Four boys

You are not hearing from me much, because this baby will not let me put him down. As soon as I place him anywhere – a chair, my bed, his cot, in the car seat - no matter how asleep he is, he will cry within minutes. In someone’s arms, he is the happiest baby ever. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong advocate of baby holding/carrying, but sometimes I just need my hands, you know, to help the other boys, or go to the bathroom, and although the boys are always volunteering to sit and hold the baby, sometimes this defeats the purpose if I’m for example putting Max down so that I can help them with their school work.

Abraham has been a little more demanding than usual these past couple of weeks as well. He’s generally so independent that sometimes it’s easy to – almost – forget about him, but he obviously still needs me; not enough mommy-time is reflected in his behavior. As for the older boys – they’ve been the center of attention a bit lately since we’ve been trying to catch up on school and get them motivated to work among all the distractions. It’s difficult, I know – how can you work when a cuddly little cutie is yelling for you to hold and kiss him all day long? - but they’re getting better at it.

Time and Money

You knew that eventually I would have to make this joke: 

Having a baby is like being in a casino; you lose track of time and money.

Days go by when I just barely manage, always a few steps behind. I sit down with the boys to start the school week on Monday morning, then the baby needs fed and changed, Abraham needs new clothes and a bath because he spent the morning playing with dirt watering plants on the balcony, then I make food, do laundry, and next time I look up, it’s Thursday evening, everyone’s hungry, there are no clean clothes, the house is a disaster, the boys are behind on their math, Abraham is muddy, the baby needs fed and changed, and I’m number 13 in line on the phone with the IRS.

I just wrote this, and suddenly it’s Friday evening. I’m telling you; it’s scary.

Whatever budget we used to maintain before this baby has been completely neglected pretty much since mid-March. Gauze, saline solution, and bandages are very expensive, as are diapers, wipes, and all the extra chicken I buy because I’m always craving protein. All the paperwork (birth certificates, translations, passports, transportation to and from the embassy, visa) has probably cost us more than $1000 alone. We have managed not to order in too much, but have not avoided it entirely. 

A couple of weeks ago my husband started hinting that maybe I felt well enough to start taking on jobs again, but really, I don’t even have time for everything that *has to* be done *right now* so sitting down to work has not exactly been an option. Now I’m starting to feel the pressure, however. 

Must. Get back. To work.

Bottle feeding

As you know by now, we are total hippie parents: we practice exclusive breastfeeding, baby wearing, co-sleeping, etc. – all those annoying parenting techniques that are continuously discussed in media and commented on by experts, parents, doctors and anyone else with an opinion. As I’ve mentioned before, our motivation is not always exactly based on any ideological beliefs, but could perhaps be attributed to laziness.

In any case; our parenting style has meant that we’ve never had any baby bottles in our possession – we’ve never fed our babies formula, and we’ve never been in a situation where I’ve consistently had to pump milk to be fed to the baby in my absence. Until now, when I have to go to the hospital every day. It’s not like I’m gone for a long time – an hour and a little more at most – but we’ve learned that no matter how little time I’m going to be away, I should never leave the house without leaving some milk behind. Maybe it’s a preemie thing, or maybe it’s just normal at this age – I can’t remember – but it seems our baby wants to eat all the time, so even though I feed him right before I leave, he still seems to get hungry while I’m gone. We have a cheap hand pump that comes with a bottle, and it only takes me about 10 minutes to express 4 oz, so it’s not really any trouble (except after several days, my wrists are quite sore from squeezing the pump!). 

This morning I was gone exactly 50 minutes, and when I came home, Courtney had changed the baby’s diaper twice, fed him the whole bottle and lay with him until he fell asleep (until they both fell asleep, actually). He stayed asleep for almost two hours after I came home, leaving me time to clean up the house, vacuum, load the washer and dishwasher, make a big breakfast, and spend some time taking care of my neglected older boys (bangs were cut, clothes sorted, stories read, music discussed, etc.). It felt like cheating, somehow: baby was cared for, fed and put to sleep AND I had all that time to go to the hospital AND catch up on other things.

Extended newborn stage

Don’t get me wrong; although our baby’s preemie behavior sometimes worries me, I’m enjoying it to the fullest. The older boys so quickly turned into babies, but this time – not only are we already appreciating every moment more than ever, this being our fourth and last baby – we get to enjoy the newborn stage for a few extra moments. The cutest little sounds, movements, the tiny feet and hands, the curled up legs and arms, and that beautiful, innocent “fart-smile” as we call it, which is only an involuntary reflex, but oh so cute. All this usually vanishes between recovery, nursing, paper work and everything else that happens right after the baby is born, however now, we are blessed with an extended newborn stage. 

Silver lining. Extra sweet edition.

A preemie thing?

Our sweet baby - 3 weeks old today - is still a little yellow, but is eating really well, sleeping and pooping/peeing. He’s so very fetus-like to me; he really doesn’t do much else that these basic three things, and he’s all curled up all the time. I don’t feel like he’s very aware or in control of anything

either; everything he does is either an unintentional reflex (he is a noisy sleeper, and moves, squirms, twitches and jerks a lot – although when I touch him he seems to gain some control and stops), or by instinct (like rooting for a breast or sucking, and waking up to feed). It’s hard to explain what exactly I’m expecting him to do at this point, but there’s something slightly different about him compared to my other boys when they were a couple of weeks old. I haven’t looked much into it, but I’m hoping these are all part of a normal preemie behavior. (He does turn his head towards exciting noises and light, which I guess is a sign of… something.)

He does still have another week before he was supposed to be born – perhaps after his due date he will act more like a (newborn) baby?

...and we're back!

It has been almost two weeks since our sweet baby's birth. I wanted to post our birth story earlier, but… you know what it’s like, I’m sure, and as you will find out, things kept coming up in the way of my recovery (and writing). 

Anyways; since Thursday I have finally got to stay home and rest with the baby, and have been able to put something together. I am “back-blogging” our story, so if you want to read the whole story from beginning to end, you should start here (the day before the surgery) and read forward (by scrolling up) in time.

Open wound care and a jaundiced baby

I was sent home from the ER with very clear instructions: take a shower every day, and redress your wound right after. Call us if you see or feel any sign of an infection. 

That first shower felt really great – I had not been able to shower properly before this due to the catheter – but when I attempted to redress my wound, the whole situation became too much – I might have just realized that I was stuffing an inch and a half-deep hole in my abdomen with wet gauze - and I just about passed out. My husband, not much more confident, had to step in.

Please keep in mind that this whole time – from a few hours after surgery – all I ever wanted was to rest with my baby. But first I was in the hospital with all that this entailed, and then once home, there was a constant interruption for paperwork and check-ups. But things were about to get even more complicated. 

At our baby’s first check-up, four days after we got home from the hospital, the pediatrician noted how yellow he looked, and ordered a blood test. She called back an hour or so later with the results: his bilirubin level was 17.2 mg, and she wanted us to go to the hospital immediately to get him admitted for 2-3 days of light therapy. 

Now, I was a bit concerned too about our baby’s color, however not overly so, since all signs told us it was normal physiological jaundice that could be managed with frequent breastfeeding and some sun. His bilirubin level was high but I felt like I was just getting the breastfeeding going properly, and that if we could just have some rest and peace, everything else would follow. 2-3 days in the hospital would not only be very hard on me physically (the last place a person with an open wound should be in is a hospital, and I would not be able to get my much needed rest there), but would completely disrupt our breastfeeding progress, and hence have a negative effect on our baby’s health. 

Too tired to argue, I had Courtney take this discussion as well: “Yes, I’m afraid we are going to go against your medical advice here, doctor.” We did have to agree to come back the next day though to retest, and if his level had gone up further, that we would consider admitting him for light therapy. 

Followed 24 hours of marathon nursing – every 45 minutes to one and a half hours – accompanied by some naked time in the sun. It was tiring, but I figured that it would be worth it, not having to go to the hospital. 

The blood test the next day showed a bilirubin level of 13.4 – my effort had paid off. The doctor called back with the results and advised us to “just keep doing whatever it is that you are doing.” (That's sound medical advice, right there!) Taking care of our baby, that’s what. 

And that’s what we are going to spend Easter weekend doing, at home, in peace.

He is here, he's great and I'm alive!

7 Lbs, 19.6 in. Only a little bit of a wet lung, which cleared right up. 5.5 hour surgery. More details will follow...

Day 2: Baby care - the day after my surgery

I should have spent this day reclined in bed, recovering, while nursing a new born. 

Because of a stubborn neonatologist who really should have retired years ago, instead I spent it walking back and forth between my hospital room and the NICU, and sitting in the worst chair possible for a post cesarean patient, trying to get started on nursing a sleepy preemie, full on glucose IV.

By morning the day after birth, there was nothing wrong with our baby any more - he had recovered from his wet lung completely over night. He was off the oxygen and all his levels were perfect, however the attending wanted to keep him “under observation” for an additional 12 hours. Really?! Our pleads that the best thing for the baby at this moment would be to join his mother in her room were futile. Telling the doctor about my difficult surgery, and how hard it was for me to walk back and forth, had no effect. "Why are you coming to nurse him so much? He's fine, since he has the glucose IV,” was the answer we got.

The sad thing is, all this time that I spent in the NICU, I never saw another mother feed her baby (and there were plenty of babies there). In fact, during my entire stay in the maternity ward, I never once saw a fellow nursing mother. I guess it's a matter of culture here.

But I have certain beliefs when it comes to baby care, and one of them is that "breast is best," so I set my alarm for every two hours and made the trek. Breastfeeding was difficult at first because it had been 24 hours since the birth, our baby was not hungry due to the glucose he was being administered, I was in pain, and holding the baby was a challenge due to all the tubes, IVs and monitor cables. Also, when Courtney went over to check on him in the early morning, our baby had a pacifier in his mouth, despite our specific request not to give him one. 

It took me a few hours and several attempts to get him awake enough to latch on and then even more time to get him to actually start drinking. I can't count on my fingers the number of times the staff offered me formula and/or pumping "for supplement," during this time. At best they thought I was crazy, making things so difficult for myself. I never had trouble like this before, but my experience helped me endure and I just kept trusting my and the baby’s instincts. Finally in the afternoon he really started sucking and I could hear little swallowing noises. 

Naming the baby

We don’t have a name for the baby. The only name we ever agreed on and had decided on in advance was August. We didn’t know we were having a boy, but that was the name we had picked out. William was a random, moments before delivery pick (we actually also had a girl’s name picked out at that time, since we didn’t know it was another boy) and Abraham – although it was a given and a name we had thought about for a while – wasn’t decided on until the doctor put a scalpel to my abdomen.

The boys have a few ideas for this baby, and as usual, Prof. Husband has suggested a name that I would not pick in a million years, and I like a name that Prof. Husband doesn’t. It’s very difficult this time around, since I feel we already used up all the extra good, potential names for the boys’ middle names.

We all keep asking Abraham what he thinks the baby’s name should be, but he insists, “I don’t know the baby’s name is. We have to wait until he comes out of mama’s tummy. Then we’ll know his name is.” Attempts to explain that the baby doesn’t come with a name are so far futile. He comes out a boy, with a specific hair color and eye color, so why would he not also have a name?

So I guess we wait. In the meantime, I’m hoping for a bit of ‘divine intervention’: maybe the new pope will choose a name that we would like to name our baby?