Peter's off to take his first plane ride ever, to visit my family in Indiana while Kevin attends a conference at the University of Illinois.
Per Dr. Soriano's recommendation, we brought Peter in for a pre-flight check-up. Mostly, we wanted to make sure he didn't have an ear infection, but really, it takes very little encouragement for me to take him to the doctor. Did I mention I'm a bit of a hypochondriac?
Peter is, as we could have predicted, in perfect health. When Dr. Soriano sees Peter, she invariably begins with, "what a big boy!" and then follows up with, "but I don't think he's obese or anything." We also usually get a couple of "you're so strong"s thrown in as well, with a few "your eyes are so blue"s thrown in for good measure. Yep, he's our big, strong blue-eyed baby boy.
Is it good or bad luck that Peter's heading into his 13th week weighing 13 pounds and 13 ounces? Let's hope it's good, at least for the sake of our fellow passengers tonight.
Peter always has his thumb tucked into his other fingers like this.
Mr. Happy, about to laugh?
It should surprise no one that my first order of business, on my first morning of erstwhile single-parenthood, was to call Peter's doctor.
Yes, yes, I am a bit of a hypochondriac. But, he did have a fairly high fever for a newborn (100.1), and parts of him were...missing. I'd be more specific, but that level of specificity may raise red flags. Let's just say it wasn't easy trying to research his symptoms on the Internet.
I'll save the suspense lest you think Peter really was ill. He wasn't. But, today's visit with the doctor brought these factoids/events:
(1) Peter now weighs 13 pounds, 11 ounces. His furious rate of growth has slowed, for now, which means we might be able to eek a few more weeks out of his bassinet. (This is good news as we've not really done anything toward showing him that his new crib is for sleeping and not only for playing. (2) Peter looks like Kevin in the brow region. (3) Peter is a "big boy" and a "strong boy" and "is very vocal" and is "as happy as can be." (4) Peter pulled out several strands of Dr. Soriano's hair. (5) Peter also peed all over Dr. Soriano, breaking her 6-year pee-free streak. I'm ashamed to admit I'm a little proud of the booger.
Clearly nothing could top that, and we didn't even try. I took Peter past all of his favorite stops on Castro Street, including the fish store. He really likes to look at the fish and the lights in the tanks. I also took Peter to the park by the library for a little photo shoot, where he might have laughed for the first time. I have to wait for Kevin's confirmation to be sure, but I really think it was a laugh.
Peter's development is so funny for me to watch, because it's so - for lack of a better word - spurty. He'll be hard at work on finding his fingers, only to be distracted by a new talent, like talking. Or, he'll go a day or two without saying anything, mostly because his hands are jammed into his mouth. I guess it's pretty normal for babies, and who can blame them? They have the whole world to explore, and their whole lives ahead of them. I just hope I can be patient enough to let Peter find it all - his fingers, his words, his homework, his college major - on his own.
His new "Kevin's away so the baby will play" trick is to be a wee bit more difficult to put down. (Note: Kevin hates it when I say "put the baby down" in reference to putting the baby to bed; it makes him think of rabid dogs. He also doesn't really like it when I call Peter "the baby," which I kind of do a lot.) But, n=2 does not a good sample make, so I will reserve judgement until I have additional observations.
An hour long nap in his carseat? Peter really MUST be upset.
Today was Peter's two-month checkup. As we expected, we learned that he's doing just fantastic. It's looking more and more likely that Peter will have hernia surgery in the next year or two, though. Poor kiddo. (Actually, it might be nice to have that little bit of intestine sealed up within his abdominal wall. It's a little...gurgly...for my tastes.)
He's still a chunky boy (around the 90th percentile this time), but he's starting to lengthen, moving from the 35th percentile to the 75th percentile.
Alas, two-month checkups come chock full of vaccinations. Judging from Peter's reaction, they feel like a mountain lion attack. Like a true son of mine, he's coping by taking many, many naps.
Peter's a growing boy. He's just growing OUT, and not UP.
Let's put it another way: he's in the 35th percentile for height, and 95th percentile for weight.
Do you want to visualize this? The kid has fat ripples ON HIS FEET, not to mention his little wrists, arms, and thighs.
This is great news for Peter and for me. I was concerned that his recent spate of somewhat runny diapers meant that I'd have to cut out dairy, citrus, soy, or wheat from my diet - to say nothing of tomatoes, onions, caffeine, and chocolate. Really, what would I eat? That's my diet, right there. But, since Peter's gaining weight so well and shows no sign of dehydration, I'm clear to eat whatever I'd like, runny diaper be damned!
In other news, he has a bit of a heat rash from his new swaddling/sleeping in his bassinet routine. He still has his umbilical hernia, but we're still unconcerned about it. He was a very good boy for Dr. Soriano, even during his Hepatitis B shot.
And the best news is that we've been cleared to that the baby to high altitudes! Hello, John Muir Trail. (Just kidding. Didn't I mention that the kid weighs almost 12 pounds? He's definitely not coming with us on any upcoming backpacking trip.)
Peter's girth is taking a physical toll on us both. I have the well-documented tendonitis, and both of us are suffering from some serious back aches and sore, tired arms. While waiting for Dr. Soriano, Kevin had me steal a handout on isometric back exercises, and I've checked out a few Pilates videos from the library.
(1) Chompers probably does have some kind of stomach or intestinal upset. He very helpfully pooped all over the examination table while having his temperature taken, which gave Dr. Soriano an idea of how watery and green his stools are. But, he's not dehydrated, and he's active and has good color, so we're not concerned at this point. (Dr. Soriano did say that it was right for us to bring him in, though, and hinted that all of the ibuprofen that I've been taking for my wrist might be to blame, although that would be unusual.)
(2) Chomps has a stomach hernia. Ouch! I guess it's pretty common, though, and Dr. Soriano told us that they "reserve surgery until he's older." We suspected that something was up with his belly button, since it sticks out a good half-inch from his body.
(3) Dr. Soriano's official opinion is that Peter looks like Kevin. He certainly has his father's eyes. But...his mother's chin. And tongue? Perhaps. It's a big one.
(4) And, what we were all waiting for: Peter's current weight is 10 pounds, 12 ounces. In the words of EVERYONE who sees him, "he's a BIG baby."
Due to Mr. Chomper's...er...routundess, he's already starting to outgrow some of his most adorable outfits, including this, a gift from our friend and mentor Nancy Royal.
It's possibly the most perfect infant print we've ever seen. Both Kevin and I fell in love with it, and then were so disappointed when we put it on today only to learn that it was a bit snug. Tragically, it met an early demise due to a poorly put-on diaper (blame the good doctor) and an explosive, watery, and green stool. Sigh.
Lesson learned: Babies probably will not sleep all day, then all night as well. Unless, of course, you hold said baby all night long.
In proverb form: Don't let sleeping babies lie, especially if it's light outside.
I blame this one on both of us - me, relieved that Kevin was around all day yesterday, and Kevin, who was excited that Piglet actually liked to be held by him.
No positional plagiocephaly here! Just an increased risk of SIDS.
In other news, Chompers tried his gums at a new form of food: the bottle. To mixed results.
Daddy...and milk? Hmm. Weird events are afoot in the Davis-Ross household.
In somewhat related news, Chompers may have an intestinal infection of sorts (at least, according to Dr. Spock.) Let's just say that there has been much discussion re: the color, consistency, frequency, and odor of recent bowel movements, and none of it is cheerful. (Important note: this took place before bottlefeeding experiment.)
So, tomorrow finds us visiting Dr. Soriano for the fourth time in so many weeks.
Our last shot of all of Peter, after his favorite activity ever.
Today, Peter was circumcised. Ouch, indeed. I won't go into the discussions that we had that led up to the snippage, but Kevin's reaction after he saw the results show was: "I'm glad I don't remember mine."
But, our Piglet did a really great job during the procedure; Dr. Soriano said he slept through almost 80 percent of the procedure, and freaked out only when he needed to be strapped down. (Apparently, our baby is one of the rare ones who hates to be swaddled - or, at least, hates to have his arm movement restricted.)
In other news, our son is a tub. He weighed in at 9 pounds, 9 ounces - a POUND increase from 6 days ago. Gigantor, indeed. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised: when the medical assistant asked us what we use to calm him down (like a pacifier, or giving him a finger to suck on), my reply was that he liked to eat. A lot. It's pretty much the only thing that works. (Not that we've had much need for serious comforting.)
First, please excuse any glaring spelling, grammar, or syntax errors. It's tough to think straight when you have a newborn. (You should have seen me trying to figure out how elevators work at our lactation appointment today. It was kind of embarrassing. This after struggling to figure out where we needed to go, and not understanding why it wasn't on the map even after Kevin pointed out that we were on the wrong floor. At least I was able to brush my teeth this morning.)
Peter's been a busy little boy at his few days at home.
Yesterday we visited Dr. Soriano for his first appointment, and it went very well. During pregnancy - and now - the word most used to describe Peter was "thriving." He's a big, strong boy. It's probably his overall health that allowed him to make such a quick turnaround after his birth.
Today, we checked in with a lactation consultant, who again used the word "thriving" when talking about Peter. He's almost up to his birth weight, which apparently is remarkable for a four-day-old. (Tell this to my father; a few days ago he asked how much weight his grandson had gained. He also wanted to know if Peter sounded "manly" when he cried. I think my dad's a little excited about the new shortstop in the family.)
Then, a somewhat ill-advised trip to pick up some much needed items, including diapers that actually fit our son. Alas, we failed in this department...again. Who would have thought that there is such a range in what fits an almost-9-pound baby?
There's been talk of taking a walk to find the baby ducks, but we've also had word that the baby ducks may be gone, lost at the hands of some evil raccoons. (In a stroke of bizarre coincidence, one of our NICU nurses lives in our complex. We had an extended discussion about the baby ducks.)
And, I'm somewhat afraid to report that The Old Dude and The Girlfriend, who live upstairs, seem none too happy that a healthy baby boy's lungs have moved in downstairs. The Girlfriend studiously avoided eye contact with me when our paths crossed at the mailboxes today. Luckily, Peter's not much of a crier.
Yet.
Peter's lungs get a rest, much to The Old Dude's relief.
Born: May 7, 5:53 a.m., at Lucile Packard Children's Hospital at Stanford. Weight: 8 pounds, 10 ounces Length: 21 inches.
Dr. Shin, upon delivering Peter: "How did he fit in you?"
So, I'll preface this by saying that I really, truly did have every intention of having a natural, intervention-free pregnancy.
Until labor started.
And really, labor wasn't so bad, except for the fact that after 12 hours of it, I was only 30 percent of the way dilated and experiencing minute-long contractions with only a minute of rest. And it was 7 p.m., which meant I had a long night ahead of me.
So, yes, I got the epidural.
But putting that aside, delivery was pretty easy, until the end. I started having contractions Sunday morning, right when I woke up, and they progressed pretty rapidly throughout the day. By 2 p.m., I was convinced I was well into the second stage of labor, a.k.a. the "go to the hospital" stage.
I was not. We went in and were sent home.
By 7 p.m., I again was convinced that it had to be time to go to the hospital, since the contractions were so frequent.
It wasn't time, really. But, we went and stayed this time, mostly because I couldn't bear the thought of 40 more minutes in the car.
When we got to the hospital, we were glad to see that Dr. Shin was still the OB on-call. She was pretty excited to see us too, as she'd asked us on Friday to have the baby this weekend while she'd be in the hospital. I should have told her that we'd be there Sunday, since I've known for a while that we'd have the baby on May 6. (As it was, we missed it by about 6 hours. Which I think is pretty remarkable.)
So, we got the epidural, we got settled, and we started sleeping - which was nice. Everything was going well, until the last half-hour of delivery. I had just started the "push" stage when it became clear that the baby was having some problems - he'd had a bowel movement and his heart rate was dipping very low. So, I got some oxygen (which, unexpectedly, felt like it was suffocating), and we got to some serious pushing. After a few attempts, the nurse nicely told me that it looked like we had about 1.5 to 2 hours of pushing ahead of me.
Then, Dr. Shin came in, to let me know that I had about 15 minutes to push the baby out, or they'd have to suction him out, because he was having that much trouble.
So, 15 minutes later, out pops Peter.
Unfortunately, Peter had done just what everyone was afraid of - he'd inhaled some of the bowel movement, which is just as terrible as it sounds. The result was that he wasn't able to get his first few good breaths, and even after intervention from the Neonatal Intensive Care team in the delivery room, he still wasn't able to breathe properly.
Peter was taken away, to the NICU, to have some emergency interventions performed. It was really terrible for all of us: Kevin, who went with Peter to the NICU; me, who had to stay behind without holding the baby; and the delivery nurse and Dr. Shin, for whom everything had been going so well.
The first half of Monday was pretty tough. We spent it in one of the shared recovery rooms - with a mother and her baby. Also, we had no idea how Peter was doing. Every update we received was more and more positive, but no one suggested that he was fine. By noon, he'd been intubated (which he pulled out), he'd had a spinal tap; he'd been put on an IV and had antibiotics pumped into him; and he'd had an artery tapped through his umbilical cord for easy blood samples.
I'd spent the morning in bed, and Kevin went to visit Peter, bringing me this picture. It was tough to see. I'd also tried to get rest, but spent the morning being interviewed by everyone, from a lactation consultant (sorry, not going to happen) to a social worker.
Luckily, we were able to move to a private room, and we were able to see Peter later that day.
And, even MORE luckily, Peter continued to make incredible progress. By late afternoon, we were told that we could hold and even try to feed Peter. By Tuesday, Peter was off of his IV and I was his primary food source. (Which meant that I was actually excited to get midnight phone calls telling me to come feed my baby. We'll see how long that lasts.) Also by Tuesday, we were told that Peter would more than likely come home with us Wednesday.
One of the few times Peter didn't cry when Kevin held him.
Bonding with Peter
Going home
So that's where we are now: home. Our little NICU baby is healthy and happy, and sleeping with Dad right now.
A ton of photos from the first few day's of Peter's life are here:
Today's appointment with Dr. Shin revealed that BDR has indeed dropped. Kevin and I had been wondering about this all week, but had come to no definitive conclusion. Apparently, her head is "quite low." I should note that it has NOT gotten easier to breathe, as I have been promised.
I blame our inability to determine BDR'sdroppage on her gigantism - that is, even though she may be lower, she's just so BIG she takes up all available room.
Also, she's still sticking her bottom out at us.
Also...I cracked the 170 mark. Mostly because of some crazy swelling and water retention of late. The water retention is entirely my fault, since I've been all kinds of busy this week as we prepare for first Eucharist tomorrow and the last day of faith formation Sunday, and have been crossing my legs and standing up and not elevating my feet. And eating In-N-Out for lunch, because I'm 39 weeks pregnant and deserve it.
Kevin, after looking at my sausage-feet: "Don't ever get really fat. I am so unattracted to you right now."
Today, Dr. Sukhdeo (the other doctor from our clinic who may deliver BDR) confirmed what we'd suspected:
1. BDR is still high as a kite. By this I mean, she's not engaged at all. Her head is located somewhere just under my belly button. So much for my hopes of early delivery.
2. BDR has, in fact, been sticking her bottom out at us for the past few weeks. We'd suspected a bulgy lump on my right side was her bottom, but today we had confirmation.
3. I am not to tell the patients in the waiting room just how easy my pregnancy has been.
Contrary to our suspicions, however, I still have not cracked 170.
Kevin noted while we were waiting to make our (fingers-crossed) final appointment that the doctors seem very unconcerned about my pregnancy. And, truthfully, we are too. We don't really have questions when we visit the doctors, and our concerns tend to be of the more trivial kind.
Like: what happens if my water breaks when I'm out in public? (This was a greater concern for me when I still was working: what would happen if my water broke while I was trying to wrangle a bunch of 6 year olds?) I mean, seriously. What would I do? Should I start packing an extra set of clothes?
Or: does the hospital provide ice chips?
Or: Is that really BDR's bottom sticking out at us?
Today's appointment with our OB was full of great news, including some surprisingly positive comments from our already very positive doctor.
BDR is, in her words, "thriving." Also, apparently I'm "a poster child for healthy pregnancy." Also, KJ and I "are going to be great parents." Specifically, we'll "be the cool parents where all the kids hang out. I can see (Amy) baking cookies for everyone."
Dr. Shin said she based her comments on the fact that we've been "relaxed and not anxious" throughout the pregnancy, but I suspect her cookie comment might be based on the unconscionable amount of weight I've gained. (Point of fact: I have not cracked 170. But it's not far away.)
Size-wise, BDR's in the 81st percentile. So...she's big, but not so much to be a cause for concern. Dr. Shin assured me she's delivered big babies with women with my build without problem.
The whole size issue really only concerns me since the only thing I'm at all freaked out about is the possibility of having a c-section. I'd really rather not have my abdominal muscles yanked apart and a 10 pound infant pulled through them.
Speaking of big babies: a friend of ours just told us about her 9 pound, 13 ounce baby. He broke her tailbone on the way out. We did NOT cover this in our birth class.
Anyway, because things have gone so well, we're allowed to space our our weekly visits a bit more, which is nice. I mean, I love going to the doctor, but it's getting old even for me.
BDR in profile. Does she still have the Davis Chin? Or has she grown a Ross Ridge? We'll just have to wait to see.
This morning, KJ and I had what we (fingers-crossed) hope will be the last ultrasound for BDR. You may recall that we learned during her 20-week scan that she has a "bum kidney." Apparently, one of her renal drainage tubes measured out of range, and Dr. Shin wanted to make sure that she'd grown into them.
The good news is that BDR's fine. Her drainage tubes are "likely within range" for a fetus at her gestational age.
But what is her gestational age? All surveys say she's a solid week older than we anticipate, which suggests she'll be coming out the weekend of May 5 - 6.
Which is great - the earlier she emerges, the better at this point - but May 5 is the First Eucharist service for the Faith Formation kids, and is the only date in the upcoming three months - nay, year - that provides any inconvenience at all. Clearly, BDR is her mother's child.
The ultrasound itself was fine - BDR's so big now that it's kind of hard to make out anything. She certainly doesn't fit in one frame the way she did at 20 weeks. Our ultrasound tech was the same as our last scan, who was really friendly and helpful but told us way more information that he probably ought to. (The room is covered with signs informing patients that the ultrasound technicians CANNOT tell you anything diagnostic, so don't even ask mister.) Really, the only drag was that I couldn't lie on my back any longer (stupid vena cava) and had to roll over, away from the screen, so I missed out on the show. In retrospect, this was probably a stroke of luck, as I could easily see myself caving and looking for signs of BDR's female or maleness.
And, I apparently have great amniotic fluid.
In more exciting news (that we've suspected all along), it seems that BDR's already cracking the scales at over 7 pounds. With four weeks to go, this means we may be on track to have a 9 pound baby. And, if her most recent femur measurements are correct, a short, 9 pound baby.
Yeah, BDR's a butterball. It must be all of those jellybean waffles I've been eating.
Almost since Day 1 of the pregnancy, KJ and I have been on the same page: BDR's a girl. Thus, the constant referring to "she" and "her" and "(top-secret name)."
Seriously, if I'd given birth in January or February, and the doctor said, "it's a boy," my first response would have been, "Really? Can you double check?"
Or, for example, take our recent discussion with our family practitioner about circumcision. It's fair to say that we never considered the topic because it never occurred to us that BDR would be XY.
But now?
We're both swinging toward a 50-50 position. It's cool, since it's something that has happened independently. A few weeks ago, Kevin confessed he thought it could be a boy, and I concurred. The last time we had such a similar independent convergence was when we decided on the girl's name - a late entry from left field that obliterated the competition.
Anyway, we had a doctor's appointment yesterday, in which we confirmed: - BDR's still not in breech position; - BDR's still jammed up in my right ribcage; - BDR's heart still is beating; - and Kevin will need to get a flu shot in October.
I think it might be fair to say that it was the last item which made the strongest impression on KJ.
We had an appointment this morning with Dr. Shin, our OB-GYN. Everything has been going so well that I kind of feel like we're a boring case for the doctors. Well, a good boring. I really have had very few side effects with pregnancy (other than the increasing discomfort with toting around BDR and her habitat), very few Braxton-Hicks contractions, and no complications.*
And, we're cleared for camping this weekend. Although...we didn't really ask about backpacking. Dr. Shin just reminded me to drink lots of water and to put on sunscreen.
The good news is that (at least for right now) BDR is NOT in breech position, as I have dreamt about for the past two weeks or so. This is a relief, as we covered C-sections in our last birth class, and neither Kevin nor I were able to stomach the pulling-apart-your-abdominal-muscles part. Ug.
BDR still likes the right side, though, and particularly likes to wedge her little feet under my ribs. She's also starting to bulge out in weird ways. Kevin's new term of endearment? Lumpy.
*Actually, you may recall that BDR has a bum kidney. We'll have it looked at in a couple of weeks to see just how bum it is.
Tonight was our first birth class at the Medical Foundation. It's interesting to note that of the 8 couples there, we were the only ones who didn't know the sex of our baby. More interesting, however, was the tremendous difference in my reaction from Kevin's reaction to the material presented.
When examining a poster depicting a 35-week pregnant woman. Kevin: Your body is so cool. Amy: Um, why is my stomach behind my breasts?
This is what I currently look like, organ-wise. The stomach is making its upward creep. Note the location of the liver. Aye caramba!
Or, during the cheesy "Stages of Birth" video. Kevin: Childbirth is so cool. Amy: The video made me want to cry. I could cry now just thinking about it.
We did learn a few important tips, though. For example: our baby will probably come out looking like a deformed, gooey, bluish alien. Cutting an umbilical cord will feel "crunchy." While in the first stage of labor, you should go for a hike.
Yum, yum. Today I had my gestational diabetes screen, which involved drinking 10 ounces of an Orange Crush-like soda and then waiting around for a hour to see if my body freaked out. Actually, I just had to wait an hour for the insulin to start a-pumpin', then they drew three vials of blood and sent me on my way.
How sweet is this drink? As you can see by the bottle (which, for some reason, the lab wouldn't throw away or recycle for me), it contains 50 grams of dextrose crammed in 10 ounces of carbonated goodness. A 12 ounce can of Coca-Cola Classic contains 40 grams of sucrose. I'm not sure how dextrose vs. sucrose works out, but I assure you that the drink was far, far too sweet for the likes of me. (And, recall, I am a bit of a sugar fiend.)
Note: It's for prescription use only.
I actually kind of did have an adverse reaction to the drink - I think mostly because I had to gulp it down in less than five minutes. About ten minutes after finishing the drink, my heart started racing and I felt a little dizzy. Bad sign? We'll find out in a few days.
The back label of this bottle is pretty funny. I'm fond of "to enhance palatability, chill before serving." I also get a kick out of, "instruct the patient to remain quiet," after consuming the bottle.
wait...we're going up in the sky? for real?
