My amazing prince had his tummy time this morning and he flipped himself over (from tummy to back). Such achievements are normally reserved for babies twice, even three times his age. But not my little impatient baby, he’s already ahead of the curve. I’m so proud!
I only wish I had the video camera with me, but we obviously weren’t expecting such greatness so soon. I’ll have to remember not to underestimate the great and powerful Chicklet again!
Here’s a photo from yesterday. I could just eat him up!
As a debut, it’s pretty good, but we’ll definitely have to be brushing up on our directorial skills for the future. That, and getting a camera which has the primary purpose of making videos. Anyone know much about the Flip or the Kodak zZi6??
The baby nurse left just before 9am this morning for her Christmas vacation. This, of course, means that the Chicklet woke up at 9 on the dot expecting his usual meal/changing/wiping/snuggling/swaddling/pacifying/back to sleep routine. This routine lasts about an hour and begins every three hours (almost to the minute) all day long. In between rounds, you can expect all sorts of undecipherable gurgles, gaggles, and whines that require at least a peek into his room. You do the math. It makes me want to lock myself in MeanLouise’s basement.
The Boy, being the genius that he is, decided to pick up a few shifts at work here and there in order to make up some of the time he took off that was just spent in the hospital and be able to spend more of the time we planned at home with me and the Chicklet. Also, being the genius he is, he scheduled himself to work Christmas Eve (today, 2pm-midnight) and Christmas Day (tomorrow, 6am to 4pm). Once again, you do the math. I’ll be in Peru before I get it worked out.
In the Jewish tradition, a boy undergoes a bris 8 days after his birth, wherein he is circumcised and enters the covenant of Judaism. It’s a lovely and special moment for most Jewish families. When I say “most,” you can assume that our families are excluding themselves from the general pool of happy people. Not that this is any sort of surprise to those of you who have followed me for some time. It is, however something of a surprise to me that my in-laws, who have heretofore seemed reasonable, have gone off the fucking deep end.
So in sum, we’re in the middle of WWIII over the scheduling of the little man’s bris. Rather write it all out here and get myself sick all over again (boy did I have one killer hangover this morning), let’s look at some new pictures of the gorgeous little one. Is he just SO cute, or what?!
Mom knit the hat and the blanket. We couldn’t use the matching bunting because he’s too teeny. So friggin cute, no?We’ve been having a great time since he’s been home. The baby nurse has been a big part of helping with that. The first one we had was awful and the agency was so responsive we had a brand new one the next afternoon (today), as requested. She taught me more in her first 10 minutes here than the first one did in a whole evening. We’re super happy to have her here. Jennifer just rocks.
Gotta do some more photos tomorrow, after looking for some mittens, so more swaddling blankets, and some extra paci’s. Never underestimate the power of the paci, Luke. Seriously.
Finally got things running a little more smoothly in the camera department. Behold, our Kodak Gallery. Not necessarily some of my best shots, but plenty of great shots of The Chicklet and The Boy.
We had all his things packed. We finished the checklist of what to bring to the hospital to bring home your new baby. We had the what to do to the nursery to make it ready for your new baby. We had the head of the NICU tell us our baby was ready to come home yesterday.
Except none of that happened.
Apparently a nevous intern or resident or whatever they call those fake doctors they put in charge of patients decided that he didn’t like the way The Chicklet spit up. Said “unusual spit up” warranted 24 hours of additional observation. To say that I went into a hormonally driven rage would probably be an understatement. Let’s just leave the conversation at that.
Because today is a new day, and we were all packed and ready for him, and the Chicklet is now, indeed, home sweet home. So far he seems great, he was quiet for the whole ride home, seemed a bit cranky so we put him down for a nap, found out soon enough he really wanted to eat.
The introduction to Boris went pretty well, I’d say. I came into the apartment first to give him his regular welcome home greeting. Problem was that he was already on to us and was taking everything with a grain of salt. So The Boy came in with The Chicklet and Boris sort of pretended not to notice until we got them both on the bed together. Boris came over, gave the baby the once over sniff, and then attempted to claim his piece of real estate that is located just next to my right leg. I allowed him to be successful, moving the baby to show compromise and sharing.
We’ll see how it all goes. So far the baby just cries a lot but I don’t mind one single bit!! Man he’s cute (pictures later after The Boy makes a stop at Radio Shack for me for a USB SD card reader. Don’t ask).
Today’s the BIG day. After some trials and tribulations and the boy preferring sleep to eating, he’s finally on the right track, eating as much as he’s supposed to and doing fabulously in all other areas. So that’s pretty much it for the free high-quality babysitters and the 1am runs to the hospital in the freezing cold because “I miss my baby.” He’ll be right here with us. Not the best NICU in the country, but home just the same.
We’re going to the hospital around noon, we get a few lessons from the nurse, and then off we go. OK, so the baby nurse will arrive a few hours later and be staying with us for just under two weeks. We won’t be totally fumbling around on our own. The Boy has his last minute check-list of things to do in the nursery and then things to get from Babys-R-Us (our new mothership). Stupid Jewish tradition means no baby showers and you wind up having to buy lots of stuff yourself and then return the really ugly outfits your relatives give you later on.
So get ready kids, it’s now blogging about spit-up and poopie and all that boring shit (no pun intended) that you never want to hear about other people’s children. I’ll try to go easy on ya!
Late Monday evening I called my OB thinking I had experienced a small sign of possible labor. Well, really I called The Boy at work and he forced me to call the doctor, but all the same, there she was on the phone telling me to go to the hospital and get checked out. It was sort of exciting, calling The Boy back telling him to come home from work and that “it was time.” With the planned c-section for December 29th, I figured we’d not get to experience that sort of late night hospital run thing. Off we went, and after the usual examination and no signs of labor, they were all set to send me home. Until they took my blood pressure that is. Long story short, I had developed Gestational Hypertension (high blood pressure as a result of pregnancy). I was admitted for observation and just about 24 hours later my blood pressure went straight to stroke scale (200/137) and they took me for my c-section.
Harrison Blue was born at 8:55pm weighing 4 pounds, 11 ounces and measuring 17 inches long.
The Little Guy was six weeks early, so he’s in the NICU developing his lungs and clearing up his jaundice. He’s doing as well as he should be for a baby born at 34 weeks, indeed he’s already graduated from a ventilator to a CPAP to just the little tubes in his nose. He should be home in about a week, giving us some “vacation” time. Perhaps his biggest surprise for us, the shockingly white-blond hair. He looks like a surfer dude with the hair and the jaundicey tan.
I got home this afternoon. Recovery from the c-section isn’t bad at all. Then again, I have a warped comparison factor. Mom and Dad came up from Florida, and for a change my mother behaved like an actual mother, not the poster-child for Vainglorious Anonymous. She and dad stocked us up on preemie clothes and helped get the nursery finished off. The Boy is exhausted and was very happy for the help. It’s been an emotional week and will continue to be so until the Chicklet is home, safe and sound. Until then it’ll be sitting in the NICU and sending as much love his way as we can.
What a ride, my friends, what a ride!
P.S. @1:42am: He’s off all breathing assistance and breathing room air. We even saw him open his eyes!! Here are the money shots:
It so rarely comes my way, I truly do appreciate even the smallest favors the universe is kind enough to deal me. The Boy is working the night shift this weekend and into the week, so I’ve been on my own in the evenings. I’m now the size of a small whale and I’m not very mobile, so I’m mostly stuck with whatever provisions are already here. Delivery is all well and good if you want a meal or a lot of stuff, but not so much when a sudden, strong craving for “something chippy” hits you. Mind you, after all the crap I’ve eaten today (including too much of a Duncan Hines cake that The Boy baked for me), the absolute last thing I need is to ingest anything “chippy.”
After scouring the kitchen for something “chippy,” the best I was able to come up with was some less-than-satisfying pretzel sticks. Feh! It’s cold, it’s raining, The Boy’s not going to be home for another hour, and I’m really in no mood to schlep outside for chips (outside being literally across the street outside, but who’s asking). Just when I was resigned to my fate, I remembered the Munchos. A few bags of my long lost friends were hiding themselves just out of sight on the top shelf of my “raw ingredients” cabinet. All I needed were my tip-toes and there they were. Something beyond chippy, something resembling a real chip.
Hallelujah!
Today begins my 9th month. I’d call it the “home stretch” except that I’m sure there’s a lot more coming my way in the next 29 days. That’s right, kids, just 29 days until The Chicklet makes his debut. Better enjoy the chips while I can.
