Air Travel, Cloth Diapers, and a Wookie

Google is my new best friend. I have been googling baby passports, the wet and dry pail methods for cloth diapering, and (of course) green poop. The prospect of a plane trip by myself with a baby is pretty terrifying. I'm aiming for April to travel to Florida so that Q can meet her Grandpa JB, at which point she'll be about 5 months old. I myself am a very nervous flyer and used to pop a Xanax or two each flight I took, but breastfeeding mothers can't take Xanax. My parents very graciously offered to fly Steven there with me for a couple of days and have my mom fly me back, but that seems like a hugely unnecessary expense, and Steven's not confident he can take the time off. I believe, however, that I might have my mom meet me at the layover--probably Houston--and assist me there. That is a much cheaper ticket and less travel for her. Plus, she has discovered that you can get a "gate ticket" for free at almost any airport, which allows you to escort someone to their gate (i.e. Steven would be able to escort Q and I through customs and to our gate in Calgary, and Mom would be able to do the same in Jax).

I have so many questions and concerns, not the least of which is, won't stress decrease my supply of breast milk? And won't that in turn make the baby fussy? I also don't do airplane bathrooms (diaper changes?) or elevators (stroller?). Some airports don't require you to use an elevator/stairs to get where you're going, but some do. I've taken a suitcase on an escalator, but a stroller is an entirely different matter. As for airplane bathrooms, I suppose I could try to change Q in my lap, but I don't think the person next to me would appreciate that. Not to mention it could have potentially disastrous results. As you can see, the whole thing is causing me a great deal of worry, but I know that Q and I will have SUCH a fantastic time once we get there (I'm thinking 2 weeks?), and I will get to take her to the beach for the first time... And have her meet my friends...

In other news, I am taking the plunge and trying cloth diapers. I have a friend who makes these beautiful custom cloth diapers with snaps that can adjust to fit a child up to 35 pounds. I have been learning all about different types of diapers, inserts, how to clean them, how to store dirty ones, and so on. It's like a whole culture--there are different opinions on what kind of detergent to use (certain kinds can cause soap build-up), how to store them (just throw them in a dry pail? Soak them in a special solution? Spray them off in the toilet? Use a liner?), etc. etc. But one thing is undeniable: they are REALLY dang cute. And my friend makes them for very cheap, so if I use them for a week or two and decide they aren't working for Q, I can probably sell them and get most of my money back. And if they do work out, they'll save us a fortune on disposables. Have I mentioned they're adorable?

Other noteworthy... notes:

1. I'm shedding like a cat in the summer. An alarming amount of hair comes out in my hairbrush... And in the shower... And on the couch...

2. Speaking of cats, I am looking for a home for Bella. But only half-heartedly, because she really is the best cat I've ever had. She doesn't seem to be overly fond of babies, however, and it's causing some stress (she tries to nip the baby when she cries...).

3. It seems really dumb to start numbering items and only have 2. So here's a third one.

Over & out!











(What? You thought I had something to say about a wookie? Nah, that was just to get your attention since this entry is fairly boring.)

Immunizations, Unnecessary Clothes, a Bath, and a Photo Shoot

Q got her 2 month immunizations, this week, and I barely held back tears. She screamed her head off for a very short while and then was promptly distracted by the  "rainmaker" toy that the nurse was holding and drifted off to sleep. Steven and I both got booster shots, as well, but these were much less painful than watching our daughter get hers.

I took her out in her stroller for the first time, that day; we went on a short jaunt to Sears, where I purchased an item off a wedding registry and a sleeper that Q does NOT need. Here is my internal dialogue regarding the sleeper:

"Look! A cute sleeper!"
"She doesn't NEED any clothes. She has more than she can wear already!"
"But we always use sleepers. Remember how many clothes she spits up and pees on!"
"We can't afford any extras right now!"
"But look, it's on sale! Only $3!"
"Just today you tossed an outfit into the 'donate' pile that she'd never even worn."

And then, I came up with the most brilliant argument to myself--one that I will use to justify buying Q adorable and totally unnecessary extras for years to come:

"This may be the last time I have a baby girl."

So I bought it. I bought the button-down sleeper with the apples and the pears on it. And it fits her perfectly, and it is adorable. Ironically, I use the OPPOSITE internal argument as a justification for saving all of her outgrown clothes: "But we might have another baby girl!"

Q and I took our first bath together, recently, and I am trying to encase that picture-perfect moment in my memory like a bug in maple resin (okay, that was weird...). She had been screaming all morning, which was quite unusual, and I was beside myself--home alone, crying and vocalizing allowed, "What's wrong?" over and over. So I decided to try to take a bath with her for the first time, and as soon as I set her onto my chest in the warm water, she stopped crying and looked at me with the sweetest eyes. We nursed, and I spent most of the bath praying she wouldn't poop on me (she didn't!). It was the only time she was quiet and happy that entire morning. She has such a cute little baby butt and skinny little legs!

And finally, today a photographer came to our house for a free photo session, courtesy of the Welcome Wagon. Of course, it's all a ploy--they promise you one free photo out of the couple dozen they take, knowing you'll find your own offspring irresistible and have to buy more. I mean, he put her in a little apron and chef's hat. A chef's hat! And she was holding a whisk! How could I possibly resist that? I bet Steven longs to see me in a chef's hat with a whisk, and no, I don't mean that in a kinky way. I mean I literally do not cook. Anyway, I hope that the photos turn out badly so that I don't feel compelled to buy them. It was fun to watch the process, though, and the photographer almost gave me a heart attack when he sat her up and pulled his hand away, snapped a quick photo, and put it back to catch her just as she was starting to fall. He promised me he'd never lost a baby yet.

Well, I guess that's all the update I have for now. Upcoming adventures that would only be exciting to a mom: A bumbo chair! Her first plane trip! Crying in a way that sounds exactly like the word "onion" literally seconds after I wonder aloud if she is allergic to onions! And more!

Job Woes & Mysterious Symptoms

I'm not entirely sure whether this is common knowledge yet--we haven't generally been telling people except family and close friends--but Steven lost his job when Q was 2 weeks old. I remember that as the very darkest time. My daughter was in the hospital hooked up to oxygen and yellow with jaundice, and I had taken a fast break between feedings to drive home for a bath to soak my red, itchy skin (a harsh, dry winter and a lack of my usual around-the-clock allergy meds were to blame for that). Steven broke the news to me, and I went to sit in the bathtub, sobbing, feeling darkness closing around me. I had a sick daughter that I was dying to take home--home to a house that we could no longer pay for. I told myself over and over that I would be able to look back 5 years from now and say, "That sucked. That was a bad time," and then move on to another, more relevant thought.

Steven has been jobless for about two months now. We've had family and friends supplying much of our food (women from the church brought me a week of meals, recently, and Steven's mother keeps us stocked up on food essentials and diapers). He's getting unemployment, but we recently discovered that it's a very sad amount that doesn't even cover half of our bills. We can't apply for government assistance because I immigrated within the last 5 years. Steven has had some promising prospects. He's had interviews with two computer places, as well as a job offered him as a delivery driver for Boston Pizza (which might not be bad money--certainly more than $150 a week!). He's also very interested in applying for a job as a 911 operator, which pays well but requires you to pay for your training out of pocket.

In the meantime, I am experiencing some weird symptoms. I have been hit recently with some extreme fatigue, despite getting a decent amount of sleep (rarely more than 4 hours at a time, but that's not too bad for a 2-month-old). Last night I slept about 4-5 hours, handed Q to Steven after a feeding, and slept another 5 hours or so (with one feeding in between). Now, six hours after I woke up at noon, I'm exhausted and ready to fall asleep again! Coupled with that is fast and unexplained weight loss which I originally chalked up to breastfeeding. But now I'm not so sure. Granted, eliminating dairy from my diet might partially account for my continued weight loss (not to mention, all the delicious, fattening foods have dairy in them...). But anyway, I am thinking of asking my doctor to give me a blood test to check my thyroid levels.

Well, I am too tired to think of how to wrap this entry up in a coherent fashion. Good evening.

Week 7: Exhaustion, Poop Blowouts, and Birth Control

Believe it or not, I was really on top of things for a while. All the dishes were put in the dishwasher, all the floors were vacuumed and mopped, all the laundry was folded and put away, and even the bathroom had had a good scrubbing. But not anymore! The time demands of an infant have finally caught up with me, and now I often use my "down" time to stare blankly at the nearest wall in a state of perpetual exhaustion. First off, Q is only letting me get about 3 hours of sleep per night. I could get more, mind you, if I went to bed at 9pm like she does and took advantage of the ~3 hours of sleep she affords me there, but my mind and body are at their most energetic during those hours of night. Try as I might, sleep will not come. So I am relegated to a mere 3 hours of sleep anywhere between the hours of midnight and 5 a.m. Usually by the time Steven wakes up around 8 or 9, I am in a zombie-like state of existence and hand her silently to him before crawling back under the covers.

Also, messes! It is a big chore just to stay on top of them! Q had her 3rd explosive poop of her short lifespan, today, and it soaked through her onesie, overalls, and onto her swing seat. So in the middle of the day I found myself bathing her and collecting all the extra laundry in a wet heap. I can't imagine how those moms do cloth diapers. The amount of laundry I find myself doing is out of control. Q spits up on my clothes at least once a day, so gone are the days of wearing an outfit multiple days in a week.

Do you recall how I mentioned that it is imperative that women who have just had a c-section not get pregnant for at least a year? Well, bearing that in mind, I bravely plunged into the waters of birth control pills and went on the "mini-pill," a progestin-only pill that supposedly has fewer side effects than most birth control medications (though it has the risk of being slightly less effective than normal 2-hormone pills, it is a popular choice for breastfeeding moms). Many years ago, I had attempted a couple of different pills and found that they caused either nausea or horrific mood swings. Well guess what? Within 3 days of starting this new pill, I was a bundle of anxieties--nerves raw, having trouble concentrating on the baby, filled with a sense of imminent doom. I went back off of it and saw IMMEDIATE improvement--now I regret that I spent $25 on the darn package (our insurance hadn't kicked in yet--have I mentioned that Steven is currently unemployed?). I could've spent that $25 on getting a bento box from J & T Steak House, which I've really, really, really been craving. I'm not sure I'm allowed to crave things anymore. I'll chalk it up to being Canadian.

But motherhood is not all bad. Q smiles lots now, and I have grown to love all her adorable little baby rolls. She is tall, too--she has just now grown out of the 0-3 month size due to being too tall for it. I've been filling out her baby book with abandon, and I hope that one day when she's older, she'll appreciate the effort I've put into it. And maybe, when she has her own children, she'll compare her baby book with theirs, as I've been comparing hers to mine. Q's name means "intelligent" or "wise," and I pray every day that she grows in wisdom and has compassion for others.

In the meantime, I'll be over here combating explosive poops.

Postpartum Check-up & Other Things

When I asked Steven if becoming a mother had changed me as a person and he said yes, I waited for him to compliment me on how I'd matured or how I spent hours a day cleaning the house--how I hadn't played a computer game in 2 months in favor of doing multiple loads of laundry, scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees, and sanitizing breast pumps and pacifiers. I recalled how motherhood has turned me into a detective--google searches turning up everything from what that red mark is on her eyelid (it's a stork bite, and it will go away) to what helps a bad diaper rash (coconut oil did the trick). Steven's primary impression of how motherhood has changed me, however, was neatly summed up into three words: "You're more paranoid."

He's right, of course. Motherhood is scouting out all the dangers in this inhospitable world, and I guess many first time mothers might take that a little too far. It doesn't help that every baby item comes with multiple warnings about how, if used improperly, this item can cause injury. Car seats, man. Car seats are stressful. Not to mention my intense distrust of the cats ever since our sweet, older cat, Bella, tried to nip Q's face while she was crying on our laps. I now always have an awareness of where the cats are and relegate them to the downstairs if I want to put Q on the couch for a minute or in her swing on the floor. I can already sense that not being an overprotective mother is going to be a challenge for me--the only time I don't stress about Q's safety is when I'm asleep (which is currently only happening in about 2-3 hour blocks).

Anyway, today was my 6 week postpartum checkup with my obstetrician (though Q is actually 7 weeks old). At our appointment, we discussed whether any bad decisions were made regarding Q's delivery and subsequent hospital stay, and what our plan of action would be for future children (which, I assured her, were in the distant future). She conceded that an argument could be made for having waited another week to induce, but, as she reminded me, Q was already a 10 pound baby. There wasn't much that could have been done differently. As for child #2, I learned that one is not supposed to be induced after a c-section because of the increased chance of uterine rupture. So, being a diabetic and thus optimally giving birth at 38 or 39 weeks to decrease the risk of the placenta degrading, this means that either my body needs to go into early labor by itself (and early enough that the baby will not be another 10 pounder), or we do a planned c-section. I asked my OB if I could just opt for a planned c-section right out, and she said yes. The chances of us ending up in a c-section regardless would be quite high. So, I guess that took a little bit off my mind. One day, hopefully, Q will be a big sister. One day faaaar away.

We had a little milestone today. I told myself that I wouldn't be one of those parents who was super enthralled with every little physical milestone that every single baby before her has reached--but I am. And today, when the two of us woke up from our nap, I poked my head over the side of the bassinet and started talking and cooing to her. At which point Q turned her head to find my voice and, once she had locked her eyes on me, smiled. It was the first time that I felt like she was smiling at ME, and not just some gas or funny thought she was having (what would constitute a funny baby thought?).

Well, I'd better sign off for now. I added dairy back into my diet today, and I have a very fussy baby on my hands. It will be a lot easier to handle now that I know what it's from and how I can prevent it! Just have to get through tonight...

6 weeks old

I'm going to take a quick break before describing our extended hospital stay to just write a regular entry about regular baby things.

Q and I went to the pediatrician yesterday--it was our longest stretch so far between doctors' visits (unless you count her RSV immunization last week). Her jaundice is still present, being uncommonly stubborn due to both our AB-O blood incompatibility and me being a diabetic. The doctor said that considering the length of the jaundice, I now had the option to put her on formula for 48 hours to see if that would bring it down (we suspect it's breast milk jaundice, which should eventually flush out on its own, formula or not). I politely declined, citing our long and very difficult journey to establish breastfeeding. Also, I have read that in rare cases, jaundice can last 2-3 months, and I think that is what we have here. Q's levels are definitely decreasing--I can tell by how yellow she is--albeit slowly.

We also discussed her fussy/crying period in the evening, but it sounds to me like there's no sure and fast way to remedy that, and I might just have to do the best I can for the next couple of months (colic usually goes away by about 3 months, though in some cases it can last up to a year... and this child has been notorious for taking her time). The night before last was horrendous--6 hours of crying! Last night, though, she merely had a "fussy" period from 8pm to 12am where she wouldn't go down and was squirmy and noisy with some occasional light crying. It was still tiring, but not soul-sucking.

And THEN! She let me sleep for 6 uninterrupted hours! Sure, I woke up with my right boob leaking all over the bed, but it was a small price to pay for 6 straight hours. I woke up at 6am feeling well rested and pumped a bit of milk off the top before feeding her and then making myself an egg, coffee, and an english muffin. Now she's sleeping peacefully in the swing beside me with her arms held up high over her head. I like this kid; she's always ready for a robbery.

I was looking up Q's percentiles yesterday. At 10.3 pounds (10 lbs 5 oz) at birth, she was above the 97th percentile. However, between being sick and being at the hospital for so long, Q gained weight very slowly in the following month, and at 10.5 pounds (10 lbs 8 0z), which is what she was last week at her immunization, she now falls in the 60-something percentile. Now, a percentile in the 60s is lovely, but not when it drops from the 97th percentile. According to her weight this week (10.6 pounds at the doctor's office), she is gaining about 20 grams per day, which is on the very low end of acceptable (acceptable range being 20-100 grams per day, I believe). I plan to take her back to the breastfeeding clinic on Monday and trying to get her feeding a little better.

However, Q still has big, chubby cheeks on her, lots of little arm rolls, and is generally a healthy-looking and content baby (minus those evening hours, nicknamed "the witching hour" by parents all over). Part of me is relieved that she's not growing TOO fast--I don't plan to pop out a lot of babies, and I know this tiny-baby phase passes all too quickly. So even through the fussing and the doctor's appointments and the stress, I am trying to enjoy what a tiny person she is and how totally dependent she is on me. This will probably be the only time in her life she is completely dependent and tucked fully under my protective wing.