colin, to coordinate a new venture with my research assistants. But last night, we noticed that Alex was pale and overemotional, and her temperature read 99.6 degrees - just high enough to keep her out of school today. So I had them both home, and we stayed in the house all day.
She was pitiful when she woke up, then fine through the morning. In midafternoon her fever started to rise. She begged to watch the Charlotte's Web DVD she got for Christmas, which she'd never seen before, but about fifteen minutes in she started to sob when Fern is forced to sell Wilbur to the farm down the road. "Wilbur! Wilbur!" Alex cried, crumpling in a heap. I looked at her: genuine tears, pallid skin, red circles flushed into her cheeks. I reached for the thermometer, but I didn't really need technological evidence for her fever.
She remained miserable for the rest of the afternoon - "I'm huddled in a heap," she informed us disconsolately at the dinner table - and then got a bouncy second wind just when Michael and I were most exhausted.
Colin got rather shorted for attention, needless to say. He was pretty much continuously latched on, unless I was changing one of a series of truly astonishing diapers, but he didn't get much in the way of stimulating interaction or tender gazes. I figure that keeping his sister's germy hands off him was the best I could offer him. He chose to repay me by not napping for more than 15 minutes at a time all afternoon and into the evening.
Tomorrow should be a lot like today, except that we'll be having a new boiler installed at 9am sharp, plus the electric company will be reattaching the line to the house (don't ask) at 8am. To what extent will power and heat be disrupted? No one has told us to expect disruptions. I suppose that if necessary we can flee to the church for sanctuary... because our usual fallbacks, like the library or the science center, won't be open that early and, when they do open, will be full of kids who don't deserve Alex's virus.
I am exhausted. But it's the end of the day and they're both alive, so I have rocked my job.
I had planned to go in to work for an hour or two today, with Colin, to coordinate a new venture with my research assistants. But last night, we noticed that Alex was pale and overemotional, and her temperature read 99.6 degrees - just high enough to keep her out of school today. So I had them both home, and we stayed in the house all day.
She was pitiful when she woke up, then fine through the morning. In midafternoon her fever started to rise. She begged to watch the Charlotte's Web DVD she got for Christmas, which she'd never seen before, but about fifteen minutes in she started to sob when Fern is forced to sell Wilbur to the farm down the road. "Wilbur! Wilbur!" Alex cried, crumpling in a heap. I looked at her: genuine tears, pallid skin, red circles flushed into her cheeks. I reached for the thermometer, but I didn't really need technological evidence for her fever.
She remained miserable for the rest of the afternoon - "I'm huddled in a heap," she informed us disconsolately at the dinner table - and then got a bouncy second wind just when Michael and I were most exhausted.
Colin got rather shorted for attention, needless to say. He was pretty much continuously latched on, unless I was changing one of a series of truly astonishing diapers, but he didn't get much in the way of stimulating interaction or tender gazes. I figure that keeping his sister's germy hands off him was the best I could offer him. He chose to repay me by not napping for more than 15 minutes at a time all afternoon and into the evening.
Tomorrow should be a lot like today, except that we'll be having a new boiler installed at 9am sharp, plus the electric company will be reattaching the line to the house (don't ask) at 8am. To what extent will power and heat be disrupted? No one has told us to expect disruptions. I suppose that if necessary we can flee to the church for sanctuary... because our usual fallbacks, like the library or the science center, won't be open that early and, when they do open, will be full of kids who don't deserve Alex's virus.
I am exhausted. But it's the end of the day and they're both alive, so I have rocked my job.
(no subject)
Mar. 19th, 2009 08:59 amColin update: We had him weighed yesterday, because our pediatrician likes to check breastfed babies' weights at one month. (Colin is five weeks old, but I figured the neurosurgery appointment was all the medical care we could stand for last week.)
If he had continued to gain about an ounce a day, he would've tipped the scales at 9 pounds, 8 ounces yesterday. Instead? TEN POUNDS. Over the last month, the boy has increased his weight by 25%.
I declare an official and permanent end to me being neurotic about whether nursing is working.
Also? Social smiles have appeared, and man are they awesome. All three of us have gotten big happy smiles from him in the last couple of days.
Alex update: Her behavior is pretty typical for a displaced formerly only child, which is to say that she's acting up a lot. Last night's festivities included the wholesale removal of books from her bedroom after she decided to throw them all to make a point about not wanting to go to bed. (How did "you can have a few paperbacks in bed to look at by nightlight" lead to the pile of twenty-three books she had next to her pillow and ready to throw? Because she's our child, that's how. Oh well, twenty-two of them are gone now. Pandora is just lucky that there was one under the blanket that she didn't notice when she was throwing them.)
On the other hand, she really floored me yesterday with a surprising bit of thoughtfulness. She's been invited to a birthday party on Sunday, and when we opened the invitation she told me "You can just drop me off." This is starting to be the age of drop-off playdates, and the party invitation specified that drop-offs were okay, so I figured maybe the birthday girl had mentioned this special big-kid possibility to Alex.
Then, in the car on our way home from buying a present, she told me: "Clara has a cat, Mom. That's why I planned for you to drop me off."
Aww. "Thank you, sweetie, but I'd be okay at the party as long as I don't touch the cat. So if you want me to stay, I can."
"You're allergic to cats, Mom," she said with finality. "That's why I planned for you to drop me off."
I am just amazed that she put that together. I've known plenty of adults who aren't that capable of forseeing problems that might exist for other people.
Rivka update: I pretty much rest and feed the baby, and watch TV. I am not very interesting right now. But! I am excited that the SUUSI catalog is out. It lets me dream of having a more interesting life months down the road.
And I'm looking forward to our trip to Montreal next month, which is really going to happen now because we have plane tickets and a hotel reservation and all of us now have passports in the works. (Mine had expired. Michael's was going to expire while we were in Montreal. The kids didn't have them. Getting our passports was an exciting and colorful experience which I hope never to repeat, although now I know an awesome way of getting passport photos for a newborn.)
If he had continued to gain about an ounce a day, he would've tipped the scales at 9 pounds, 8 ounces yesterday. Instead? TEN POUNDS. Over the last month, the boy has increased his weight by 25%.
I declare an official and permanent end to me being neurotic about whether nursing is working.
Also? Social smiles have appeared, and man are they awesome. All three of us have gotten big happy smiles from him in the last couple of days.
Alex update: Her behavior is pretty typical for a displaced formerly only child, which is to say that she's acting up a lot. Last night's festivities included the wholesale removal of books from her bedroom after she decided to throw them all to make a point about not wanting to go to bed. (How did "you can have a few paperbacks in bed to look at by nightlight" lead to the pile of twenty-three books she had next to her pillow and ready to throw? Because she's our child, that's how. Oh well, twenty-two of them are gone now. Pandora is just lucky that there was one under the blanket that she didn't notice when she was throwing them.)
On the other hand, she really floored me yesterday with a surprising bit of thoughtfulness. She's been invited to a birthday party on Sunday, and when we opened the invitation she told me "You can just drop me off." This is starting to be the age of drop-off playdates, and the party invitation specified that drop-offs were okay, so I figured maybe the birthday girl had mentioned this special big-kid possibility to Alex.
Then, in the car on our way home from buying a present, she told me: "Clara has a cat, Mom. That's why I planned for you to drop me off."
Aww. "Thank you, sweetie, but I'd be okay at the party as long as I don't touch the cat. So if you want me to stay, I can."
"You're allergic to cats, Mom," she said with finality. "That's why I planned for you to drop me off."
I am just amazed that she put that together. I've known plenty of adults who aren't that capable of forseeing problems that might exist for other people.
Rivka update: I pretty much rest and feed the baby, and watch TV. I am not very interesting right now. But! I am excited that the SUUSI catalog is out. It lets me dream of having a more interesting life months down the road.
And I'm looking forward to our trip to Montreal next month, which is really going to happen now because we have plane tickets and a hotel reservation and all of us now have passports in the works. (Mine had expired. Michael's was going to expire while we were in Montreal. The kids didn't have them. Getting our passports was an exciting and colorful experience which I hope never to repeat, although now I know an awesome way of getting passport photos for a newborn.)
When I wrote yesterday's post I had forgotten the whole "sleep begets sleep" thing about babies. In fact, last night was a lot better. Colin had one 2.5-hour stretch, one 2-hour stretch, and two one-hour stretches. Which leaves me feeling more or less human in the morning.
I am a better problem-solver when I have slept a little more. It became clear to me at one point last night that he was having some painful issues with gas, and in retrospect that's what was probably wrong most of the previous night. Feeding him moderately and then working on getting rid of the gas (burping, firm backrubs, lying him on his belly on my chest, Mylicon drops although they didn't seem to help) worked a lot better than lots of alternations between comfort nursing and trying to get him to sleep on his back.
I am a better problem-solver when I have slept a little more. It became clear to me at one point last night that he was having some painful issues with gas, and in retrospect that's what was probably wrong most of the previous night. Feeding him moderately and then working on getting rid of the gas (burping, firm backrubs, lying him on his belly on my chest, Mylicon drops although they didn't seem to help) worked a lot better than lots of alternations between comfort nursing and trying to get him to sleep on his back.
(no subject)
Mar. 10th, 2009 05:35 pmColin was up all night. Literally. From 12:30 to 8, the longest he was asleep at a stretch was 30 minutes. That meant that the longest I was asleep at a stretch was 15-20 minutes. He didn't seem to be hugely hungry, although he nursed a lot in a not-very-dedicated fashion. He just couldn't sleep. It's a good thing that he won't remember any of the things I called him.
Today, naturally, he's been incredibly sleepy. I keep trying to wake him up, mostly by putting him down in the Pack-n-Play, figuring that either it will wake him up so he'll be sleepier tonight or it will help him learn to sleep more soundly when he is not actually lying on my upright body. Inevitably he wakes up within minutes of being put down. Then I nurse him, and after a brief feed he gets drowsy and falls asleep in my arms again.
Do you know what that last paragraph means? It means that tonight is probably going to be a lot like last night. And tomorrow Alex is home, which means no naps for me.
(Before you suggest the obvious solutions: yes, I did try having him lie in my arms last night, although normally for safety reasons we prefer to have him in a cosleeper set in between me and Michael in bed. It didn't work. Also, not only can't I nurse in my sleep, I can't seem to figure out how to nurse lying down at all. The angles don't seem to work right, and it's hard to get set up so that Colin can breathe.)
I did nap for an hour or two today, but mostly I have had to be up doing work stuff. One of the most hated and stressful parts of my job, made even more stressful because it involves an entirely new bureaucratic system which I am having to learn as I go along. And because a strict deadline is involved, and meeting the deadline will require things to be done by other people who are not under my control, and some of those things have turned out to be surprises. And because I would have had this done before I went on maternity leave, if it hadn't been for (a) bureaucratic screwups, and (b) bad advice from the person who supposedly knows the system and was supposed to be guiding me through it.
Working from maternity leave is really, really awful.
Today, naturally, he's been incredibly sleepy. I keep trying to wake him up, mostly by putting him down in the Pack-n-Play, figuring that either it will wake him up so he'll be sleepier tonight or it will help him learn to sleep more soundly when he is not actually lying on my upright body. Inevitably he wakes up within minutes of being put down. Then I nurse him, and after a brief feed he gets drowsy and falls asleep in my arms again.
Do you know what that last paragraph means? It means that tonight is probably going to be a lot like last night. And tomorrow Alex is home, which means no naps for me.
(Before you suggest the obvious solutions: yes, I did try having him lie in my arms last night, although normally for safety reasons we prefer to have him in a cosleeper set in between me and Michael in bed. It didn't work. Also, not only can't I nurse in my sleep, I can't seem to figure out how to nurse lying down at all. The angles don't seem to work right, and it's hard to get set up so that Colin can breathe.)
I did nap for an hour or two today, but mostly I have had to be up doing work stuff. One of the most hated and stressful parts of my job, made even more stressful because it involves an entirely new bureaucratic system which I am having to learn as I go along. And because a strict deadline is involved, and meeting the deadline will require things to be done by other people who are not under my control, and some of those things have turned out to be surprises. And because I would have had this done before I went on maternity leave, if it hadn't been for (a) bureaucratic screwups, and (b) bad advice from the person who supposedly knows the system and was supposed to be guiding me through it.
Working from maternity leave is really, really awful.
Joyful relief!!
Mar. 9th, 2009 04:37 pmSome phrases have very, very few contexts in which you'd ever want to use them. "My kid's neurosurgeon" is one of them. Nonetheless, I am delighted to report that we saw Colin's neurosurgeon this afternoon, and he thinks Colin is normal.
I know, I know, you didn't know anything about this. And for good reason - it's been a really scary process and a really nebulous one, which is a bad combination, and early on we made the decision not to spread the anxiety around. We've only told a couple of family members who have medical training. But now, hey, everyone can share in our joyful relief.
Six weeks ago I had my 38-week midwife visit, the one where Colin had turned breech. They sent me to the hospital for a confirmatory ultrasound. That ultrasound tech noticed abnormal levels of cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) in two places in Colin's brain: the cisterna magna, which is at the back of the skull, and the third ventricle. The OB brought down to counsel me couldn't tell me much; the clinical syndromes associated with those abnormalities usually involved abnormalities in other parts of the brain as well, and the other parts of Colin's brain looked totally fine. He said we should wait and see.
Michael and I both spent some terrified time wondering if Colin would be severely brain-damaged. One of the terms on the table was Dandy-Walker syndrome, which you shouldn't Google unless you want to be as freaked out as we were. One of my dissertation subjects had Dandy-Walker, and... yikes. But if that were the case, Colin should've been missing a piece of his cerebellum, and he wasn't.
We talked to my sister the pediatrician, and then to Alex's pediatrician. Both of them helped rein in our flights of terrified speculation, and let us know that the worst-case scenario we were looking at was hydrocephalus. Which, you know, still potentially very bad. Best-case scenario: his brain looked funny on prenatal ultrasound because of positioning or something, and the abnormalities wouldn't be present on a neonatal scan.
We waited.
When Colin was born, he had a head ultrasound while he was still in the hospital. The ultrasound showed no signs of an enlarged third ventricle or any other ventricle, which pretty much ruled out hydrocephalus, but there was still an abnormal buildup of CSF at the back of the brain. "Differential diagnosis includes mega cisterna magna, arachnoid cyst, or Dandy-Walker variant," which is apparently not the same thing as Dandy-Walker syndrome. They recommended an MRI at two months. We took the report to our pediatrician, who referred us to a neurosurgeon at Johns Hopkins.
We waited.
Colin seemed so normal. He nursed well, which shows coordination of a pretty complicated physical task. He had good muscle tone, good head control for his age. He seemed very alert. He started to focus his eyes on things and produce vocalizations. We were encouraged, but also aware that we might be grasping at straws.
We waited.
Today was the neurosurgery appointment. They felt Colin's head, measured it, asked us some questions, studied the ultrasound report, and assured us that we were most likely looking at mega cisterna magna or arachnoid cyst, both of which are essentially normal variants which carry no developmental consequences. They feel that Dandy-Walker anything would be accompanied by hydrocephalus, which Colin doesn't have. They don't feel that the likelihood of serious problems justifies exposing Colin to the risks of MRI (sedation) or CT (radiation), so we're just going to have a repeat ultrasound in another three months.
Through all of this, Michael and I have kept reminding each other that we will be the parents Colin needs. If he were developmentally disabled? We'd be the parents he needed. If he needed brain surgery as a tiny infant? We'd be the parents he needed. Our son is our son, and we are his parents.
So now we can be the parents he needs when he doesn't want to have his hair washed, when he gets the stomach flu, when he's afraid of the dark, when he's roughhousing on the playground and breaks his arm, when he doesn't get invited to someone's birthday party. We'll be the parents he needs through all of that too.
Thanks be to God.
I know, I know, you didn't know anything about this. And for good reason - it's been a really scary process and a really nebulous one, which is a bad combination, and early on we made the decision not to spread the anxiety around. We've only told a couple of family members who have medical training. But now, hey, everyone can share in our joyful relief.
Six weeks ago I had my 38-week midwife visit, the one where Colin had turned breech. They sent me to the hospital for a confirmatory ultrasound. That ultrasound tech noticed abnormal levels of cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) in two places in Colin's brain: the cisterna magna, which is at the back of the skull, and the third ventricle. The OB brought down to counsel me couldn't tell me much; the clinical syndromes associated with those abnormalities usually involved abnormalities in other parts of the brain as well, and the other parts of Colin's brain looked totally fine. He said we should wait and see.
Michael and I both spent some terrified time wondering if Colin would be severely brain-damaged. One of the terms on the table was Dandy-Walker syndrome, which you shouldn't Google unless you want to be as freaked out as we were. One of my dissertation subjects had Dandy-Walker, and... yikes. But if that were the case, Colin should've been missing a piece of his cerebellum, and he wasn't.
We talked to my sister the pediatrician, and then to Alex's pediatrician. Both of them helped rein in our flights of terrified speculation, and let us know that the worst-case scenario we were looking at was hydrocephalus. Which, you know, still potentially very bad. Best-case scenario: his brain looked funny on prenatal ultrasound because of positioning or something, and the abnormalities wouldn't be present on a neonatal scan.
We waited.
When Colin was born, he had a head ultrasound while he was still in the hospital. The ultrasound showed no signs of an enlarged third ventricle or any other ventricle, which pretty much ruled out hydrocephalus, but there was still an abnormal buildup of CSF at the back of the brain. "Differential diagnosis includes mega cisterna magna, arachnoid cyst, or Dandy-Walker variant," which is apparently not the same thing as Dandy-Walker syndrome. They recommended an MRI at two months. We took the report to our pediatrician, who referred us to a neurosurgeon at Johns Hopkins.
We waited.
Colin seemed so normal. He nursed well, which shows coordination of a pretty complicated physical task. He had good muscle tone, good head control for his age. He seemed very alert. He started to focus his eyes on things and produce vocalizations. We were encouraged, but also aware that we might be grasping at straws.
We waited.
Today was the neurosurgery appointment. They felt Colin's head, measured it, asked us some questions, studied the ultrasound report, and assured us that we were most likely looking at mega cisterna magna or arachnoid cyst, both of which are essentially normal variants which carry no developmental consequences. They feel that Dandy-Walker anything would be accompanied by hydrocephalus, which Colin doesn't have. They don't feel that the likelihood of serious problems justifies exposing Colin to the risks of MRI (sedation) or CT (radiation), so we're just going to have a repeat ultrasound in another three months.
Through all of this, Michael and I have kept reminding each other that we will be the parents Colin needs. If he were developmentally disabled? We'd be the parents he needed. If he needed brain surgery as a tiny infant? We'd be the parents he needed. Our son is our son, and we are his parents.
So now we can be the parents he needs when he doesn't want to have his hair washed, when he gets the stomach flu, when he's afraid of the dark, when he's roughhousing on the playground and breaks his arm, when he doesn't get invited to someone's birthday party. We'll be the parents he needs through all of that too.
Thanks be to God.
(no subject)
Mar. 5th, 2009 09:12 pmOMG the three-week growth spurt. It's killing me.
It's not just that he wants to nurse every waking moment. It's that the waking moments have also gotten a lot closer together, because he isn't able to sleep for very long before he wakes up hungry. I did absolutely nothing today except feed him, change diapers, and try to steal a few minutes of sleep.
On the plus side: he is noticeably fat, so much so that even I have stopped being neurotic over whether he's getting enough milk. He used to - used to! he's only three weeks old - have these frail twiglike fingers that I worried would snap when I tried to guide them through a sleeve cuff. His hands were so skinny that the skin was wrinkly. Now he has plump juicy sausagelike fingers, and his cheeks look like he's storing up nuts for the winter, and his clothes look less like he borrowed them from a second grader and more like they are his actual size.
He has started to make a slightly greater variety of sounds, which is fun. And he's started really looking around and focusing on things in his environment. Mostly, as far as I can tell, straight lines and areas of high contrast. Michael's birthmother sent a quilt made of big bold black-and-white patterns when Alex was a baby, and Colin really seems to enjoy it. He is surprisingly willing to have floor time and even tummy time on that quilt, when he isn't, you know, trying to nurse the chrome off a trailer hitch.
Six more days until the earliest experts say it's okay to introduce a pacifier. (Don't worry - or lecture - we intend to use it sparingly.)
It's not just that he wants to nurse every waking moment. It's that the waking moments have also gotten a lot closer together, because he isn't able to sleep for very long before he wakes up hungry. I did absolutely nothing today except feed him, change diapers, and try to steal a few minutes of sleep.
On the plus side: he is noticeably fat, so much so that even I have stopped being neurotic over whether he's getting enough milk. He used to - used to! he's only three weeks old - have these frail twiglike fingers that I worried would snap when I tried to guide them through a sleeve cuff. His hands were so skinny that the skin was wrinkly. Now he has plump juicy sausagelike fingers, and his cheeks look like he's storing up nuts for the winter, and his clothes look less like he borrowed them from a second grader and more like they are his actual size.
He has started to make a slightly greater variety of sounds, which is fun. And he's started really looking around and focusing on things in his environment. Mostly, as far as I can tell, straight lines and areas of high contrast. Michael's birthmother sent a quilt made of big bold black-and-white patterns when Alex was a baby, and Colin really seems to enjoy it. He is surprisingly willing to have floor time and even tummy time on that quilt, when he isn't, you know, trying to nurse the chrome off a trailer hitch.
Six more days until the earliest experts say it's okay to introduce a pacifier. (Don't worry - or lecture - we intend to use it sparingly.)
Five things make a post.
Feb. 26th, 2009 10:30 am1. We went to the pediatrician yesterday for a two-week checkup. Colin now weighs 8 pounds, 4 ounces, so he's more than regained his birth weight and is continuing to gain almost an ounce a day. Everything else looks good as well. Words cannot begin to express how relieved I am by all this good weight gain. Hilariously, it prompted my dad to divulge his former theory, not previously shared with me, that I was anatomically unable to breastfeed, perhaps because I was so - how did he put it? - "overly ample."
2. After the pediatrician's office we went to the bra shop. I am more relieved than I can say to report that I haven't actually gotten any larger - my bra was just worn out and needed to be replaced. Poor Alex kept taking little pink lacy things off the racks and bringing them to me, not understanding that those don't come in Mama's gargantuan size. Or in nursing styles.
3. Alex has hit the full flower of the asking-questions stage, OMG. On the one hand, it's good to have her preferred mode of interaction be something I can do with my hands full of baby. On the other hand, these constant questions are killing me. They range from the interesting but difficult to answer - "Mommy, why did people in England think they could tell people in America what to do?" (in reference to the American Revolution) - to the maddening extended-hypothetical - "What if me and Zoe and Leo climbed a tree and got stuck and couldn't get down, and you and Miss Emily and Miss Suzanne were on the other side of a high wall?" "We would get a ladder and climb over the wall and come get you." "Well, what if the branches were too light and you couldn't climb up, and what if we were up there for ten hours?" - to the utterly confounding - "Mommy, what does 'of' mean?" And there are dozens of them per hour. It would kind of be nice if she had a little less intellectual curiosity.
4. Our new couch is ready! I just called and arranged for the old couch to be picked up by the Salvation Army on Tuesday. (Yes, I know, ordinarily I wouldn't do business with the Salvation Army either. But in this case I consider that I'm accepting a service from them, not giving them anything.) Now I just have to call the furniture store and arrange for the new couch to be delivered on Wednesday. I am so excited! And grateful that Colin doesn't really spit up.
5. Have some Michael-and-Colin goodness to make up for the Mamacentric photo in the last post.
2. After the pediatrician's office we went to the bra shop. I am more relieved than I can say to report that I haven't actually gotten any larger - my bra was just worn out and needed to be replaced. Poor Alex kept taking little pink lacy things off the racks and bringing them to me, not understanding that those don't come in Mama's gargantuan size. Or in nursing styles.
3. Alex has hit the full flower of the asking-questions stage, OMG. On the one hand, it's good to have her preferred mode of interaction be something I can do with my hands full of baby. On the other hand, these constant questions are killing me. They range from the interesting but difficult to answer - "Mommy, why did people in England think they could tell people in America what to do?" (in reference to the American Revolution) - to the maddening extended-hypothetical - "What if me and Zoe and Leo climbed a tree and got stuck and couldn't get down, and you and Miss Emily and Miss Suzanne were on the other side of a high wall?" "We would get a ladder and climb over the wall and come get you." "Well, what if the branches were too light and you couldn't climb up, and what if we were up there for ten hours?" - to the utterly confounding - "Mommy, what does 'of' mean?" And there are dozens of them per hour. It would kind of be nice if she had a little less intellectual curiosity.
4. Our new couch is ready! I just called and arranged for the old couch to be picked up by the Salvation Army on Tuesday. (Yes, I know, ordinarily I wouldn't do business with the Salvation Army either. But in this case I consider that I'm accepting a service from them, not giving them anything.) Now I just have to call the furniture store and arrange for the new couch to be delivered on Wednesday. I am so excited! And grateful that Colin doesn't really spit up.
5. Have some Michael-and-Colin goodness to make up for the Mamacentric photo in the last post.
(no subject)
Feb. 24th, 2009 09:56 am
Yes, I am going to spam you with pictures for a while. Sorry.
Michael is back to work this week, and my mother is here. As many of you know, our relationship has been rather strained in the last couple of years - but she's good at this, and it's working well. She cooks and cleans, and keeps me company through the extreme tedium that is life with a newborn, and reassures me when I get neurotic, and does puzzles on the floor with Alex, and reminds me to drink water, and says things like, "I'm done eating, so why don't I take him while you have a second helping of dinner? After all, it's your job to make good milk."
Apparently, her sister-in-law just came back from a four-day visit with a new grandchild in which she was only permitted to hold the baby twice. So I get to feel like, when I hand Colin off in the morning so that I can shower and eat breakfast, I'm doing her a favor.
On the "second helping of dinner" front, today I am back in my prepregnancy jeans. Holy cow. I guess all this cluster nursing is having an effect.
I'm starting to feel like crawling out of my den. We went to church on Sunday, which was really enjoyable - a young man in our congregation who is a composer did a special service in which several of his pieces were performed, with solos by an opera singer friend of his who has an amazing voice. He also gave a compelling sermon about how he has come to terms with Christianity after growing up as a gay man in the rural South. I haven't really been enjoying the sermons of our interim minister, so it was great to have such an interesting service to come back to.
In the next few days, I am hoping to continue this crazy exciting series of outings with a shopping trip, a whole-family visit to Dorian's art opening, and perhaps even a walk or two. It's 36 degrees here, which seems too cold to take a Maryland baby outside in the stroller, but I know that Minnesota babies must leave the house when it's much, much colder than this. Fortunately it's planning to warm up over the next few days, into the upper 40s and lower 50s. But it sure would be nice to get out of the house today. We'll see.
Oh, and I should say: I am hopelessly not keeping up with LJ, so if there's anything you want me to know, you should probably drop me a note or leave a pointer in comments. Sorry.
Disconnected thoughts.
Feb. 19th, 2009 09:06 pmI've got to say: it's been ten days, and there's still a pervasive sense of unreality about this whole "we've got two kids now" thing. I keep looking at Colin and thinking, Really? We're really going to have this baby from now on? ...But no one else has come looking for him, so clearly he must be ours.
It's way too early for a social smile, of course, but Colin has these milk smiles that can't be beat. They come just as he's falling asleep. The eyes roll back in the head, eyelids flutter down... up... down... and then he gets a big, goofy, crooked milk smile. It is awesome.
I don't know how generations of people apparently got conned into thinking those early smiles are "gas." Babies with gas look uncomfortable, not happy. It's clear that it's not a social response, yeah, but it's also so transparently clear that he's feeling contentment, not abdominal pain.
Colin is still not very fussy. He's started to have a few more calm-alert periods where he is awake but not nursing, but we haven't hit any real awake-and-unhappy periods. Sure, if he had the motor coordination he'd be speed-dialing Child Protective Services every time we change his diaper or clothes, but when we're not messing with his clothing he is a pretty content little boy. i think 3-6 weeks is supposed to be the peak of the purposeless fussiness, though, and we're only at a week and a half.
Also: there is no reason on earth why a newborn baby should smell this good, and quite a few reasons why he shouldn't. But wow do I love that new-baby smell.
It's way too early for a social smile, of course, but Colin has these milk smiles that can't be beat. They come just as he's falling asleep. The eyes roll back in the head, eyelids flutter down... up... down... and then he gets a big, goofy, crooked milk smile. It is awesome.
I don't know how generations of people apparently got conned into thinking those early smiles are "gas." Babies with gas look uncomfortable, not happy. It's clear that it's not a social response, yeah, but it's also so transparently clear that he's feeling contentment, not abdominal pain.
Colin is still not very fussy. He's started to have a few more calm-alert periods where he is awake but not nursing, but we haven't hit any real awake-and-unhappy periods. Sure, if he had the motor coordination he'd be speed-dialing Child Protective Services every time we change his diaper or clothes, but when we're not messing with his clothing he is a pretty content little boy. i think 3-6 weeks is supposed to be the peak of the purposeless fussiness, though, and we're only at a week and a half.
Also: there is no reason on earth why a newborn baby should smell this good, and quite a few reasons why he shouldn't. But wow do I love that new-baby smell.
Big sister now.
Feb. 18th, 2009 02:27 pmMe: Alex, my computer friends want to know how you like being a big sister.
Alex: I really, really do!
Me: What's the best part of being the big sister?
Alex: When I get to wipe his butt and flush his diapers.
Several people have asked how Alex is adjusting to big sisterhood. The first day or two were rough, as she tried to cope with all the changes to her normal routine. Now she's doing beautifully.
She is very affectionate with Colin. "I want to stroke Colin goodnight," she says, running her fingers gently along his cheek or hair. "Good night, my dear little brother." She likes to give him things: a Valentine she made for him at school, a picture she drew, a construction-paper puppet. She checks on his whereabouts, comments with concern when he cries. "It's okay, Colin. Big sister's here."
She likes to include him. "Let's play Bartholomew and the Oobleck. You and me and Colin can be magicians, and Dad can be the king and Bartholomew." "You can be Papa Bear and I can be Mama Bear and Colin can be Baby Bear and Dad can be Goldilocks." She recognizes that Colin can't actually take a role, but she likes assigning him one anyway.
She likes to help. Diaper changes are her favorite - she likes to look on with horror at the messy ones, set up the clean diaper and wipes, get the alcohol pad ready for his cord care, drop the dirty diapers into the Diaper Champ. She wants to check his diaper all the time, and doesn't really understand why I won't let her do it while he's sleeping.
Last night I let her give him a bath - I held him, and she wielded the soap and washcloth. She did really well. I am less willing to let her help him nurse, although she frequently offers. (She wants to hold my breast for me. I am encouraging her to instead remind him to have a "big mouth" for latch-on.)
The only friction comes, understandably, from things I can't do when she wants me to do them. The biggest one is holding her on my lap to play a computer game with her, but of course there are a dozen times a day when she would like me to get her something or go somewhere and I am busy feeding the baby. With practice I am getting better at, for example, feeding him on the floor of the playroom while I take part in some sort of game. Fortunately I can usually pretend along with her while I'm in the rocking chair.
Incidentally, here's the picture I asked to keep, and was denied because it's for Colin. Can you tell what it is?
It's a lighthouse. That's the beacon on top, and the zigzag lines are all the stairs. Pretty cool, huh?
Alex: I really, really do!
Me: What's the best part of being the big sister?
Alex: When I get to wipe his butt and flush his diapers.
Several people have asked how Alex is adjusting to big sisterhood. The first day or two were rough, as she tried to cope with all the changes to her normal routine. Now she's doing beautifully.
She is very affectionate with Colin. "I want to stroke Colin goodnight," she says, running her fingers gently along his cheek or hair. "Good night, my dear little brother." She likes to give him things: a Valentine she made for him at school, a picture she drew, a construction-paper puppet. She checks on his whereabouts, comments with concern when he cries. "It's okay, Colin. Big sister's here."
She likes to include him. "Let's play Bartholomew and the Oobleck. You and me and Colin can be magicians, and Dad can be the king and Bartholomew." "You can be Papa Bear and I can be Mama Bear and Colin can be Baby Bear and Dad can be Goldilocks." She recognizes that Colin can't actually take a role, but she likes assigning him one anyway.
She likes to help. Diaper changes are her favorite - she likes to look on with horror at the messy ones, set up the clean diaper and wipes, get the alcohol pad ready for his cord care, drop the dirty diapers into the Diaper Champ. She wants to check his diaper all the time, and doesn't really understand why I won't let her do it while he's sleeping.
Last night I let her give him a bath - I held him, and she wielded the soap and washcloth. She did really well. I am less willing to let her help him nurse, although she frequently offers. (She wants to hold my breast for me. I am encouraging her to instead remind him to have a "big mouth" for latch-on.)
The only friction comes, understandably, from things I can't do when she wants me to do them. The biggest one is holding her on my lap to play a computer game with her, but of course there are a dozen times a day when she would like me to get her something or go somewhere and I am busy feeding the baby. With practice I am getting better at, for example, feeding him on the floor of the playroom while I take part in some sort of game. Fortunately I can usually pretend along with her while I'm in the rocking chair.
Incidentally, here's the picture I asked to keep, and was denied because it's for Colin. Can you tell what it is?
It's a lighthouse. That's the beacon on top, and the zigzag lines are all the stairs. Pretty cool, huh?
Nursing report.
Feb. 16th, 2009 12:27 pmWe went back to the pediatrician's office today for a weight check. Since Thursday, Colin has gained 4.5 ounces, bringing him to 7lb, 12.5 oz - just a few ounces under his birth weight. So now I feel as though I can finally relax and say that nursing is going well.
After the total nightmare of trying and failing to breastfeed Alex, this is a huge relief. I've been so worried that history would repeat itself with Colin. But from the very first, he's been a completely different baby to feed.
Within a few hours of birth, Colin already had strong feelings about how he wanted to nurse. I would try to latch him on a half-dozen times and he would refuse. Then I'd hit the right combination of size, shape, and angle, and he would latch on like a remora and start sucking vigorously. Over the first 24 hours, he figured out how big he should be opening his mouth, and latch-on quickly got a lot easier. Whenever he nursed, he was focused and persistent. When I took him off the breast and rested him against my chest to burp him, he opened his mouth like a baby bird and sort of bounced it along my chest, actively searching for the other nipple. When I put my finger in his mouth, he slid his tongue rapidly and firmly along it in a repeated milking motion.
What I'm getting at here is that from the first hours of life Colin has been a vigorous, enthusiastic, reasonably skilled, and rapidly improving participant in our nursing endeavors. And I had no idea. After Alex, I had no real understanding that the baby was supposed to contribute all this stuff. I thought of nursing as something the mother was supposed to get right.
It's possible that someone more skilled, persistent, supported, and experienced than me coul've made nursing work with Alex. But any half-alert halfwit could successfully nurse Colin. The baby makes a huge difference. And in our collective societal rush to make breastfeeding the hallmark of good infant parenting, we totally neglect that difference.
I'm glad he's my second baby. Because there might've been a possibility that I would have been one of those judgmental and sanctimonious nursing mothers, if I hadn't had such a clear demonstration of how little I've earned our nursing success.
After the total nightmare of trying and failing to breastfeed Alex, this is a huge relief. I've been so worried that history would repeat itself with Colin. But from the very first, he's been a completely different baby to feed.
Within a few hours of birth, Colin already had strong feelings about how he wanted to nurse. I would try to latch him on a half-dozen times and he would refuse. Then I'd hit the right combination of size, shape, and angle, and he would latch on like a remora and start sucking vigorously. Over the first 24 hours, he figured out how big he should be opening his mouth, and latch-on quickly got a lot easier. Whenever he nursed, he was focused and persistent. When I took him off the breast and rested him against my chest to burp him, he opened his mouth like a baby bird and sort of bounced it along my chest, actively searching for the other nipple. When I put my finger in his mouth, he slid his tongue rapidly and firmly along it in a repeated milking motion.
What I'm getting at here is that from the first hours of life Colin has been a vigorous, enthusiastic, reasonably skilled, and rapidly improving participant in our nursing endeavors. And I had no idea. After Alex, I had no real understanding that the baby was supposed to contribute all this stuff. I thought of nursing as something the mother was supposed to get right.
It's possible that someone more skilled, persistent, supported, and experienced than me coul've made nursing work with Alex. But any half-alert halfwit could successfully nurse Colin. The baby makes a huge difference. And in our collective societal rush to make breastfeeding the hallmark of good infant parenting, we totally neglect that difference.
I'm glad he's my second baby. Because there might've been a possibility that I would have been one of those judgmental and sanctimonious nursing mothers, if I hadn't had such a clear demonstration of how little I've earned our nursing success.
(no subject)
Feb. 10th, 2009 05:00 pmMichael and Colin are asleep together in an armchair, Michael's shirt open and Colin stripped to a diaper (but covered with blankets) so that they can be skin-to-skin. It is such a beautiful sight.
I have just had a shower, which was marvelous, and have read everyone's comments - thanks so much for all your love and good wishes. I should be napping, but I'm too happy.
A few more things about our boy: he has a full thick head of reddish-brown hair. (More color accuracy will be possible once we've washed the vernix out.) He makes these adorable little high squeaky sounds for no apparent reason. He's twenty inches long, and a goodly part of his eight pounds of weight is fat - he's got a double chin and plump juicy arms and legs.
He cried and cried while we were still up on the L&D floor, a time when I remember Alex being very calm and alert. On the other hand, since then he's cried very little at all. He was up for a fair portion of the night, as newborns tend to be, but he alternated between calmly nursing and calmly looking around with wide dark blue eyes. No screaming, no extended fussing. Alex cried for much of her first night and was very hard to settle.
Nursing seems to be going well. He's very particular about how he wants to be put on, but the details of his preferences elude me so far. I just attempt and attempt until he signal that I did the magic thing by latching on. He's got a pretty good latch and a strong, vigorous suck. Newborn sleepiness is not getting in the way of nursing - I don't have to undress him and massage him and all the things I had to do to get Alex to wake up and nurse. He just goes at it. Yay, Colin.
We'll be going home tomorrow. Tonight Michael and Alex are going to come back to the hospital with sushi and cake for a little family welcome party. Life is good.
I have just had a shower, which was marvelous, and have read everyone's comments - thanks so much for all your love and good wishes. I should be napping, but I'm too happy.
A few more things about our boy: he has a full thick head of reddish-brown hair. (More color accuracy will be possible once we've washed the vernix out.) He makes these adorable little high squeaky sounds for no apparent reason. He's twenty inches long, and a goodly part of his eight pounds of weight is fat - he's got a double chin and plump juicy arms and legs.
He cried and cried while we were still up on the L&D floor, a time when I remember Alex being very calm and alert. On the other hand, since then he's cried very little at all. He was up for a fair portion of the night, as newborns tend to be, but he alternated between calmly nursing and calmly looking around with wide dark blue eyes. No screaming, no extended fussing. Alex cried for much of her first night and was very hard to settle.
Nursing seems to be going well. He's very particular about how he wants to be put on, but the details of his preferences elude me so far. I just attempt and attempt until he signal that I did the magic thing by latching on. He's got a pretty good latch and a strong, vigorous suck. Newborn sleepiness is not getting in the way of nursing - I don't have to undress him and massage him and all the things I had to do to get Alex to wake up and nurse. He just goes at it. Yay, Colin.
We'll be going home tomorrow. Tonight Michael and Alex are going to come back to the hospital with sushi and cake for a little family welcome party. Life is good.
