Tess just had a dirty diaper so enormous that it required an outfit change for her, an outfit change for me, and a bath for her including a hair wash. Seriously.
It's a good thing for her that she is so darling. Also, she slept for a full six-hour stretch last night. When I woke up and saw that it was 6:00 a.m., I was so excited I almost cried. I suppose this unprecedented amount of sleep entitles her to a horrifying blowout diaper.
Twelve weeks old today! I can hardly believe it. I am relieved the toughest newborn days are behind us, and yet almost weepy that they are passing by so quickly. How did we get to twelve weeks already??
Showing posts with label Ahhhhh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ahhhhh. Show all posts
Monday, April 19, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Yikes
Well last week was pretty much awful. There is no way to sugarcoat it. When I am feeling fully recovered (if such a thing is even possible), I will write in more detail about what happened. We've been home since Friday night and I still feel pretty damn rattled over the whole thing.
The good news is we had a follow up appointment with the pediatrician this morning, and Tessa basically got a clean bill of health. So apparently I do not need to stay up all night watching her breath. Just in case, you know.
I will close this brief entry with the final picture I took of her in the hospital, looking almost like her usual self. She is so beautiful.
The good news is we had a follow up appointment with the pediatrician this morning, and Tessa basically got a clean bill of health. So apparently I do not need to stay up all night watching her breath. Just in case, you know.
I will close this brief entry with the final picture I took of her in the hospital, looking almost like her usual self. She is so beautiful.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Powered by Caffeine, Medela, and Fear
So this week didn't go exactly as planned. I was awfully flip about Tessa's cold in my last entry, and I'm feeling fairly guilty about that now. It turns out it wasn't just a cold.
All weekend Miss Tess became increasingly listless, and by Sunday night she was refusing to eat. The few times we did coax her into drinking an ounce or two, she would wait a few minutes and then throw it all up again in spectacular fashion. Plus her cough was worsening, and her breathing was labored. So even though I'd taken her to the doctor on Friday, I hauled her back to the pediatrician's office Monday.
After watching her eat-then-throw-up routine happen twice in twenty minutes, the pediatrician sent us straight to the emergency room for some IV fluids. "They'll give her the fluid and she'll perk right up, you'll see. But be prepared to be there a few hours," she cautioned.
HAHAHAHA.
That was Monday afternoon, and we're still here. In the PICU, to be specific. Her cold is actually RSV with bronchiolitis, and part of her lung is collapsed.
Tessa is making slow but steady progress. The good news is she's eating really well on her own, so yesterday they took her off the IV fluids she'd been receiving since Monday afternoon. They have also changed her breathing treatments (which she gets every six hours) from albuterol to just saline solution. Now the big goal is to get her weaned off of her oxygen cannula so we can get her out of the ICU and into the regular pediatrics ward (and then home!). She's currently on 30% oxygen at 8 liters per hour.
This morning the doctors tried to turn down the oxygen to 21%, which is what we regularly breath at room air, but her blood oxygenation immediately dropped down into the low 90's (they like it to be 95-100%) so they had to bump her back up. I am hoping the doctors will try again tomorrow and it will go better.
ARGH.
As I was typing that last paragraph her oxygen levels dipped again and they had to increase her to 35%. This is clearly the wrong direction. I fear we will be here for many more days, and believe me it is neither restful nor calming for any of us.
They are going to increase her chest physical therapy (which she is getting every couple of hours) and hope that breaks up the mucus in her lungs a bit more. I will try to update tomorrow.
All weekend Miss Tess became increasingly listless, and by Sunday night she was refusing to eat. The few times we did coax her into drinking an ounce or two, she would wait a few minutes and then throw it all up again in spectacular fashion. Plus her cough was worsening, and her breathing was labored. So even though I'd taken her to the doctor on Friday, I hauled her back to the pediatrician's office Monday.
After watching her eat-then-throw-up routine happen twice in twenty minutes, the pediatrician sent us straight to the emergency room for some IV fluids. "They'll give her the fluid and she'll perk right up, you'll see. But be prepared to be there a few hours," she cautioned.
HAHAHAHA.
That was Monday afternoon, and we're still here. In the PICU, to be specific. Her cold is actually RSV with bronchiolitis, and part of her lung is collapsed.
Tessa is making slow but steady progress. The good news is she's eating really well on her own, so yesterday they took her off the IV fluids she'd been receiving since Monday afternoon. They have also changed her breathing treatments (which she gets every six hours) from albuterol to just saline solution. Now the big goal is to get her weaned off of her oxygen cannula so we can get her out of the ICU and into the regular pediatrics ward (and then home!). She's currently on 30% oxygen at 8 liters per hour.
This morning the doctors tried to turn down the oxygen to 21%, which is what we regularly breath at room air, but her blood oxygenation immediately dropped down into the low 90's (they like it to be 95-100%) so they had to bump her back up. I am hoping the doctors will try again tomorrow and it will go better.
ARGH.
As I was typing that last paragraph her oxygen levels dipped again and they had to increase her to 35%. This is clearly the wrong direction. I fear we will be here for many more days, and believe me it is neither restful nor calming for any of us.
They are going to increase her chest physical therapy (which she is getting every couple of hours) and hope that breaks up the mucus in her lungs a bit more. I will try to update tomorrow.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Powered by Caffeine and Medela
Tessa has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad cold. Newborn with a bad cold = parents with no sleep. Like, almost none at all. I think in the past two days I have gotten five broken hours of sleep total. Yikes.
Here is what happens: It is 3:00 a.m. Baby begins to cry. Baby is picked up out of the crib by one of her exhausted parents, and then fed/changed/walked in circles as required to calm her down and get her back to sleep. (Bonus points to the parent if a blowout poopy diaper is discovered, such as the one that happened last night around 1:15 a.m. requiring a full outfit change and swaddle blanket replacement.) The parent continues to soothe baby until she is clearly deeply asleep, perhaps even snoring. Then the parent continues the soothing process for an additional ten minutes, just to be absolutely positive that baby is now sleeping soundly and can be returned to cradle with minimal risk. Parent lays baby very gently and slowly down into her cradle and makes sure she is comfy and warm. Parent lays back down in own bed; pillow feels blissful. Ahhhh, bed. Glorious bed.
Parent has bought himself or herself perhaps ten minutes before the crying begins again. Only now the baby is angry, because seriously, who gave you permission to put her down in the cradle, you evil parent? Quite obviously the baby will only tolerate sleeping in your arms, and not any stupid cradle. Or swing. Or bouncy seat. Or strategically-angled car seat propped on bedroom floor.
The fun scenario described above is made more interesting by occasional pathetic coughing, sneezing, and snorting from the newborn. Tessa is so congested that is she refusing to breastfeed. She does not want her little nose or cheeks touched or squished in any manner, and thus will only take bottles. This means I am spending even more quality time with my already close friend the Medela Symphony to make sure my sadly mediocre milk supply doesn't drop any further.
To sum up: newborn with a cold = bad bad bad.
The good news is that the baby is, snot nose and all, so adorable. I mean it. She's much more alert and looking around (somewhat suspiciously) at her surroundings, and I am waiting with baited breath for her first real smile. Please send us some good thoughts that this cold passes quickly and we can return to our regular, non-snotty, occasionally decent-sleeping baby ASAP.
Here is what happens: It is 3:00 a.m. Baby begins to cry. Baby is picked up out of the crib by one of her exhausted parents, and then fed/changed/walked in circles as required to calm her down and get her back to sleep. (Bonus points to the parent if a blowout poopy diaper is discovered, such as the one that happened last night around 1:15 a.m. requiring a full outfit change and swaddle blanket replacement.) The parent continues to soothe baby until she is clearly deeply asleep, perhaps even snoring. Then the parent continues the soothing process for an additional ten minutes, just to be absolutely positive that baby is now sleeping soundly and can be returned to cradle with minimal risk. Parent lays baby very gently and slowly down into her cradle and makes sure she is comfy and warm. Parent lays back down in own bed; pillow feels blissful. Ahhhh, bed. Glorious bed.
Parent has bought himself or herself perhaps ten minutes before the crying begins again. Only now the baby is angry, because seriously, who gave you permission to put her down in the cradle, you evil parent? Quite obviously the baby will only tolerate sleeping in your arms, and not any stupid cradle. Or swing. Or bouncy seat. Or strategically-angled car seat propped on bedroom floor.
The fun scenario described above is made more interesting by occasional pathetic coughing, sneezing, and snorting from the newborn. Tessa is so congested that is she refusing to breastfeed. She does not want her little nose or cheeks touched or squished in any manner, and thus will only take bottles. This means I am spending even more quality time with my already close friend the Medela Symphony to make sure my sadly mediocre milk supply doesn't drop any further.
To sum up: newborn with a cold = bad bad bad.
The good news is that the baby is, snot nose and all, so adorable. I mean it. She's much more alert and looking around (somewhat suspiciously) at her surroundings, and I am waiting with baited breath for her first real smile. Please send us some good thoughts that this cold passes quickly and we can return to our regular, non-snotty, occasionally decent-sleeping baby ASAP.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
In which I am exhausted
Newsflash: having a newborn baby come and live at your house means you will be very, very tired. Bonus newsflash: if you have a toddler who already lives at your house, and then you add a newborn baby to the mix, it means you will be so tired you can hardly see straight. Literally. As in, last night my eyes wouldn't really focus and I ran into a door frame so hard that I am sporting a sizable bruise on my hip. I swear, that doorframe jumped up at me out of nowhere.
In lieu of an actual blog entry, please accept this very long video of Gabe singing most of the ABCs, followed by his rousing and enthusiastic rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
Oh wait, I do have one thing to add. The Canadian ice dancing team won the Olympic gold medal last night. The woman ice dancer's name is Tessa Virtue (for real). We tried to pick something not terribly common for our kid's name, and now I am convinced that every other baby girl born in Canada in the next few months will be named Tessa, because those Canadians are pretty fired up about the ice dancing gold. Awesome.
In lieu of an actual blog entry, please accept this very long video of Gabe singing most of the ABCs, followed by his rousing and enthusiastic rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
Oh wait, I do have one thing to add. The Canadian ice dancing team won the Olympic gold medal last night. The woman ice dancer's name is Tessa Virtue (for real). We tried to pick something not terribly common for our kid's name, and now I am convinced that every other baby girl born in Canada in the next few months will be named Tessa, because those Canadians are pretty fired up about the ice dancing gold. Awesome.
Monday, September 28, 2009
In which I am sick...
I have The Black Plague, I think. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what's wrong with me. Gabe continues to be remarkable and funny and probably a genius, and Version 2.0 kicks and kicks and kicks (and she is STILL a girl, according to the ultrasound I had last Friday, woo hoo!), so that is all good news even if I am suffering from The Black Plague.
Please distract yourselves with this recent concert video while I go moan and cough and generally feel sorry for myself. (I would post some of the ultrasound photos as an additional distraction and also to give equal love to both children, but the only shots we got last Friday are of the baby's terrifying skull face, and I will spare you those scary images.)
Please distract yourselves with this recent concert video while I go moan and cough and generally feel sorry for myself. (I would post some of the ultrasound photos as an additional distraction and also to give equal love to both children, but the only shots we got last Friday are of the baby's terrifying skull face, and I will spare you those scary images.)
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Sometimes it's hard to love the cat.
This evening as Gabe and I were going through our cozy bedtime ritual, I walked him over to his crib to take out the decorative stuffed animals (as placed there by the decorators who staged our home which STILL HAS NOT SOLD ahhhhh am losing my mind from the noise of the vacuum and the fumes from the kitchen cleaners which I use EVERY DAMN DAY), I noticed something highly unpleasant.
Our cat, who has been acting up a bit ever since Gabe started walking in earnest, had peed in the crib.
CAT PEE IN THE CRIB.
The bad, bad, bad cat also managed to pee all over Gabe's lovey lion blanket (a very soft, sweet, small blanket with a lion's head sewn on one corner). I was horrified. I am still horrified, several hours later.
So rather than rock Gabe in the glider chair and lay him down gently to sleep as had been my plan thirty seconds earlier, I was forced to strip the crib and and put on a clean mattress pad and sheets. Thank goodness for the waterproof mattress pads that I bought in bulk when Gabe was a newborn. That purchase represents a rare moment of lucidity in the midst of several highly sleep-deprived weeks.
Also, thank goodness we have a backup lovey blanket.
OR SO I THOUGHT.
Gabe has slept with his lovey lion blanket since he was a very little guy. It's organic and made from breathable fabric and it's quite small, so even though I was absolutely terrified of SIDS (and undoubtedly will be again for Version 2.0), the lovey lion blanket never worried me much. Shortly after Gabe began sleeping with the lovey lion, we received a nearly identical blanket as a gift. It's exactly the same, except it has (you guessed it smart readers!) a bear's head on the corner.
I've offered Gabe the bear blanket on a few occasions in the past, usually when the lion was in the wash, and he accepted it without protest.
Not tonight.
Tonight I got him all snuggled down in his crib and handed him the lovey bear. He took it happily, then frowned and sat up to get a better look at it. He examined the blanket, looked at me with raised eyebrows, looked back at the blanket, then smelled the blanket. He turned to me with a very serious expression on his face, extended his arm to show me the blanket, and said, "Uh oh!"
Clearly, not fooled. Not for a minute.
After some serious negotiations he accepted his Elmo doll and DaDoh the gingham stuffed lion as substitutes, and seriously, I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't taken them. I had a few moments of something close to panic as I tried to imagine how I would get him to sleep without the cat-pee-soaked lovey lion. We have an allegedly high efficiency washing machine and dryer, and those damn things take an hour each to run a full cycle, so tossing the lovey lion in for a quick wash was not a good option.
Lucky for me, I have the greatest baby in the whole entire world, and he cheerfully settled down with Elmo tucked under one arm and DaDoh tucked under the other, and was out cold in mere minutes.
Lovey lion is in the wash now, and should be good as new in a couple of hours.
But what am I going to do about the cat?
Our cat, who has been acting up a bit ever since Gabe started walking in earnest, had peed in the crib.
CAT PEE IN THE CRIB.
The bad, bad, bad cat also managed to pee all over Gabe's lovey lion blanket (a very soft, sweet, small blanket with a lion's head sewn on one corner). I was horrified. I am still horrified, several hours later.
So rather than rock Gabe in the glider chair and lay him down gently to sleep as had been my plan thirty seconds earlier, I was forced to strip the crib and and put on a clean mattress pad and sheets. Thank goodness for the waterproof mattress pads that I bought in bulk when Gabe was a newborn. That purchase represents a rare moment of lucidity in the midst of several highly sleep-deprived weeks.
Also, thank goodness we have a backup lovey blanket.
OR SO I THOUGHT.
Gabe has slept with his lovey lion blanket since he was a very little guy. It's organic and made from breathable fabric and it's quite small, so even though I was absolutely terrified of SIDS (and undoubtedly will be again for Version 2.0), the lovey lion blanket never worried me much. Shortly after Gabe began sleeping with the lovey lion, we received a nearly identical blanket as a gift. It's exactly the same, except it has (you guessed it smart readers!) a bear's head on the corner.
I've offered Gabe the bear blanket on a few occasions in the past, usually when the lion was in the wash, and he accepted it without protest.
Not tonight.
Tonight I got him all snuggled down in his crib and handed him the lovey bear. He took it happily, then frowned and sat up to get a better look at it. He examined the blanket, looked at me with raised eyebrows, looked back at the blanket, then smelled the blanket. He turned to me with a very serious expression on his face, extended his arm to show me the blanket, and said, "Uh oh!"
Clearly, not fooled. Not for a minute.
After some serious negotiations he accepted his Elmo doll and DaDoh the gingham stuffed lion as substitutes, and seriously, I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't taken them. I had a few moments of something close to panic as I tried to imagine how I would get him to sleep without the cat-pee-soaked lovey lion. We have an allegedly high efficiency washing machine and dryer, and those damn things take an hour each to run a full cycle, so tossing the lovey lion in for a quick wash was not a good option.
Lucky for me, I have the greatest baby in the whole entire world, and he cheerfully settled down with Elmo tucked under one arm and DaDoh tucked under the other, and was out cold in mere minutes.
Lovey lion is in the wash now, and should be good as new in a couple of hours.
But what am I going to do about the cat?
Friday, March 6, 2009
Best Laid Plans
I had this great idea that I would take a vacation day from work today, send Gabe to school as usual, and spend the better part of the day packing up all of our junk to put into storage this weekend (see earlier post re: oh-my-stars-i'm-having-a-nervous-breakdown-getting-ready-for-the-professional-stagers-ack!). Then I would go grab Gabe in the late afternoon and whiz down the traffic-less freeway towards home, accompanied by unicorns and shooting stars, to play with my baby in my perfectly clean and organized home.
Then this happened:
For those of you who can't tell, that would be the Stinkeye Pinkeye, a/k/a the disease that will get you evicted from daycare in fourteen seconds FLAT. When I picked up Gabe from the Children's Center yesterday afternoon, they literally could not hand him to me fast enough. After (gently) shoving him into my arms, one of his teachers frantically began using hand sanitizing gel as she backed up ten feet away from us and gestured in the general direction of his eyes.
"We had to wipe his eyes twice. You should take him to the doctor. Like, right now."
At this point Gabe rubbed his eyes briskly with his little fists, then smiled up at me and began patting my face because he was just so happy to see me. (I tried to see beyond the contagious plague on his fingertips and focus on the fact that my favorite baby was giving me big smiles. Of course there is no doubt in my mind that I am going to wake up with my eyelids crusted shut tomorrow morning.)
Thank goodness my lovely father-in-law is an eye doctor, and he promptly called in a lovely prescription for lovely, lovely, anti-Stinkeye eyedrops. Although putting eyedrops in the eyes of an almost-ten-month-old baby is, shall we say...challenging. But that is a subject for another post, because I am just too freaking exhausted to describe holding his arms down with my body while attempting to gently, gently pry open his poor goopy blue (red) eyes long enough to drop a single eyedrop in each one.
Oh good grief, I just scrolled up and looked at the picture of his pathetic little self again. Let's face it, there's nowhere good that further discussion of Stinkeye Pinkeye can go, so here, distract yourselves with this picture of a baby with no comunicable disases, which was taken during a happier time (e.g. last weekend):
P.S. My house looks like a complete disaster, thanks for asking.
P.P.S. Gabe got another tooth yesterday, bringing him up to a grand total of TWO!
P.P.P.S. He slept through the night twice this week (FIRST TIME EVER since that one time he did it when he was three months old and still sleeping in the swing), but I dare not say more for fear of jinxing it. (pleasepleaseplease let it happen again tonight!!!)
Then this happened:
"We had to wipe his eyes twice. You should take him to the doctor. Like, right now."
At this point Gabe rubbed his eyes briskly with his little fists, then smiled up at me and began patting my face because he was just so happy to see me. (I tried to see beyond the contagious plague on his fingertips and focus on the fact that my favorite baby was giving me big smiles. Of course there is no doubt in my mind that I am going to wake up with my eyelids crusted shut tomorrow morning.)
Thank goodness my lovely father-in-law is an eye doctor, and he promptly called in a lovely prescription for lovely, lovely, anti-Stinkeye eyedrops. Although putting eyedrops in the eyes of an almost-ten-month-old baby is, shall we say...challenging. But that is a subject for another post, because I am just too freaking exhausted to describe holding his arms down with my body while attempting to gently, gently pry open his poor goopy blue (red) eyes long enough to drop a single eyedrop in each one.
Oh good grief, I just scrolled up and looked at the picture of his pathetic little self again. Let's face it, there's nowhere good that further discussion of Stinkeye Pinkeye can go, so here, distract yourselves with this picture of a baby with no comunicable disases, which was taken during a happier time (e.g. last weekend):
P.S. My house looks like a complete disaster, thanks for asking.
P.P.S. Gabe got another tooth yesterday, bringing him up to a grand total of TWO!
P.P.P.S. He slept through the night twice this week (FIRST TIME EVER since that one time he did it when he was three months old and still sleeping in the swing), but I dare not say more for fear of jinxing it. (pleasepleaseplease let it happen again tonight!!!)
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Lazy.
I know, I know, I haven't posted in a hundred years. (This would perhaps matter more if I told anyone about this blog and had any actual readers beyond my husband and parents.) Anyhow, the reason I have not posted is because we are getting ready to put our place on the market. The market for sale. As in, we are hoping some other people want to buy our condo and live here, meaning we would go buy some other house and live there instead.
This has basically unleashed every obsessive compulsive self-critical bone in my body, which it turns out are most of the bones in my body, because now instead of sleeping I sit up and worry about whether or not we can afford a counter-depth refrigerator and where on earth we are going to store all of our junk including the 764 brightly colored plastic toys that now occupy the area where our living room used to be and wow our sofas are so beat up and ugly and oh my goodness the baby just smeared mushed-up graham cracker on the walls and the rug! (But he's eating graham crackers, isn't that exciting!?!)
The good news is that I have convinced my lovely husband that we need to bring in the big guns, a.k.a. professional stagers. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, professional stagers are very savvy, smart, experienced decorators who come in and politely murmur that all of your furniture is painful to look at and then they force you to leave your house for a day so they can rearrange all of your aforementioned hideous furniture and put down new rugs and toss some throw pillows around so the place looks presentable and won't cause potential buyers to turn up their noses in disgust the moment they walk through our front door. The stagers and their team are coming in about two weeks. Woo-hoo! Before they arrive to work their voodoo decorating magic I have to do the following:
2. Order new dishwasher and refrigerator in stainless steel, have them installed
3. Move current hall table into kitchen
4. Put white loveseat into storage
5. Move plant from corner of living room (probably get rid of)
6. Obtain green sofa from Mom and Dad
7. Move Matt’s bed into master bedroom
8. PutErin ’s bed into storage
9. Have Matt’s bathtub reglazed
10. Replace toilet and sink inErin ’s bathroom
11. Have gardeners trim hedge outside of master bedroom window
12. Obtain empty boxes (perhaps from work?)
13. Tidy all closets/storage area, put items into storage as needed
14. Remove/hide all evidence of cats
Excuse me, I have to stop typing now so I can go freak out and then clean out some closets.
This has basically unleashed every obsessive compulsive self-critical bone in my body, which it turns out are most of the bones in my body, because now instead of sleeping I sit up and worry about whether or not we can afford a counter-depth refrigerator and where on earth we are going to store all of our junk including the 764 brightly colored plastic toys that now occupy the area where our living room used to be and wow our sofas are so beat up and ugly and oh my goodness the baby just smeared mushed-up graham cracker on the walls and the rug! (But he's eating graham crackers, isn't that exciting!?!)
The good news is that I have convinced my lovely husband that we need to bring in the big guns, a.k.a. professional stagers. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, professional stagers are very savvy, smart, experienced decorators who come in and politely murmur that all of your furniture is painful to look at and then they force you to leave your house for a day so they can rearrange all of your aforementioned hideous furniture and put down new rugs and toss some throw pillows around so the place looks presentable and won't cause potential buyers to turn up their noses in disgust the moment they walk through our front door. The stagers and their team are coming in about two weeks. Woo-hoo! Before they arrive to work their voodoo decorating magic I have to do the following:
2. Order new dishwasher and refrigerator in stainless steel, have them installed
3. Move current hall table into kitchen
4. Put white loveseat into storage
5. Move plant from corner of living room (probably get rid of)
6. Obtain green sofa from Mom and Dad
7. Move Matt’s bed into master bedroom
8. Put
9. Have Matt’s bathtub reglazed
10. Replace toilet and sink in
11. Have gardeners trim hedge outside of master bedroom window
12. Obtain empty boxes (perhaps from work?)
13. Tidy all closets/storage area, put items into storage as needed
14. Remove/hide all evidence of cats
Excuse me, I have to stop typing now so I can go freak out and then clean out some closets.
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