Owls' Court

Liam Update

Yesterday was Liam's second vaccination appointment, and he let us know in no uncertain terms that while he generally enjoys visits with our doctor who is very nice, this bit, the bit with the sharp things? It's no fun at all.

Mummy and Da got their flu shots at the same visit, but we didn't cry.

Liam now weighs 13 lbs 8 oz (we honestly thought he'd be 14 lbs), and measures exactly two feet long. He's in the 15th percentile for weight of a full-term 4 1/2 month old, and in the 5th percentile for length. He's completely blown off the preterm charts, which is very satisfying. The doctor was fine with the fact that he'd begun solids, which means I'll offer him oatmeal at the beginning of November to give him a bit of variety.

My baby is pretty darned cool, and he's doing so well that the doctor doesn't want to see him again untill late December for his six-month appointment, at which time he'll get his first flu shot.

Man Walks Down The Street In That Hat, People Know He's Not Afraid Of Anything.

And to cheer us up when we came home from the vet, we found that Liam's Nana had sent him a little parcel.

Pretty cunning, isn't it?

There's actually another bobble string on the top of it, too. And little foxes running around it. So, as HRH pointed out, it truly is a cunning hat.

Liam says, "Thank you, Nana!"

Four Months Old

From a tiny, tiny, rabbit-sized fragile human being in an isolette aquarium, hooked up to IVs and monitors and fed through a tube, Liam has become a sturdy, always-hungry, cheerful, twelve pounds-plus baby in four months.

Four months. It feels as if we've had Liam forever, and yet I'm still having difficulty understanding that he's ours.

He's taken to standing on our laps. His legs are incredibly strong. He bounces sometimes, but more often than not he's content to lean against our hands under his arms and push with his feet on our thighs. He can almost sit up, too, it's just that darn heavy head that pulls him off-balance if it's not perfectly centered.

He's generally a very serious boy whose brow is often furrowed as he thinks, thinks, thinks, but when he smiles and crows at us, it's like the sun coming out in the middle of an overcast sky.

Liam's a lark. At least it offers his night owl parents a reason to look forward to the mornings, because he's always smiling and wriggling and fun to play with after his first breakfast. He's still not sleeping through the night, but he's eating so often and growing so hard that I can understand why he needs to fuel up two or three times at night. Sometimes he takes a half-hour nap in the morning, sometimes not; he'll usually nap in his crib for at least forty-five minutes at some point in the afternoon.

He loves watching his Beatrix Potter mobile, and his new Ocean Wonders mobile too, with the fish shapes projected on the ceiling. His bounce chair can keep him busy for almost a full forty-five minutes. He pets his soft rattles and animals gently while gazing across the room at shadows or out the window. Liam can grab things well enough, but bringing them to his face to look at them or chew on them still needs work: they usually end up thrown over his head.

We spent Thanksgiving weekend in Oakville with my parents, and the big news is that Liam started solids. We were a bit desperate because he wouldn't stop crying no matter how often we fed him, so we finally turned to something a bit more stick-to-the-ribs. Rice cereal is a definite success, and curiously enough he prefers it thicker than the liquidy consistency the box advises. He's been watching us put food in our mouths with fascination for about a month, and recently began to bring his fist to his mouth as if he's putting a fork or something into it, then lowering it again and moving his mouth like he's seen us do when we chew. He was delighted when we gave him something to "chew" of his very own. And after the first couple of spoonfuls, which of course were thrust right back out of his mouth by the tongue-extrusion reflex, he knew to open his mouth wide enough so that I could tilt the spoon a bit and the cereal would land on his tongue, and he'd move his jaw up and down and look at us happily as he swallowed. A lot more goes in than comes out. A couple of people have suggested cereal to me but I've been reluctant to do it, because gestationally he's only two months old. However, a half to a full tablespoon satisfies him, and we're only doing it once a day for a while. He seems happy with it, and there have been no ill effects so far. We'll just keep taking it very, very slowly.

In the meantime, I'm cooking, pureeing, and freezing fresh pears, delicious apples, and the butternut squash and carrots that came fresh from ai731's garden, looking ahead to Liam's other first tastes of things in December or January or so.

Thank You Gods

Liam has discovered morning naps.

Apart

Yesterday afternoon HRH and I went out to see a movie for the first time since before we moved back in May (in fact, we cannot remember the last film we saw in a theatre). This of course necessitated the leaving of Liam with a babysitter.

And it was a tremendous success. We weren't worried about it -- in fact, we were remarkably not fussed about it -- but the success of the afternoon has done a lot for our peace of mind. Now we can make plans to go out in the evenings to do things like see films or have dinner (or we will when HRH is working on that web game project again -- yes, things are ever so slowly powering up again!).

Liam enjoyed his day with his godmother as well. We know because he told us by not being a pain when he got home. In fact, he was in a wonderful mood all evening.

Oh, the film? Serenity. Good movie. It never let up. I didn't cry, but HRH did. My not-crying-ness does not reflect the depth of emotion surrounding certain events, however. Gah.

Liam Update

Gods bless Ceri for coming over yesterday afternoon to entertain Liam while I worked. I only have about an hour to do today before I can send that tech edit off. She also brought an ergonomic keyboard for me to use. She is wonderful.

But the big news of the day is that Liam is now officially out of his newborn sleepers. Not newborn onesies, oddly enough; those are still really floppy on him. Just the sleepers. It's his legs: they make him too long for 0-3 month sleepers with feet. The doctor weighed him on Monday and he's 11 lbs 2 oz, which puts him officially into the lowest percentile of 3 1/2 month old boys for weight. Before, his points were being plotted on the growth graphs below the percentile completely (although he was scoring around 99 for premature boys at his chronological age when they were plotted on the preterm charts).

So not only is he doing well, he's actually catching up. This isn't supposed to happen till much later.

But then, the doctor did point out that he's been precocious in absolutely everything, so it shouldn't be a surprise. It's remarkably smugness-inducing, of course.

But now I need to get the 3-6 month sleepers from where they're being stored at his grandparents' house, because I only have a couple here.

Anxiety Dreams

I had a dream last night where I realised I'd written a whole section on the Harvest sabbat and hadn't researched a single thing to support my claims. So when I got up in the middle of the night to feed Liam, I went into my office and pulled out an encyclopedia of Celtic mythology to look up "Mabon". And yes, exactly as I said in the book: Divine Son. Not a heck of a lot else known.

And blessed equinox to you all, by the way. I don't call it Mabon because, well, see above. Makes little sense. To me, Divine Son always sounds like it should be associated with the Vernal Equinox, not the Autumnal.

This week's been stressful in general because I can't work while HRH is out of the house painting Ceri's walls: Liam is either being fed, being held and comforted, playing, or sleeping in my arms because he won't sleep anywhere else. I know the work is sitting in my office, and I know it's due next Wednesday, and just knowing I can't do anything about it is really revving my stress levels. So HRH came home early today to allow me (a) to get my hair cut for the first time in over six months, and (b) to work on this tech read and response. He's doing the same on Monday because Liam has a doctor's appointment in the early afternoon, and he'll watch Liam the rest of the day while I work again.

My book reviews are being put even lower down on the list or priorities because they're a non-paying gig. Well, I get the books free, but you know what I mean. I begged an extension from the editor. At least the books are read (plenty of time to do that in the middle of the night while breastfeeding) and the reviews exist in note form.

Orchestra last night: loverly. We kick ass. And this with only two rehearsals. Much happiness.

All right, break's over. Back to reading about religious ethics.

Double Digits!

Liam went to the CLSC to be weighed this morning, and...

10 lbs 2 oz!

Hooray!

Three Months Old: Addendum

I forgot to say that Liam has begun to give kisses, of a sort. When I put him over my shoulder to burp him, he gets excited, wriggles a bit, then turns his head to me, opens his mouth as wide as it will go, and lets his face fall onto my cheek.

Smack. One floppy baby kiss.

Then he lifts his head and smiles in a goofy way.

And as of last night, he now says "A-ah!", in a sort of descending-scale way, the first syllable higher than the second.

Edit: Also as of last night... Behold Liam in his high chair!

Like the crib, he lasted for about ten minutes before deciding that was quite enough for the first go, thank you very much. It must be terribly frustrating to be a three month old baby socially, but the equivalent of a one month old in size. He may be socially ready for the high chair, but you can see how very tiny he is in it. We tried to put the tray on, but it was about level with his chin and blocked his line of sight, which sort of defeated the purpose of having him in his own chair to see us at the table.

Many thank yous to his Auntie Colleen who had a bunch of baby stuff in her basement, which allowed us to do the high chair thing five months ahead of our original scheduled borrowing of the one being used by Liam's godsister!

Three Months Old

Liam is three months old today.

He weighs almost ten pounds. He no longer fits his preemie clothes; he's graduated to newborn clothing, and even some of the smaller-made 3-month outfits. He can hold his head up all the time now. He's still rolling over, and he can push himself up on his elbows when lying on his tummy. He can also sit up on the chesterfield or in a soft chair when propped up. When you stick your tongue out at him, he sticks his out, too.

He can say "Ah!" and "Oh!" and "Uuuuuuh" as well. Every once in a while a consonant slips in, to make "Nah!" "or "Gah!", or a sibilant. He smiles a lot. He looks for Mum or Da if he hears them and they're out of his line of sight. He can reach for toys after staring at them for a while, although he usually ends up knocking them over. He actually focused on a cat as it walked past him the other day: as Nixie paused to lower her head to him, his eyes widened in delight and he reached out to her.

He sleeps in two four-hour stretches through the night, often with just a wakening for a diaper change and a ten-minute snack before going back to sleep. When he takes his bottle, he drinks 125 ml of milk (that's around 4.5 oz for you non-metric folk). He managed to spontaneously hold his bottle over Labour Day weekend, thanks to a washcloth placed to soak up spills and his customary splayed fingers. He discovered that adults eat, and he watches us do it with fascination. He wants to sit with us at the table, and so we'll be getting a high chair sooner than expected as sitting with him on a lap slows down the eating process because you've only got one hand free, and a wriggly baby in the other arm. If he wants to be at the table, he can have his very own chair. Next, I suppose, is giving him a baby spoon to play with while he watches us use our forks.

He's beginning to have quiet time in his crib mid-afternoon (or this is what we're encouraging, anyway). So far, he's slept alone in it for a whole ten minutes. We've moved the mobile back to the crib, and now if we're alone we can take fifteen minutes or so to make a meal without a baby, so long as we keep going back into his room to wind the mobile up again.

HRH has just begun reading him Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone aloud. Liam is enthralled, and it relaxes him when he's fussy.

We've had him home for two months, and so much has already changed.

It's Been Too Long, So...

Before I leave for the day, I will gift you with a picture of Liam on HRH's lap on the front porch at my parents' place in Oakville, doing what appears to be the Hokey Pokey. Everyone sing! You put your left foot in...

Liam Update

Liam had his first round of vaccinations today. He was wonderful, with a minimum of fussing and almost no tears. It turns out he has blood like his da's -- it's thick and clots quickly.

And we now have grape-flavoured Tylenol drops to add to our smorgasboard of cherry vitamin D drops, and whatever the iron drops taste like, and the mint Ovol drops. Thumbs up on the Tylenol from Liam: he smacked his little lips for about four minutes after HRH gave it to him. It's funny how we don't have to cultivate a taste for sweet things in our babies -- they seem to accept it right away.

If You Pull The Plastic Thing Out Of Your Mouth And Throw It Across The Room, You Must Expect To Not Be Able To Suck On It, and How Many Times Have We Shown You How Convenient And Delicious Your Hands Are Instead?

And if anyone knows of a way to communicate this to a two and a half month old child who is kicking up a fuss because the soother is no longer available to him and he's forgotten the wonder of fingers, do please share.

Liam Update

We put together the baby swing my cousin passed along to us on Saturday, and we've discovered that it puts Liam to sleep. I'm incredibly thankful, because the poor little kid has been desperately overtired and in a dreadful state by noon the past couple of days because he hasn't been falling asleep after he wakes up at six, and doesn't nap until sevenish. At the age of two months (or two weeks, whichever way you choose to calculate his age), one should not have to be awake for thirteen hours. One really needs one's sleep. It's so hard to watch a tiny baby scream because he's tired, and know that he's at the point where he's overtired and can't fall asleep. Nothing you can do but cuddle them and walk them and feel terrible for them. So the swing is a wonderful new addition to the household furniture, and I'll cheerfully replace the four D cell batteries as required if it helps him get the sleep he needs.

And because a couple of people have asked about the formula experiment: he takes it well enough, but it's not something we want to keep doing. To be perfectly honest, the baby's smell changed. Not just his diapers -- his actual baby smell altered, and I didn't like it at all. The two doses of formula were enough for me to catch up with him again, so we're back on track. The remianing three cans of ready-to-serve formula are in the pantry as emergency back-up, but they'll only be used if we absolutely have to.

We've begun to use his change table, and we put the new Beatrix Potter mobile my mother sent him up on it so that he can watch it and listen to the music while we change him. So far, it's calmed a couple of nasty 'I'm overtired and I don't want to be changed' crying sessions. The crib is now cleared and ready for emergency nap use, because it's easier to shut out the light in Liam's room than in our bedroom where his AmbyBed is. (Of course, the swing may be the nap-place of choice for the next while; we'll see.)

Apart from his first ritual yesterday, he went out to a kitchen dinner and hang-out with a few assorted friends on Saturday night, and was terribly good there as well. He's so good in the car, and so long as there are people to cuddle him, well, life's okay when doing the social round.

He's getting heavier every day. Although there was a time when even his preterm clothes were big on him, he's now growing out of them. The footed sleepers don't fit him any more, and I think there's only a week or so of wearing the tiny onesies left. We have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, so we'll see how big he's grown then.

Desert

We had a coven meeting today, and had our first ritual here in the new house. The summer just isn't an ideal coven time; I think we may institute an official sabbatical during July and August, because vacations and weekend trips and such just end up getting in the way of any sort of scheduled activity. Of course, this summer has been unusual in that we moved and had a baby, which ate up May through July. One imagines all summers will not be like this.

One of our coveners wrote a self-celebration ritual designed to encourage personal pride when she was a dedicant, and it was such a success last year when we did it that the coven decided to make it an annual ritual around the full moon every August. Today was the second time we did this ritual. Part of the ritual entails making a list of ten things you're proud of -- achievements, talents, skills, anything goes. To my complete surprise, I found that list incredibly difficult to make, unlike last year.

But your first book was published this year! the other coven members said. You wrote two more in the last seven months! You had a baby! You're a great teacher! You're a fantastic author of both fiction and non-fiction!

But I don't feel any of that. None of those were accomplishments that I felt belonged on my list of things for which to pat myself on the back.

Working through this block during the ritual showed me a couple of things. First of all, it showed me that I've become so numb to my day to day life that I've forgotten how to appreciate my own talent. Second, it very bluntly illustrated to me that pulling off a miracle a day breeds familiarity and contempt for those miracles. I didn't feel that any of those things were special. I didn't feel that I was special.

Now I look at the list I finally created and think, heck, yeah! I should be proud of all that! But during the exercise itself I felt so listless and dull that nothing seemed to deserve celebration. Writing well? Not me. Not that I can remember. In fact, in my recent experience my writing ability has downright offended me with its poor product. And as for the other items the coven listed for me, it didn't make sense to celebrate things that were commonplace. One might as well put I got out of bed today on the list. (Although one of my coveners pointed out, and quite correctly, that on some days getting out of bed is indeed an accomplishment.) These things aren't remarkable to me any more. I just do them. And that's probably not healthy. If I'm taking myself and my accomplishments and talents for granted, what does that indicate about how everyone else should take them? Now, I know that it's been a really challenging year so far. I've risen to every occasion. I'm tired, and I'm burnt out. But to not be able to marvel at the fact that I have accomplished or can accomplish any of those things is kind of sad.

Overall, I feel kind of dry. Life should be dripping with sweet and flavourful juices. My joy in writing, my excitement at learning new things as I research, the pleasure I usually take in practicing my religion -- everything seems to be in the midst of a drought. HRH and I didn't get to go on our annual spiritual retreat this year like we usually do in August, and this year of all years it would have done us a heap of good. Both of us are feeling rather drained and in a spiritual dry patch. There's been some major changes in how our tradition is being structured, and while it doesn't really change much because we've kind of been running our coven in what's become the new official way all along, it's had a significant impact on how we consider ourselves in the greater scheme of things. Today's meeting and ritual reminded us of how much we enjoy energy work together. I'd like to see us do more ritual than we've been doing. Everyone's been having a slightly odd year. If we can regain momentum, I think we'll all be happier. We're meeting again next Sunday, instead of the Sunday afterwards as we usually do, so that will help.

Liam has developed this odd little quirk where he refuses to sleep during the day. He fights sleep with all his might, ends up overtiring himself with crying and screaming because he's tired, and if he finaly loses the fight and drowses, it's only for five or ten minutes before he jerks himself awake and starts to cry again. He's up from approximately six in the morning till about seven-thirty at night. It wouldn't be so bad if he was good company while he was awake, but he's cranky because -- of course -- he's tired.

So because he wasn't asleep, Liam joined us in ritual today. And he was good for most of it, too. We made a list of accomplishments for Liam, and congratulated him accordingly. I dated it, and it will go in his scrapbook as Liam's First Ritual. While in circle, he watched things that we couldn't see, like the cats do. And I'm incredibly proud of all my coveners for holding their grounding and handling energy smoothly even when he got worked up at the end and screamed through the dismissals.

I was scheduled to go to another ritual directly after our coven meeting was originally to end. However, because of the blocks we encountered in the ritual itself, and because of Liam's state, the coven meeting ran late, and the second ritual was scheduled to begin around the time our coveners left. There was simply no way I could fit it in with feeding the baby, comforting the baby, and the unscheduled nap I took along with Liam as he finally fell asleep after being fed. I tried to contact the ritual leader, but no luck. Ah well; I figure that by now people ought to know that a baby makes my life completely unpredictable.

It strikes me as ironic that the article I wrote focuses on moving past the "have-to" feeling of dealing with a mundane action like eating, and focusing on the spiritual enrichment one can derive from that action instead. It would appear that my entire daily life has turned into a "have-to" instead of something of beauty. I do all these apparently incredible things because I have to. It would seem that I've lost the trick of being nourished by them in any way, however: no joy, no comfort, no relaxation, no spiritual enrichment. And I'm not quite sure when it happened, or how to reverse the process.

According to my article, of course, one simply has to perform one's daily activities with awareness. It's what one does with what one learns through performing those actions with awareness that's the unique challenge for each and every person. And evidently how I process that information has changed. Now I have to figure out how to make it all flow smoothly again, and how to inject the life-blood back into my life. I have to learn how to learn again. And perhaps how to live with awareness again, instead of just doing it.

Friends!

We had a wonderful day out yesterday, Liam and I. He and Kyle slept through their first playdate, and Chantale and I nattered and sympathised and shared. Liam was very good for his first restaurant outing, and only woke up and fussed when he wanted his diaper changed. This was his first public diaper change, so I headed off to the washroom expecting to have to put his change pad on the floor, but there was a fold-down change table in the larger stall. Of course, it was almost at shoulder height for me, but we managed. (What's with this trend in tall changing tables, anyway? I think the theory is that you don't have to lift and lower the baby and thus avoid straining your lower back, but the taller table forces you to hold your arms up high to work with the baby, and that stresses your shoulders instead. I know I'm 5'3" but these things would be high even on someone of average 5'5" height. Which, come to think of it, is what I measure in the heeled sandals I wore yesterday.) When we got back to our booth he wanted to be held instead of put back in his car seat, so he snuggled against my chest and grumbled a bit while we finished brunch.

Kyle is huge! And he looks so content! Good parenting going on in his house, you can tell. And I remember when Liam used to sleep that much. It's odd -- he's not a newborn, and he's not two months old; he's some odd cross between the two, and I never know what to expect from him. Life would be easy if I could take an average of the ages, but it doesn't work that way either. It's funny to look at Kyle, who's six weeks younger but looks like a three-month-old, and then at Liam, who's probably eight pounds now and who seems big at home, but so fragile next to Kyle.

Liam liked Kyle's little rocking chair. I think, when my final cheque for the green witch book comes in (which won't be until late September, if not October), we'll pick one up for him.

It's damp today. And overcast. And somewhat depressing. Good thing I feel like cocooning.

Rehearsal this afternoon!

Hurrah!

Today is Liam's first play date! We're off to spend quality time with Chantale and Kyle.

Big Step (For Both Liam and Mummy)

I just gave my baby his first bottle of formula.

I feel proud of him for taking it and not spitting any of it back up, but I feel a little sad too, and a wee bit guilty as well. No matter how much I pump, I just can't seem to express enough milk to fill both the 120 ml bottles HRH feeds him in a day. We've only got ten 150 ml bags of breast milk left in the freezer, and I want to keep them against a rainy day; hence the formula. If I can fill one of the bottles with expressed milk as I've been doing, and use formula only for the second instead of frozen milk, then I'll be happy with that. With luck, my supply will kick into high gear again and I'll be able to provide enough breast milk for both bottles ahead of time, and maybe even freeze some extra as well.

Knowing he can take formula will also help us when we have to leave him with someone else for a day or so as well. And it's not like we're switching him over to formula completely. He's still taking approximately 850 ml of breast milk per day over seven feedings, as compared to only 120 ml of formula.

I'm just a little... wistful, I guess. Like Chantale said when Kyle was born, I should be able to do this; I should be able to provide enough for every single feeding. No matter how many times I breastfeed him, or pump two or three extra times a day, or for a bit after each feeding, I just can't seem to get far enough ahead of him.

So far, so good: no spitting up, no outright rejection of the formula, no evident discomfort. We'll keep an eye on him.

This making decisions for someone else thing? Not the best part of parenting.

Ta-da!

Liam slept through the night!

In our house, this means no waking to feed around 3 AM. So he had a feeding at midnight, we all went to bed, and he slept all the way till 5 AM.

We are all terribly pleased, and hope this is the start of a new trend. He seems to be trying to put himself on a four-hour schedule in general, so over the past couple of days he's been going back and forth between long naps and big feeds, and cluster feedings of fifteen or twenty minutes a half-hour apart.

Of course, this will probably all change tomorrow.

Two Months

Liam is two months old today.

He can hold his head up, play with toys hung on the side of his crib or basket, roll over from tummy to back and from back to tummy, and smile and laugh at whoever's playing with him. He looks out the window; he watches shadows on the wall. Play, interact, quiet time -- his social needs change almost daily. He likes his baths. He likes the car. He likes the stroller.

He's also struggling to control his own body's schedule. He fights sleepiness because he wants to be awake. He'll eat for ten minutes, five hours in a row, then knock back over 100 mls of milk in twenty minutes. His fussy time is between eleven at night and one in the morning. He's developing problems dealing with gas, and has a new cry in response to the frustration of feeling uncomfortable gastrointestinally.

He's two months old. As of Saturday, he'll have been home with us for one month. And finally, he was due to be born sometime this week. No more "minus X weeks old"; now real life has caught up with the projected plan. We still field the "he's two months old?" question from strangers when they see him, but it takes so little time to say that he was two months early and very healthy.

It feels like we've always had him, and yet we can almost see him growing (we can certainly feel it when we pick him up). Looking at the first pictures and then looking at today's picture -- the difference is incredible. Everyone is right: it does go fast, and just when you think you know the baby he does something new to force us to realise all over again how fast he's evolving into a complex and completely unique individual.

I finally got to cuddle with him and relax this morning, which was a wonderful treat. Lately every time I hold him it's been to feed him because he's been demanding lots of meals, and it's been a struggle due to any number of reasons (my drowsiness, his drowsiness, the heat, the humidity, the gas...). By the end we're both so fed up with one another that we're glad to hand him off to HRH, who then gets the calmer cuddles. I've been a bit jealous. Today went a long way to making me feel better.

I love our baby. He's pretty darned cool.

Liam Update

We saw the doctor again today, and Liam is now 6 lb 15 oz. He's gaining an ounce a day. He's also grown three centimeters in the past two weeks: he's now 53 cm from toes to head.

After watching him nurse, the doctor's ruled out most of the possible reasons for his poor nursing. My milk's adequate; it's not reflux; it's not thrush. So it seems it's just the usual infant-becoming-accustomed-to-the-gastrointestinal-workings. She showed me another trick to get him to latch on better, so maybe that will help us too. Otherwise, it's just a case of his body getting used to the little baby cramps, and "seeing it through to the other side," as she put it.

Seeing it through would be a lot easier if it wasn't so hot and humid, and everyone's nerves and patience weren't already frayed from the weather. Can it be September, please?

Liam Update

The health visitor from the CLSC was just by again, and Liam now weighs 2.92 kilos, or 6 lbs 4 oz. He's gaining about an ounce a day. Yay for him!

And we are making bread. He sat in his bounce seat while I mixed the dough an hour ago, and seemed to enjoy looking around the kitchen. We'll go knead it soon.

We've Got A Live One

At 4.30 this morning, during a short break in his early morning meal, Liam demonstrated that he can now roll over onto his tummy when lying on his back.

I knew this would logically follow the ability to roll over onto his back from his tummy, but I didn't think it would happen twelve hours and fifteen minutes later.

Over he goes, nice and steady, onto one of his arms. Then he lies there with that arm under him, his little hand sticking out from under his chest on the opposite side of his body. His brow furrows, and he tries to move it. The he lifts his head as far as it will go, and pushes against the ground with his other hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, the trapped arm wriggles out. And Liam is pleased with himself.

I was too, until I realised that now he is a rolling menace and we can't just put him down and expect him to stay where we've set him. I wonder how long it will take him before he connects yesterday's action to this action, and rolls like a little log along the floor.

Liam Update

Ahem:

My baby can now roll over onto his back when he's on his tummy.

And when he's on that tummy, he's got the crawling motion down. However, he doesn't have the strength in his arms or legs to lift himself up, so he looks rather like a turtle does when it's flipped over, waving its little feet in the air. Except in this case, he's face down, moving his knees and hands along the ground and going nowhere.

But! He can roll over onto his back! It's terribly exciting. Liam is very pleased with himself. We had lots of fun showing off to his Da once he was home from work.

Pictures!

It's All About The Bunny

Caught Reading Power Spellcraft for Life! (updated with new photos)

The Numbers Game

Liam is 38 weeks gestational age today, or minus two weeks old. Tomorrow he turns 7 weeks chronological age. On Tuesday when the doctor told me she wanted to see him again in two weeks' time, I was a bit surprised, as he was in excellent health.

"Well," she pointed out, "he'll be two months old then, and that will get us back on track for vaccinations to begin."

Two months old. I keep thinking he's two weeks and a bit, because that's when we brought him home. My mind is wiping right over the five weeks of visiting him in hospital.

I'm never going to be able to keep his real age straight.

Liam Update

Just back from the doctor, and I'm pleased to say that Liam was an absolute angle getting in and out of his carseat. I think it's because I have small hands and fingers and they take up less space when buckling and unbuckling and feeding hands through straps, as opposed to HRH's HRH-sized hands which crowd the baby a bit.

Anywhats, for those of you waiting to update your scorecards, Liam now weighs 2kg 650g, and is 49 cm long. His growth is perfectly in line with the normal curve.

And now, some lunch and then more reading.

Excited

Liam's going to have a brand-new playmate very, very, very soon!

Strength and courage and serenity to all three of you. You will feel more alive than ever before, and it will also be the most surreal thing that you've ever experienced.

First Public Outing

Our first family outing went swimmingly well. We have learned that if we tank Liam up on 80 to 100 ml of milk via bottle, he'll sleep for three hours. So that's what we did before we went out. It worked very well indeed. We also kept the outing down to two hours. The infant seat, we have discovered, fits directly into the stroller we bought -- not clipping onto it, like travel systems, but in it -- right inside the stroller's seat area. Nice and secure. It works well.

Absolutely every single person who saw Liam cooed and exclaimed at his cuteness. Grandmothers stopped dead in the aisles of Sears. Cashiers leaned over counters and asked to have his blanket pulled back so that they could see all of him. And everyone, naturally, says, "He's so small! How old is he?" And when we say, "Six weeks," they're taken aback. So we add that he was two months premature, which actually makes his age minus three weeks. What is it about small things automatically being adorable to the general populace?

This is evidently going to carry on for a while, this explaining thing. Because preterm infants have a bit of catching up to do, no one expects them to hit the same milestones that term infants do. For example, when Liam is one chronological month old (which is now) no one expects him to do what a full-term one month old can accomplish, because in reality Liam's only 37 weeks gestational age (and thus minus three weeks); he won't technically be the equivalent of a one month old term infant until he's chronologically three months old.

Apparently Liam didn't get the memo, though, because he's doing one month old stuff like lifting his head up when he's lying on his stomach, tracking moving object with his eyes, looking at faces, and responding to facial expressions.

Frankly, as jteethy said the other day, there's no formula for predicting when any baby will do anything, let alone preterm vs full-term, and Liam will develop at Liam's speed. Which is precisely the outlook we had already established.

Relief

France, our CLSC nurse, is absolutely fabulous. We like her very much. She is of the opinion that one of the reasons Liam is doing so well because he's surrounded by love, which is a nice thing to hear. She also liked the cats.

Liam weighs 5 lbs 3 oz, thank you very much. It's good to know all that milk he's downing at an alarming rate of knots is having a positive effect. (For those of you hovering over your scorecards at home: that's a gain of three ounces and a bit in almost exactly three days.)

Now -- to the shops!

Silver Lining

Instead of ranting about the scarcity of pediatricians taking new patients in Montreal (and I was warned by the hospital pediatrician, I just didn't realise how demoralising it would be to call and be turned away over and again), I will instead sing the praises of my own GP, who just so happens to be a family doctor as well and is happy to take Liam on as a new patient.

It's good to have an established relationship with a doctor, yes indeed. It means I don't have to spend time bringing a new doctor up to speed on my medical history. And above all else, I trust my doctor, because I know her.

New Toy! (No, Not The Baby)

The baby slings arrived this morning. Mine's a bit big on me, but I can take the shoulder seam up a bit, and then remove it later if I need to. It's great, because it's similar to Liam being swaddled (which he likes) without all the hotness-inducing material (which hasn't been such a hit the past few days). He seems to like it. At least, he hasn't complained yet.

I feel like Kanga.

I also feel remarkably smug, because Liam's napping in it while I type. Muah-hah-hah. I can't use the keyboard tray, but putting it on the desk isn't a big deal. I can also walk around with my hands free. Woo-hoo!

Everyone Is Doing It

Someone should tell Liam that the story's not going to make much sense unless he reads the first five books.

Short Break

It's a good thing the baby sling I ordered last week will be here in a couple of days. Liam's fussing because of the humidity, and when I hold him, I can only hit the page up or down buttons on the keyboard; I can't even type one-handed. The idea behind the sling wasn't just the baby-wearing concept; it would also allow me to cradle him and get writing done at the same time.

HRH was moping earlier but being valiant about not moping too obviously, so I sent him out to buy his very own copy of HP&THBP. We each had our own copies last time too, and it worked out well. Someone borrowed our second copy of OOTP, though, and it vanished.

So much for that short break; back to the hot and confused baby.

Liam Update

Ceri met Liam at yesterday's writing jam.

"Oh!" she said as we handed him to her. "Goodness, Liam. You're much bigger on the Internet."

He may be smaller in person than he seems in his pictures, but today at his post-release follow-up appointment, he weighed in at 4 lbs 15 oz. That's a gain of about 100 grams in three days. The doctor is pleased. We are smug.

Liam also met his paternal grandparents today, and it was wonderful to see them interact with him for the very first time.

Caution: Armed With Baby And Digital Camera...

... and one bunny.

The idea behind the Moses basket was that it would be in my office, and Liam would sleep in it while I worked so that he would be near me instead of in the bedroom at the back of the house. Apparently, however, it's the playtime basket.

I swaddled him, thinking it would help him calm down and put him to sleep, but he's wriggled his way completely out of it and is back to staring at the bunny in total fascination. Not at quite such a close range as he managed earlier, as the picture illustrates, but Liam's world is back to being all about the bunny.

Go to sleep, child. Goodness. Aren't you tired after eating lunch, and playing with fun things like blankets and fists and feet and bunnies for so long? How am I supposed to get serious work done when you're being cute?

Day Two Of Full Family

Baby's sleeping.

Fun, this baby thing. We have a new sport in this house: babywatching. The cats do it. HRH does it. I do it. The stuffed bunny does it.

It's all about the stuffed bunny, gentle readers. It's all about the stuffed bunny.

He loves that bunny. He gazes at it for ages. Well, ages for an infant, anyhow, before he conks out. There will eventually be a photo page called "It's All About The Bunny", collecting the various bunny pictures.

The schedule established by the hospital nursery lasted for all of four hours, which was longer than I expected it to, but not as long as I'd have liked it to last. As far as I can tell, his personal schedule is about two and a half hours between each set of waking/changing/feeding before an hour or so of sleep. Of course, there have also been a couple of three-hour stretches, and a couple of one-hour stretches, but in general it seems to be two and a half hours. We're doing that responding to cues thing instead of watching the clock, and finding our way nicely. Last night was a good night, like the one before (and thankfully nothing like the first night we spent together).

I somehow thought that I'd only be pumping when we gave him a bottle, but to my complete and utter dismay I have to use the damn thing to ease the pressure so that the poor baby can actually drink properly. Looks like the Incredible Milk Store I've got in the freezer won't be used for a few months. I'm getting my money's worth out of that pump, and while I should be glad of that, I just wish things would ease off a bit. In the meantime, just as lanolin was my best friend when I was pumping in the first couple of weeks after Liam was born, cabbage leaves are now my friends.

I had a nice little birthday dinner last night with chosen family, complete with a spectacularly chocolate cake for dessert. (Yes, spectacularly chocolate, as opposed to a spectacular chocolately cake. There is a difference.) The cake was delicious and wonderful and exactly what I wanted in a birthday cake. There were even candles. And a social baby who really didn't think bed was the place to be when there was food and company to be had. And speaking of food, how's about a nosh, Mum? Everyone else is eating, after all.

Thank you, everyone, for your excitement and jubliance at Liam's homecoming; you've all supported us so strongly over the past month, and I know you're all genuinely pleased for all three of us. And thank you yet again for the even more birthday wishes and greetings and gifties that have come my way. I am incredibly lucky to have such thoughtful, enthusiastic, and loving friends, both here and afar.

Item: One Baby

Guess who came home today?

I spent Monday and Tuesday in the hospital with Liam, doing the 24/7 thing so that they could see we wouldn't break one another accidentally during full-time use, and to make the gradual switchover to mostly breastfeeding. There was the possibility that we might have been able to come home yesterday (and what a birthday present that would have been!) but the pediatrician decided to watch us for one more day to further montior Liam's weight gain (which is, as usual, alarming: today he weighs 2150 grams). Our first night together was a bit rough, but by the next morning we'd worked out a routine that fit into his feeding schedule, and we sailed through the next day and night and morning with flying colours.

Meeting the current residents actually went quite well. Naturally Maggie-Cat was the first in line to check him out. The verdict: he's okay. A bit boring, but okay.

And he seems to be fine here too. The AmbyBed is a hit so far. And he just drank 83 ml of milk. The five-minute car trip must have taken more out of him than we thought.

We are so, so very glad to finally be a family, all together where we supposed to be. Thanks for your patience while I was off-line, everyone, and for your birthday wishes. And I hope this news does away with the fnyehness that has been hovering about, and helps everyone to forget the oppressive humidity around here.

The Daily Liam News

Liam finally had that EKG this morning while we were there, given to him by a pretty young technician who seemed to fascinate him. He sucked on my finger through the entire scan. Then HRH got to give him a bottle for the first time right afterwards, which was after the forty-five minutes of quality Da and baby cuddling.

As you can see, he has yet another new hat. I think the little blue one he wore originally when transferred here was the smallest one they had on hand, and it's now gone to the new tiny baby who's still in an isolette because it was the only one that would fit. This one makes Liam look like a UK football or rugby fan of some kind.

We also spoke with the doctor when he came by on his rounds, and he says that Liam is doing incredibly well. He lost a few grams of weight since yesterday, but since he's gone to pretty much total bottle-feeding and only the rare gavage, that's understandable: it takes more energy to suck milk from a bottle than to just let someone feed a tube down your throat and fill you with milk. This happened when he went off his IV as well; it just takes a day or so for his body to stabilise and figure out how to deal with the new system.

We were there for almost two whole hours, and we're planning to be there for two or three tonight, as well. Tonight I intend to bring bottles of water and snacks along with us, because wow, it doesn't take long for me to get hungry even if I ate a meal just before I left. At home I can just graze on crackers and cheese or vegetables when I get peckish, but there I'm kind of stuck. This time I intend to be prepared.

Mail Joy!

Oooh, a UPS truck! I think the AmbyBaby bed is here!

Moments Later: Yes! Hurrah! This is one of those recommended things for preterm infants, and it will be ideal to put by our bed for night-time use to facilitate feedings and getting back to sleep for both mum and baby. Plus it comes apart and travels well. I think it's really nifty that HRH's parents bought Liam's crib, which he'll use when he's bigger, and my parents bought him the AmbyBaby, which we'll be able to use right now (or when he comes home, anyway).

I stick my tongue out at UPS, however, for charging customs and import fees on an item that isn't available in Canada. Nyah.

More Shameless Self-Promotion

Witchvox now has a page on Solitary Wicca for Life up and available for viewing!

Now to buckle down to the green witch book. Particularly since the doctor said this morning that we should take Liam off gavage feedings and get him breastfeeding as soon as possible.

Oh, and they cancelled the EKG because the "swish" has vanished.

Liam Update

When we walked into the nursery last night, we headed for the corner where Liam's isolette installed, and he wasn't there.

"Uh," said HRH. "Where's the baby?"

"No, wait," I said, "look, look, he's over here!"

Yes, dear readers, Liam has graduated from the isolette to a big baby bed, the open plastic bassinettes into which they put regular newborns. We can just reach in and pick him up. No wires, no portholes with doors on them, nothing. Just a fuzzy terry sleeper, wool booties, his new hat, and lots and lots of swaddling, like a regular baby.

There's more good news. He now weighs 2000 grams, or about 4 lbs 5 oz. He gained another forty or so grams in one day. This is probably the result of each feeding now being 50 ml of milk. Fifty! That's 400 ml a day, or just over a cup and a half! The nurse showed us the graph of his growth, and he's climbing steadily, right smack dab in the middle of the average percentile, following the projected growth curve perfectly.

He turns four weeks old on Saturday. And Friday he hits 35 weeks gestational age. (Yes, we have to keep both ages in mind until he's a few years old, otherwise we'll be expecting him to do things a couple of months ahead of schedule.)

The camera still isn't transferring pictures, but I got around it by going into My Computer and listing the contents of the Removeable Device, then copying and pasting the photos. So in celebration of all the good stuff going around, here's that photo of first bottle we gave him that I wanted to post yesterday:

The nurse told me that we can't start trying to breastfeed him until he's completely off gavage feedings (he's still at one gavage, one bottle). But when we do, the hospital has a few rooms where parents can stay for a couple of days to be with the baby all day and night in order to teach both mother and baby to breastfeed correctly, before releasing them into the wild to fend for themselves. This is a relief to me because I had visions of driving in every few hours, or three or four times a day and then having to apply the knowledge gained from a select few encounters to the home front eight to twelve times a day. We're going to continue bottle feedings at home, though, so HRH can feed him half the time. It makes no sense to discontinue it completely if the baby is fine with it. Options are good.

Last night I whispered to the baby that now I had even more reason to write lots and finish the book, because if he was out of his isolette, it was a big step towards leaving the hospital. I can think about every word bringing Liam home. That will help enormously.

Items Of Good News

Wow. When did it get to be five-thirty?

Anyways. This is a post full of Good News.

First Item of Good News:

Last night we got to take Liam out of his little aquarium, and not only did we get to hold him for an hour and a half, I got to feed him his bottle for the first time. There's a picture, but it's not downloading from the camera for some reason. Maybe later.

You know, I love seeing Liam once I'm there, but I always drag my feet when it comes to getting things together to go to the hospital. I can't even imagine what it would be like if we were still travelling to Ste-Justine twice a day.

Second Item of Good News:

Total word count, green witch book: 48,829
Total words today: 1,119

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. This makes up for the limp counts like 285 and 449 that I've been doing here and there in unfocused and infrequent sessions over the past couple of weeks. Today I expanded and refined the second half of chapter 1 which was mostly random notes in point form, and I also expanded some of chapter 2. Soon I'll be able to incorporate the work I've done in dribs and drabs away from the computer, like the sketches of meditations for chapter 4 and exercises for chapter 3 I did during our coven lesson jam on Sunday.

My wonderful little wordmeter says:

48,829 / 60,000 (81.4%)

I feel terrific. I feel like I've finally managed to get back in the swing of things. It feels right.

Items Of Good News

Wow. When did it get to be five-thirty?

Anyways. This is a post full of Good News.

First Item of Good News:

Last night we got to take Liam out of his little aquarium, and not only did we get to hold him for an hour and a half, I got to feed him his bottle for the first time. There's a picture, but it's not downloading from the camera for some reason. Maybe later.

You know, I love seeing Liam once I'm there, but I always drag my feet when it comes to getting things together to go to the hospital. I can't even imagine what it would be like if we were still travelling to Ste-Justine twice a day.

Second Item of Good News:

Total word count, green witch book: 48,829
Total words today: 1,119

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. This makes up for the limp counts like 285 and 449 that I've been doing here and there in unfocused and infrequent sessions over the past couple of weeks. Today I expanded and refined the second half of chapter 1 which was mostly random notes in point form, and I also expanded some of chapter 2. Soon I'll be able to incorporate the work I've done in dribs and drabs away from the computer, like the sketches of meditations for chapter 4 and exercises for chapter 3 I did during our coven lesson jam on Sunday.

My wonderful little wordmeter says:

48,829 / 60,000 (81.4%)

I feel terrific. I feel like I've finally managed to get back in the swing of things. It feels right.

More!

Guess whose isolation was over when we walked in at nine o'clock this morning?

I held him for almost an hour. He cuddled into me and made little baby-sigh noises. And we get more together time tonight.

Pictures!

I've done a photo page for the shower, and I've also begun one for the Caught Reading Power Spellcraft for Life project. There's the latest batch of photos from the CMS camping trip to Awakening Isis still to be uploaded to that, but I really have to get back to work.

Thank You Etc

A huge, huge thank you to friends and family for making yesterday so special. We have so many friends that making a short list of who to invite to the shower was difficult, so it was basically people we've known for ages and people who saw us through the pregnancy from beginning to end. We would have loved to invite everyone, but really, when the guest list hit 29 we knew we had to start drawing the line somewhere! It's okay; we'll do a housewarming/Liam-warming in late September, and we'll be able to catch everyone who's been neglected lately, or who had made huge contributions to our sanity reservation since Liam was born.

I'll do a full report later, once my dad has sent me pictures. But I do have to say thank you to everyone who gave us gifts even though I kept saying we didn't want them. Not only did it entertain Devon for a good long while, but opening things like Ceri's hand-made baby quilt and this unique and apropos onesie (from whom other than t! and ai731?) was worth all of you ignoring my wishes. (The blanket beneath the onesie was knitted by my mother, in a lovely soft cream-coloured wool, and also much admired by shower attendees. And the onesie/blanket picture was taken with our new digital camera, the wonderful and deeply appreciated group gift from the gang.)

Ceri quite deservedly got a spontaneous round of applause from those gathered when we unfolded the quilt. You can go here to see pictures and read about the making of it. If you haven't already, that is, because apparently she's had it up for over half a week.

Your daily bit of Good News From Liam: the pediatrician has put him on a one bottle/one gavage feeding schedule, up from one bottle/two gavages. I have a suspicion that in a week's time, he'll be totally off the gavage tube. And it's been confirmed: As of Tuesday afternoon, we're free to cuddle and hold him and kangaroo for as long as we like!

Liam Update

Four lbs 2 oz, thank you very much.

One Day At A Time

Okay. One and a half days down, and five and a half to go. Thank you for the support and sympathy; I wasn't looking for pity, I just needed to to vent. But you're all wonderful.

After the initial shock of the situation, it's really drearily like how we interacted with him for the first week at Ste-Justine. Same procedure: masks, gowns, baby in isolette 24/7. It's simply in a closer and quieter room, with a bigger baby, and now with gloves. I just wish it didn't feel like such a step backwards for my relationship with Liam.

The good news (because there's always good news with this kid) is that he's taking the bottle just as well as he did yesterday. One bottle, three gavage feedings, another bottle... and they've upped his milk to 40 ccs, so that's a total of 320 ml per day (more if he gets fussy and hungry and demands food in between scheduled feedings, which he's begun to do). Yikes. And so, of course, he gained more weight: he's now at 1.8 kilos, or 3 lbs 15 oz, and climbing.

Still no sign of Liam developing the cold/flu thing. But really, no surprise there.

After our evening visit HRH went off to pack up his studio (he's moving it into the garage), and I took a bath then went to bed to read. I fell asleep very early, which was lovely, and was woken up a few times by HRH wandering in and asking me questions. All in all, I got a wonderful night of sleep, and I feel much better today. Ceri took me out for lunch yesterday, which helped immensely as well.

So, thank you again, everyone.

And the nurses have asked me to bring more milk in, because Liam's eating more. So there.

The Good, the Bad, and the Even Worse

Okay.

I really had to wait until now to write up a post, because ... well, because. Things haven't really been easy the past 24 hours.

The Bad:

Remember that whole "I'm a regular mom with a regular baby" thing? Yeah. Well, scratch that. All that joy and relaxation we felt about being in a normal nursery has been snatched away from us.

See, one of the babies back in Ste-Justine got sick. One of the babies who'd been rooming with Liam, as a matter of fact. So Ste-Justine called LaSalle and told them to lock Liam down in isolation for one full week, in case he was carrying the virus, so he wouldn't infect the other babies.

Isolation. This means that he has to stay in his incubator at all times. Anyone interacting with him has to wear a gown, a mask, and gloves. Any equipment used to care for him has to be either thrown out or sterilised.

I can't touch my baby at all. Not only am I not allowed to hold him, I can't even caress his skin with my own.

Now, excuse me if I'm overreacting, but I feel as if I've been sucker-punched. I feel as if someone gave me a wonderful, wonderful present on Christmas morning, and then took it away from me on Boxing Day. It felt remarkably surreal when they told us last night. I'd been looking forward to another long cuddle like a normal mother cuddles her baby, without wires or protective gear, and we were met with gowns, masks, gloves, and warnings. I asked about the kangaroo we'd planned on that night, and they called the doctor who said that we could still practice kangaroo care but for only half an hour, alone in an enclosed room with a nurse in attendance, and the baby would have to be completely hooked up to the monitor. But as there was no free nurse in the evening, we couldn't do it then; we'd have to come in the afternoon when it was more convenient.

Fine. It was upsetting, but we did what we could. We put the masks and gloves and gowns on and petted him for a few minutes through the portholes of his isolette, and promised him a special cuddle the next day to make up for missing this one.

The wind had been rather taken out of our sails after a day of looking forward to the relaxing atmosphere of the LaSalle nursery. I had a lot of trouble with these new strictures, and I spent a lot of time fighting back the choked-up feeling of imminent tears of disappointment. I completely and totally understood the situation intellectually: babies are delicate things and need protection. What bothered me was that Liam isn't sick, nor is he likely to be sick if he hasn't developed the symptoms by now. I felt like all three of us were being punished for something done by someone else. At least we could still practice the skin-on-skin care, even if it was going to be rather sterile, we'd be back to the monitors and masks, and we'd have to do it in the afternoon, which is slightly inconvenient for HRH.

The Good:

This morning I geared myself up for the whole sterile procedure again. When we got there it was just in time for his second breakfast, and the nurse was preparing a bottle. This was new; Liam's always been fed via gavage. The nurse said that he'd been sucking on anything he could get his mouth on, with good suction (haven't I been telling nurses this for a week?), so she was going to try feeding him by bottle. We were pretty excited. Sure enough, he took it and drank a whole 24 ccs. Bottles tend to tire preterm babies out quickly, but he packed away quite a bit for his first time before he fell asleep. He thought about it a lot, pausing with the bottle in his mouth as if allowing the experience to really sink in. When he'd start sucking again though, he'd go for a while, coordinating the suck/swallow/breathe sequence incredibly well for a beginner. He'll get one or two bottles a day now, with the rest of his feedings via gavage as per usual, because bottle-feeding him all the time would use up more energy than he'd gain from the milk he took in.

The Even Worse:

After clapping and congratulating the baby, and receiving the congratulations from the nurse for how well he'd done, I asked when would be a good time to schedule the afternoon kangaroo care session. The nurse shook her head and said flatly, "We can't do it."

And lo, the surreal feeling hit once again.

Turns out that they don't have the facilities to do it. They'd have to pull a nurse off her regular duties, and they'd have to use a private hospital room, and the room would have to be disinfected when we were done. That's a huge waste of resources, and a huge risk of infecting anyone we come across during the whole procedure. The other babies have to be kept safe, as do the nurses caring for them.

So yes, I started to cry yet again. All I want to do is hold my baby; is that so very wrong? And now I can't do it for an entire week because some other baby in another hospital is ill. My baby is strong enough and clever enough to coordinate the suck/swallow/breathe sequence, and I can't have the opportunity to try and breastfeed him for seven days.

The nurse told me I should be happy that he was taking the bottle, that he was still gaining weight (he's officially over his birth weight now, at 1.770 kilos), that there had been no apneas or bradys for five days straight now, that he's incredibly strong and stable and doing impressive things for his age, but none of it removes the sting from the fact that I can't touch my baby. I don't think I'm being selfish. I think I'm being healthily angry. Because, oh yes, I passed upset and hurt and wondering what we three did to deserve this particular kick in the teeth, and now I'm just angry. I've been terribly, terribly good up till now. I've accepted the separation from my baby rather well over the past two and a half weeks. I have intellectually and emotionally come to terms with it. It's not ideal, but I understand the necessity. This, however, really feels like a punishment for something we didn't do.

I'm really, really, really tired of being good and strong and understanding about everything.

Not So Gratuitous Pictures

Okay, I've scanned and posted the last two weeks' worth of photos on the Newt page. Enjoy!

(I have been informed that pictures of newborns do not qualify as gratuitous, which means they must be necessary. I stand corrected and now feel no guilt in sharing them with you. Muah-hah-hah.)

The Daily Liam News

I love the LaSalle nursery.

I chose LaSalle as my hospital because of its philosophies and association with the birthing centre on the West Island. When I was transferred to Ste-Justine I was upset because I'd developed a relationship with the LaSalle team, I knew their policies, and I didn't know anyone in or anything about the new hospital. Of course, it was for the best and I'm plenty delighted with the care I received and how procedure was handled in Ste-Justine; in fact, if I wasn't this happy with LaSalle, I might choose to work with Ste-Justine again in future pregnancies.

But I'm happy that Liam's safely installed at LaSalle, because this is what was supposed to happen. It feels like we're back on track: finally, something's going according to the original plan (okay, still off-schedule, but at least we're in the right place now). And the baby seems to have made the transfer without being upset. He passed his first night at LaSalle comfortably, without apneas or bradys, and he's still eating well. (Nothing seems to disturb that!)

It's so quiet at LaSalle, both inside the nursery and outside the building. I'd forgotten that. At the moment there are only a handful of babies in the ward, which again is a big change; we're used to having six babies in a single 15 x 15 foot room, and nine of these rooms in the intermediate care ward alone. The energy is just so much calmer -- not that it was recognisably hectic over at Ste-Justine, no; it's just more relaxed here. There are fewer alarms going off all the time, fewer babies in need. It feels normal, which is a huge change for us. He's rooming with regular babies, which makes me feel a bit more like a regular mother instead of someone who has to ask if she can help somehow. It means that we now have the opportunity to think of Liam as normal instead of delicate or in danger all the time.

That may sound easy, but it isn't. We're used to keeping an eye on his monitors and having him whisked away when he gets agitated. Here, when we hold him, he's not connected to anything. In fact, they unplugged him completely and turned the monitor off when they swaddled him and handed him to me last night. Babies are never unplugged at Ste-Justine.

Actually, the fact that they swaddled him, handed him to me, and walked away last night was a huge deal. It meant that they trusted him to keep breathing, trusted him to keep control of his heart rate. And it also meant that they trusted me to hold him without direct supervision, for half an hour in swaddling and then an hour of skin on skin.

That's a big thing for a mother who's only been able to hold her infant for a total of an hour a day if she's lucky, and only after asking permission.

It's a big thing for HRH too, because he can hold the baby when he's swaddled and Liam doesn't fuss or get prickly from HRH's body heat. The climate control in this nursery is perfect, whereas in Ste-Justine they relied on an air conditioner in the window frame that had to be turned off a lot because of the circulation of cold and flu germs. There's lots of room, and you don't have to worry about bumping into someone or being in someone's way. There are lots of comfy glider rockers (we so need to find a secondhand glider rocker! I love them!) and good wooden chairs; there are privacy screens to use when you practice kangaroo care, and horizontal blinds on the viewing windows too to adjust to your comfort level. We love it.

Liam seems bigger in the LaSalle nursery, somehow. I think his isolette is a bit smaller, so he doesn't look as tiny. But the illusion helps us psychologically. They gave him a new hat, too, because the other one is so big. This one is a Wedgewood blue, and makes him look a bit like a gnome. We've brought his pretty one home and it's waiting for him. I was right; it goes very well with the lovely little boots Gran knit for him. And the whole family has new hospital bracelets.

After our long, long visit last night (gosh, but it was good to feel welcome instead of dumb and in the way!) we had to make a dash to the pharmacy to buy our first bag of diapers and take them back, as LaSalle doesn't supply them the way Ste-Justine did. They also don't have the milk storage facilities Ste-Justine has; the nurse told us that they could feed the entire ward for a week on what I'd banked so far! She packed up most of it for us to take home and keep in our own freezer because it was taking up too much room. They'll call us when we need to bring in more. The older nurse told me that the amount of milk I was producing was rather miraculous, and that we'd certainly never be in need for it. She also told me that when Liam starts on solids, instead of thinning the puree with water I could use my milk: this technique not only creates an enriched solid, but will help him digest it because we know he metabolises the milk perfectly well.

So there you are: Liam's doing wonderfully well, and so are we. Well, the humidity has HRH almost non-functional, but other than that, things are pretty good. Now if I could just get the damn book more back on track than it is...

Gratuitous Baby Pictures

I took that film in to be developed today so we have a handful more of images to show you, in celebration of his transfer:

Liam with his darling little knit cap:

And without:

Go on, squee. You know you want to.

(By the bye, that little afghan in which he's wrapped in that second photo is the one my grandmother sent us at the beginning of the pregnancy. It's the one we brought in to use when we practice kangaroo care.)

Hurrah

Two important things:

1. They are finally paving our road. You know, the road that was somewhat torn up before we moved in, and fully torn up the day I went into the hospital? The paving crew has finally gotten their act together. Good thing, too; everyone was getting a little tired of the no parking signs up for ages for no reason, and ignoring them.

2. Liam is at this very moment being transported to LaSalle Hospital. (Literally -- I just got the call confirming it.) He's so stable and doing so incredibly well that Sainte-Justine no longer needs to care for him; the regular nursery care of a non-specialised unit will be fine.

I am, of course, ecstatic. HRH is pleased but still has reservations, and won't be fully okay until we see Liam tonight in his new home-away-from-home. But that's all right; that's the way he is.

He's up to 30ccs per feeding (that's a total of about 8.5 ounces a day!), and he's gained weight again so he's only a breath away from his birth weight (not surprising, what with 8 oz of milk daily). I made sure to thank the head nurse when I spoke to her earlier today on the phone about the transfer, and to tell her how much we appreciated the care all the nurses in intensive and intermediate care had lavished upon Liam, and how good they'd been with us. (Mostly. It really wasn't the time to bring up the two or three aberrations.)

So after a brief engagement with a friend this afternoon (happy 25th birthday, Colleen!), I'll be calling LaSalle to get the latest info on Liam's whereabouts and status. I have no idea if he'll still be in an isolette or if he'll be swaddled in a regular bassinette, but I do know he'll still be plugged into monitors so they can keep an eye on his heart and respiratory rates.

I'm so proud of him for being so strong, and doing so well. And this is a giant step closer to bringing him home.

Half-Asleep Morning Thoughts

Thinking about Ceri's kittens reminded me of feeding and caring for the litter of newborn kittens over at Scarlet's place almost three years ago. This morning, while waking up and thinking about Liam, my sleepy mind made a connection between going to see Liam and those kittens that my waking mind never could have made.

It was wonderful to watch them grow as I nursed them over those ten weeks, and part of the fun (once I'd accepted that I'd invested too much in the littlest one to give her to another home, that is) was looking forward to bringing a kitten home with me. Two or three times every day, I walked over to play with them, bathe them, prepare their food and feed them, and cuddle them. Scarlet and I were particularly worried about that tiniest kitten, the little black one, who was weaker than the rest and thus received an extra feeding per day and extra love to make sure she grew strong and well. Over those ten weeks, I wanted to bring that kitten home earlier, but it was best to leave her there for a variety of reasons.

And I thought this morning about how tiny Liam is, and how it's best to leave him where he is for now, and how much I want to bring him home. For now, though, I have to be happy with seeing him twice a day, bringing him cups and cups of milk with me each time, and cuddling him when I can. I can change him, and burp him after his gavage, and touch him gently through the portholes of his aquarium. It's a bit different, of course, as Liam is flesh of my flesh and all that, and the fighting desire to have him with me is much stronger than the coveting of a kitten. But I was patient before while I nursed weak little baby creatures and helped them grow big and strong; I can be patient again.

And Liam is two weeks old today. In six days his gestational age will be 34 weeks, that magic date that the doctors set as the safe minimum age at which to deliver him. Day by day; hour by hour. We may have bad days or weak moments, but we get through them. And every day is a day closer to having our family all together.

Success!

We have a fully assembled crib! And it's so beautiful!

(Oh, for a digital camera... you'll just have to wait until we develop this disposable camera next Monday, and I can scan the photos in on Tuesday.)

That didn't take long at all. And it was so easy that HRH intends to do the dresser next.

Later: And a fully-assembled dresser! They're just perfect. Although I think we'll have to move the armoire out of the room, because now you can't see the blue paint on the bottom half of the walls; there's too much furniture. So the armoire will go downstairs, and I think the chest I'm currently using as a night-table will be moved into Liam's room to store his linens and such instead.

One Day At A Time

The preterm baby books tell us to take it one day at a time. One day can be up in the NICU, the next day, things may not be so good.

What they failed to clarify is that this applies to the parents, not just the preterm infant's status.

The past day and a half -- pretty much since I waved a deliriously happy Firewillow off with her new harp strapped into the back seat of her car -- has been the worst stretch of thirty-six hours since Liam was born.

Let me take a moment to assure my anxious readers that the baby is fine. Baby is more than fine. In fact, baby's doing so well that they took him off his IV, and he's now being nourished by breastmilk alone, 28 ccs of it per gavage feeding as of yesterday afternoon. (We have discovered that they augment the feeding by one cc every eight hours, if things are going well.) He's also weighing in at 1.701 kilos, which is only a few days away from 2 kg, one of the criteria for being removed from the isolette and placed in a regular bassinette. (After 2 kg infants usually have enough baby fat to regulate their own temperature and no longer require the climate-controlled incubator.) And today he completes 33 weeks of gestational age.

Yes, Liam's all right. HRH and I, on the other hand, are not.

Things have been happening in NICU that have been setting us both off, things beyond our control. And the little things have become the proverbial last straws that send us right over the edge. HRH and I are both polite, thoughtful, respectful people, and really, we're very understanding in most situations. We love most of the nurses, and they seem to really like us: we don't make trouble, we try to stay out of their way, we always say please and thank you and we smile a lot. (Liam's a really good baby, too, which helps because they like him for not being trouble, unlike most of his roommates.) However, things are understandably a bit tense in our lives right now, so when a new nurse whom we haven't previously met snaps at us or brushes us off, not displaying the same sort of respect to us that we offer them, we get a bit upset. That's my baby, you see. My baby, whom I am not allowed to have with me, who is kept in an institution where I have to visit to peer through a cage at him as if he were in a zoo. I get to see him for one hour in the morning through the plastic of his climate-controlled isolette, and one hour at night, in my arms if I'm lucky. So when I arrive at a time I think is good, and a nurse slaps me with a comment such as I could have come at a more convenient time to hold my son, and I dissolve into tears because all I want to do is hold my baby in the corner of the quiet room, and the other nurse's eyes blaze with indignation at how I've been treated...

Allow us say that we were not impressed with this particular nurse.

Let me get this straight: it's four-thirty in the afternoon, it's nice and quiet (a complete switch from that morning's crowded visit, where I couldn't be in the room because there were too many people doing nurse-type things and I felt like I was in the way, so I ended up seeing him for only two minutes after waiting outside in the hall for over half an hour trying not to cry or fall asleep and failing at both), and you're snapping at me that I can't kangaroo with my infant because you leave for dinner at six, and have to feed all the babies first, and there isn't enough time? I'm sorry; when did your personal schedule become more important than your job of fostering the relationship between me and my son? What about my schedule that I'm trying to bend in sixteen different directions, what about my husband's schedule, what about the baby's schedule?

The other mother in the room was shocked at what this nurse said, or more correctly, how she said it and the tone of voice in which it was said. Louise, the other nurse (whom we usually deal with in the evenings and whom we adore) was furious, absolutely furious. So furious, in fact, that when HRH went to go find me tissues because I couldn't stop crying after the nasty nurse thrust Liam into my arms, Louise caught him outside and was fairly vibrating with anger while she assured him that this nurse's behaviour was completely unacceptable. HRH let her in on how badly the morning visit had gone (he left out how his kangaroo the previous evening had had to be cut short because his body temperature was making Liam fuss and his heart rate go wonky, which upset HRH dreadfully because he felt like the only one-on-one thing he had with the baby was being taken away from him), and how fragile we both were -- as preterm parents are to begin with -- and off the indignant Louise went. I think she talked to someone higher up, because the nasty nurse was called out of the room, spoken to in the hall, then came back and was much nicer to me, and backpedaled a bit, saying she'd just been concerned that I would be disturbed while she fed the other babies, and that of course I could hold him for a full hour, she would feed him last. Making mothers cry is apparently frowned upon in NICU.

I was too understanding in return, too self-effacing: yes, I'm stressed, I'm tired, no, it's not just you, it just seems like it's never the right time when I come visit him.... If I'd had the presence of mind, I should have said some very pointed things to her. But I'm so tired of trying to communicate about medical stuff and sensitive personal stuff in French. I'm fluently bilingual (and a good thing too, because HRH gives it the good old college try, but just doesn't have the vocabulary for these situations), but when I'm stressed it gets harder to think in French; it's still my second language. And all I wanted to do was hold my baby at that point; I just wanted her to go away.

It could have been simple. We arrived at 4:30-ish and had to wait until she came back from wherever she was at 4:45 to ask for our hour of kangaroo care. She could have said calmly that ideally, it's best to hold them after they've been fed, and that feeding time was coming up. We would have said (as we tried to do) that we thought he ate at 6:00; that's what we've aways been told. She could have said that actually, feeding begins earlier than that, as it ends around 6:00. We would have said ah, we understand; next time we'll aim to be here a bit earlier, or come at our usual time of 7:30. In the meantime, could we please hold our baby for as long as possible, before he needed to be fed?

Instead, she snapped at us that it's not a good time because she has to start feeding them at 5:15 and he'd be overstimulated. So we stammered that we thought he ate at 6, and she brushed us off by saying that she goes for dinner at 6, so how could he be fed at 6:00? Besides, there were six babies in the room, how could they all be fed on the dot of 6:00? No, madam, it's not a good time at all. Come earlier next time if you want to hold him.

If I'd had the strength, I might have been angry. As it was, I just broke and cried. We thought we'd visit him before his six o'clock feeding, so as to have an early night instead of getting home at nine-thirty; we're very aware that we need a lot of sleep right now. You can be damned sure we'll never go back in the late afternoon, because I never want to deal with this nurse again. We'll stick with our evening visits, because we love Louise, and Francoise too, who's often there on weekends.

All we ask is respect, and to have the support that the NICU staff is supposed to be offering us. And we've received it from everyone except three nurses. (The first one I didn't hear about until about a week ago, because it was HRH alone who was trying to learn about some of the equipment Liam was being hooked up to, and he didn't understand a word the nurse used in French so he asked if she knew the English term. She told him snarkily that she couldn't (i.e. wouldn't) speak English because she was a Quebecoise. I flipped when he told me. He didn't get her name, unfortunately, because otherwise, I'd have reported her to the hospital ombudsman.) We've been very fortunate so far, and the staff have been very understanding and helpful. It's just that the past couple of days have had a speed bump or three.

So we'll go off in about half an hour or so and see him this morning, and we'll go in at our regular time of 7:30 tonight. And I think we'll pick up a little something nice for Louise, for being so kind to us last night.

The Morning News

26 ccs via gavage this morning. I have the suspicion that my son has a pocket dimension located in his stomach. This can be the only explanation for how much milk he's taking in. Eight feedings of 26 ccs each (assuming they don't bump it up yet again during the day) means he's taking almost a cup of milk a day.

And he lost his cord stump just after his bath this morning. Liam's gained a few more grams since yesterday afternoon, too. He got a spiffy little certificate of participation from the woman running the observation study, and it's been put in the scrapbook.

He's eleven days old. It feels like we've been doing this twice-daily trip forever, and yet it still seems surreal. He was really awake when we went in this morning, waving his hands and feet around in a friendly fashion (until bath time, that is). I love how he turns his face into his father's hand when HRH gently cups the top of his head. I love how he grabs onto my index finger and drags it to his open mouth, and then proceeds to suck furiously. (The strength of it shocked HRH when he offered his little finger for the same purpose.) He took his training pacifier for a bit longer today, too.

It was a good visit. But still, mankind isn't meant to be separated from its new young like this. It gnaws at me. I know he's in a good, safe place that is caring for him better than I could in this situation. But he belongs with us. And knowing that I had a baby and he's not here is just confusing my subconscious.

Insert Pitiful Moan Here

I just want to bring him home. That's all. I don't want to spend two hours a day travelling to see him, or have to walk up to the hospital any more; I just want him home.

Liam Update

Liam's now at 1.67 kilos, and is taking 24 ccs at each feeding. We're not sure where he's putting it, because that's an awful lot of milk for someone whose tummy was the size of a chickpea last week, but it seems to be doing him lots and lots of good. They've changed his IV formula as a result, taking away the fats and fiddling about with the proteins; apparently he's getting pretty much what he needs from my milk, which almost makes up for the four hours a day I spend expressing the stuff -- almost. If I were actually nursing him, I'd love the time I spend doing it, but I have a love-hate relationship with my pump. It allows me to feed him, yes, and I'm so very thankful for that; but I resent the time I have to spend doing it when I have so much other stuff that needs to be done (including eating, and sleeping too). Besides, it's slightly uncomfortable. And frankly, it's boring; I can't even read while I do it.

Speaking of sleeping, we overslept the alarm again today.

But he was in a fine mood this morning, even if we were a bit later than usual. His eyes are open a lot more of the time, and wide open, too, not the sleepy squint he had last week. He can grab my finger and pull it to his mouth, and suck on it, which is remarkably heartening because it means that he's training himself for feeding from the breast. I have no idea how long it will be before we can give it a go; he needs to work up the correct strength and the ability to suck, swallow, and breathe all in the right order. Until then, it's feeding via gavage tube, and sucking on fingers. He gives the training pacifier a go for a suck or two, then lets it drop out of his mouth; fingers are warm and much more exciting, apparently. I would have to agree.

I'm so damned tired. The last week and a half is finally catching up with me. Now that I've eaten, I think I'm going to have to go lie down and read until I fall asleep. Or I will after I express again, damn it. It's the scheduling of the event that irritates me more than anything else. Can I nap, or shower, or make and eat lunch, or do I need to express first? Gah. No fun. No fun at all.

Haven

I forgot to say that HRH finished painting Liam's room last night. It's wonderful; you can feel your blood pressure dropping and the tension easing out of your shoulders as soon as you step in, it's so calm. It's a beautiful sand colour on top, and a deep Wedgewood blue on the bottom. A pecan-stained chair rail will be put up between the two this coming weekend.

He didn't get to the chest of drawers or the crib, though. I'm impressed that he finished the room at all. We're moving a lot slower than our usual pace, and he forced himself to stay up until it was done. Perhaps not the best idea, but it's finished, and I love being in there.

Ready For My Close-Up, Mr DeMille

Liam is now up to 20 ccs of milk per feeding. I honestly think they're increasing it every time they feed him, or every second time.

Today was his first day of two days of participation in an observation study for ICU preterm infants. The study involves reducing the stimuli coming into the baby's awareness by putting little earcovers and a sleep mask on him, then recording vital signs over a four-hour period while videoing the whole thing. Tomorrow is his second go, where they'll record vitals and video for four hours without the stimulus reduction gear. A nurse approached me after he'd been born and talked to me about this study, which is being done by a PhD candidate from McGill. The theory is that in ICU there's a lot of sound and light and movement, and when you're that tiny it can be extremely overwhelming. (See here for an idea of what happens.) What if there was a way to keep preterm babies calmer by removing or reducing some of that overstimulation? It would allow them to focus their energy on healing and growing, instead of using up precious calories fussing and reacting to what's going on around them.

I read through all the material and the study proposal, talked it over with HRH, and signed the consent form. We'd already seen how much calmer Liam was when he wore his sleep mask to protect his eyes while under the phytotherapy lamp to treat his mild jaundice. Since we knew he was fine with the gear, we agreed in hopes that this data will help future preterm infants as well.

The woman leading the study called me yesterday to let me know that she'd be beginning to gather data from Liam today, but I didn't ask when. We go there around eightish, and there he was, all geared up, and messing about with the tiny velcro straps that held his mask and earcovers on. He'd already managed to pull it askew a couple of times in the two hours since the period of observation had begun. Perhaps I should have warned the woman that Liam, also known as Master Of My Own Destiny And I Want This Thing Off NOW, has already developed the incredibly impressive ability to rip off, pull out, and unplug almost anything attached to him. HRH had to undo the little straps and pull the sleep mask away from his mouth, where it had ended up after he'd tugged it. (In self-defense, sometimes the nurses tie little mitts on him so he can't grab whatever it is he wants to get rid of.) Once it was back on him tidily, though, he went back to being calm (not that he'd been fussing much to begin with). In fact, it stressed HRH out more than the baby. There's a nifty little globe camera that simultaneously broadcasts onto a flat screen monitor behind the isolette, so you can see Liam moving there too. When he had the mask and earcovers back on, he lay back in a relaxed position as if posing for the camera. (Come to think of it, he was much better with the flash from the diposable camera last night, too, and didn't turn away from it when we took photos of he and HRH together. This is also progress.)

His eyes are now open almost all the time when he's awake and we're there with him. He looks at us and interacts with us, and we can play with his hands and feet and he responds. Seeing the development between this time last week and today is phenomenal. Preterm infants don't need a lot of stimulation since they're so sensitive, so gentle touching and talking is all we do and he seems to like it a lot. We watch for his overstimulated cues and end the visit if he begins to get overtired, after soothing him and trying to ease him into sleep. (Baths overstimulate him; feeding does not. His personality is already becoming evident to us!)

And more joy: we asked about a parking pass, since we're paying anywhere between five dollars and eleven dollars twice a day to use the hospital lot depending on how long we're there for. We learned that as long as Liam's in the hospital, we can buy a week's pass for $25, or a 30-day pass for $45. Even if Liam ends up being transferred elsewhere at 34 weeks (and there's no guarantee, even with the scarcity of apneas and bradys, and the excellent growth and feeding) the 30 day pass is worth the money. What a relief! I wish we'd asked when I checked out last week, but we didn't think of it, particularly since while I was in hospital HRH usually found metered parking on the road. This, alas, is no longer the case due to the times at which we visit.

Today: green witch stuff. Or Else!

Liam News!

He gained not one, but two ounces yesterday.

And he's eating 17 ccs per feeding now. Basically, they're bumping him up one to two ccs per day, depending on how much milk is left in his stomach before the next feeding. (So far, it's been nothing left, so they add another cc to the syringe, because if he's digesting it, hey, give him more!)

We can see that he's beginning to fill out a bit: his cheeks have a bit more definition, and you can't see his ribcage along his back. His chest also isn't quite as concave-looking,; he seems a bit more baby-like there as well. It's nice to have visual proof that he's gaining weight and doing so well. We see him every day, so it's hard to mark a difference from one day to the next, but thinking back to how he looked a week ago, there's definitely progress.

And while he's packing on the ounces, I'm dropping pounds despite the amount I'm eating. Thirteen of them, as a matter of fact. I weighed myself the night that I came home from the hospital and was slightly stunned to see that I hadn't lost any weight at all; I was expecting to see a drop of at least four pounds (you know, one less baby plus amniotic fluid plus placenta, at least four less pounds, and usually more?). But when I weighed in last night, I was equally stunned to see that my weight had dropped back down to only five pounds over my original pre-pregnancy weight. The books weren't kidding when they told me that there's a lot of fluid retained in pregancy, and lost in the first couple of weeks post-delivery. Wow.

I'm still wearing maternity clothes, though, because they're comfortable, and because they're loose-ish. And because, damn it, they're pretty, I like them, and I'm going to get my money's worth out of them.

HRH gets to cuddle Liam tonight in celebration of Father's Day. Yes, I will have the disposable camera to hand. And the pictures will go into the lovely scrapbook that my in-laws' neighbour Cheryl made for us. Let it be known that Cheryl is a brilliant scrapbook artist, and the book she put together for Liam is spectacular. I shall bring it to the shower so that everyone can ooh and aah. Thank you, Cheryl!

Focus? What Is Focus?

I get to see my baby in about two hours. And hold him, too, for a whole hour this time.

You know, the worst thing about this whole preterm birth thing is that I was pregnant, and now I'm not, and I don't have a baby to show for it. I mean, sure, I have a baby, but he's not here. He's somewhere else. It's odd to have gone through the whole huge birth event, and now to be back doing the same sort of mundane thing I was doing beforehand. Or trying to do it, anyhow, interspersed with lots of time spent in the baby's room with the impersonal pump.

In other news, the green witch book is not a disaster. It is, however, incomplete. 45K isn't bad at all, but it just doesn't feel anywhere near done. I think it's because my last two books were 80K long, and this one is contracted to be only 60K. I'll have no problem making up that last 15K, what with all the meditations and rituals to go in, but the balance of the book still doesn't feel quite right.

Well, that's what revisions and editing are for: making it right with someone else's input.

Did I Mention Tired?

1. Two visits to the hospital daily, plus travel time and doing at-home stuff (or work, in HRH's case) is beginning to take its toll.

2. HRH got to hold Liam last night for almost a whole hour. This was the first time he'd ever held him, period. It did both of them a lot of good. Yes, I got pictures.

3. Evidently Liam absorbed some of HRH's appetite while they cuddled yesterday, because his feedings have increased from 8 ccs yesterday to 11 ccs after our visit last night. Woo-hoo! (Two days ago it was only 6 ccs per feeding. Hungry little chap. That's fine, there's more than enough milk for him.)

4. We went out to dinner last night, and I ordered a glass of white wine. The waiter came back and told me it was warm and he couldn't serve it yet, and would I like something else? I said no, just give me water, and proceeded to fight back a welling up of irritated tears. A glass of wine, for heaven's sake. Did I mention that I was tired? (The flank steak with bordelaise sauce made up for the wine disappointment, although the rice was flabby and the vegetables overcooked. So dinner was basically steak and iced lemon water. Why can't I ever remember that Pizzadelic does good pasta, amazing pizzas, wonderful meat, and lousy everything else?)

5. We had a lovely short visit with Jeff and Paze last night, where they fed us lemon bars and gave us tons of their baby stuff. We haven't had the energy to go through the bag of clothes and toys yet, but HRH has installed the car seat and keeps sneaking looks at it while he drives.

6. I get my hour of holding Liam tonight, and it's what's keeping me going today. I asked HRH to drop me off at home directly after the hospital this morning, instead of me taking him to work and having the car all day. This way I can't say, "Oh, I'll just run this errand, and then this one," and end up with only three hours at home on my own before having to leave to pick him up for the evening visit to the hospital. I can't jam everything I have to do into three hours; I just can't. Eating, working, a nap, and an awful lot of time spent expressing milk doesn't physically fit into three hours.

7. I unpacked four of the five remaining boxes in my office this morning. The last one is in the corner under the shelves, so it's out of the way. The cello is finally out and in its stand, too.

8. When we arrived at the hospital this morning Liam had just had his bath, and he was lying quietly with his eyes wide open, looking at us. Usually he has rather sleepy eyes, but today he was quiet and alert. He kept trying to pull his blanket over to suckle on the edge of it, and if that didn't work he tried his hand, and then his IV plug. It will be interesting to see what he tries to do when I hold him tonight. And when the nurse fed him, she let me reach into the isolette to prop him up and burp him. (Not that there was a lot of air to come up; he's being fed through a tube, after all.) Plenty of hands-on time; I love it. I want more, of course, but overstimulating the little thing is not a good idea. He's officially minus two months old today.

9. Lunch must now happen. (Luanna's meatloaf! Yay!)

Thursday

Liam gained almost two ounces yesterday!

And this time last week, I was in the hospital because of serious premature contractions. It feels like forever ago.

A parcel from my parents arrived today, with a book on preterm infants (already on chapter three!) and little treats for Liam and I. The congratulatory cards from family have begun to arrive as well, this first one with a cheque which will make a significant dent in baby costs. We went out with HRH's parents last night and they paid for his change table/dresser as well as putting almost half down on the crib, which was a lovely gift. I think putting the new baby furniture together will be HRH's way of celebrating Father's Day. And I'm all for it; I love the baby's room, but it will feel more baby-like with the crib. Of course, I'll be writing all weekend, except for when he needs another set of hands, but I think he'll do just fine. We've finalised the room's paint colours too (Debbie Travis' new paint collection is simply loverly) and everything's coming together quite well.

The Wicca proofs arrived at the publisher's in time for them to include my edits, hurrah! On the other hand, my read-through of the green witch book still isn't finished, although I'm heartened by what's there at the moment. There's one chapter so far that has an intro and nothing else, so I think that's what I'll think about today, and draw up a detailed outline. It's on the four seasons, and I want to have meditations for each one as well as suggestions for connecting to the seasonal tides depending on where you live. Come to think of it, the chapter just before it is missing the required meditations too. If all I do for the next little while is create meditations, I'm going to keep putting myself to sleep. That's nice for the rest factor, but not so good when I need to be writing.

Sometime during my hospital stay, I began to enjoy drinking milk again. They gave me a little 200 ml carton with each meal, and I drank every single one. Now I'm drinking two or three glasses a day at home, too. I went off milk for about ten years because of the taste, preferring to get my calcium from yummy stuff like cheese and ice cream. But the milk thing isn't so bad, now. Evidently the chemical shifts in my own body have prompted changes in my food habits as well.

And they still haven't paved our road. You know, the one whose edges and sidewalks they tore up before the move? They ground up the remainig asphalt the day I went into hospital, and it still hasn't been paved. It's a gigantic mud puddle, and has been closed to traffic for three days now. Soon would be nice, so I can park in my own driveway during the day instead of on the next street over. They keep making it seem like they're about to do it by sending the little steam roller up and down, but then they do nothing to keep it flat.

Right. Back to the green witch MS in the living room, notebook by my side and pen in hand.

Sleepy Now

Must nap. Going cross-eyed from reading the green witch MS that I printed out yesterday.

Before I do, however, I can direct people who are craving more pictures of and info regarding Liam to the Newt page, which was set up way back when and kept private for only a handful of people to check. This page served as an update for family from the first OB/GYN appointment and ultrasound onwards.

It also links to what I called the Newt Chronicles, the private journal posts about how the pregnancy was progressing. If you feel like reading them, they're all public now.

And please, people: his name is not Willie, Bill, or any sort of diminuative like that. He is called Liam. The End. Please use his name, not a code or initals or anything else you think is cute. Certain people have been authorized to use fists and violent action if you are overheard using anything other than the chosen nickname. And no, we aren't telling you who they are. Live in fear.

Off to lie down now.

Daily Liam Content

It was hard to drag myself out of bed this morning after last night's lateish Random Colour meeting, and even harder to do the milk thing. I got to the hospital feeling a bit cloudy. But then the sun broke through those clouds and I was suddenly very much awake, because we discovered Liam lying there without his oxygen tube: they'd removed it sometime between when we left last night and midnight, and he'd been breathing completely on his own for over twelve hours. Not only that, but he was being transferred from neonatal ICU to intermediate care. And he was being fed completely with my own breastmilk, and he was keeping it all down, unlike the blend of breast and formula milk they'd been giving him earlier. And on top of that, we got to take him out and cuddle him en kangourou for the very first time.

When they told me what was about to happen and directed me to go change out of my sweater, I locked myself in the bathroom and proceeded to cry. Every time I see him, all I want to do is take him out and hold him: I crave that closeness. So to walk in and hear that not only is he breathing without aid, but he's being transferred and I was being given the opportunity to do what I've been desperately wanting to do since he was born, really sort of nudged me over the edge.

So I sat down in the rocker, and our nurse Julie took him out of the incubator and tucked him against my chest, upright between my breasts, and we tucked my gown around him and his little flannel blanket too. His heart calmed down, and his breathing steadied even more; I could feel him relaxing into me, and his little fists making slight kittenish kneading movements, and his lips making little suckling motions against my skin, and my own heart nearly burst.

I held my baby for nearly a half hour, and HRH sat next to us and wiped away the tears that kept welling up in my eyes. That lovely little hat he's wearing was put on him by the nurse to keep him warm while he was out of the incubator; I have no idea if it's his now, or if it's part of the unit's standard supply of baby wear, but it looks very much like someone knit it with a lot of love: it even has a tiny knobbly thing sewn on the front like a bow. It looks remarkably like the little things my own grandmother used to make for the neonatal ICU at the Vancouver hospital while she volunteered there, and in fact would match the little boots she knit for Liam perfectly. It's much too big for him at the moment, as you can see from the photo (it was folded up almost in half!), but it serves its purpose. The hat is now perched amusingly in the incubator on what used to be the clip that held the respirator tubes in place, and looks very jaunty.

Julie took our very first family portrait for us:

We get to kangaroo him every day, because it strengthens the infant's confidence and feeling of security, among other things (it also allows the parents an opportunity to further bond with the baby, for example, and to relive some of the stress of separation on both sides). Tomorrow will be HRH's turn, and I'll have the chance to watch my husband and my baby cuddle together, and gently dab away his own tears.

Then Liam was packed up into his incubator again and all the transfer paperwork was signed. Julie took him across the unit to intermediate care, where he was parked in a room with four other babies and two or three nurses. He's still hooked up to a monitor, but not the same kind of big graph monitor with alarms he was connected to in the neonatal ICU; this one has a digital numerical display instead. It was a bit disconcerting to see him go from being the biggest baby in the ward to the smallest, but he'll keep growing and getting stronger, and in no time at all he won't look so tiny.

He's four days old, and we've had two milestones today already. All we hope for is every day to be a little better. To receive a gift like this is beyond what we could have expected.

More Liam Info, Because You've Asked

We saw Liam this morning, and he's gained an ounce in a day! He's pretty much back at his birth weight now, after losing a handful of grams in the first couple of days. He was off the oxygen tube when we got there, because he'd just had his bath, and we watched him breathe really well on his own.

His eyes are so beautiful. They're the usual cobalt blue that babies are born with, but to see him turn his head and focus on us, and peer at us when we talk to him fill my heart to overflowing. The colour of his hair is very close to HRH's own hair colour, although like the eyes, that will undoubtedly change.

He has the most adorable little sneezing attacks that make me laugh. I shouldn't laugh, but it's so cute. And he's still irritated with the breathing tube, grabbing it with one hand or another and trying to pull it out. Again, we just have to laugh: we know it's uncomfortable, but to see him crinkle up his little face and try to yank it away is so amusing. We unwrap his little hand from the tube and pull it away gently, tease him by saying that it's his own fault for being so impatient to be with us, and tell him that the tube is there to help train his lungs and chest muscles to get stronger so that he will be able to breathe all on his own.

He didn't keep his milk blend down at his midnight feeding, nor the water they tried to give him at four this morning, but hey, give the kid a break: he's three days old and still really new at the whole breathing/eating thing. He was supposed to be cheerfully absorbing nutrients through me for another nine weeks, after all. The fact that he can eat and breathe with such success on his own at all is impressive.

I know you're all anxious to meet him, and we'd love to bring him home, but the reality of the situation is that most preterm infants stay in hospital almost to their original projected week of birth, which makes a lot of sense. As soon as he no longer needs the intensely specialised care that Ste-Justine's Hospital provides for preterm infants, then he'll be transferred to LaSalle, the hospital we were originally working with, until he's able to come home. There are a number of factors which will determine the transfer and eventual release, such as how well he eats, his improvement in breathing and processing of food, weight gain, significant reduction in apnea, and so forth. Until then, don't worry, we'll keep mentioning how he's doing so you're all up to date. Don't expect me to talk about Liam exclusively, however; just as my pregnancy wasn't a main topic of my journal entries, neither will he be. But this is a good method of getting news out there instead of calling people or answering the phone endlessly, telling people the same thing over and over when I need the time to rest or eat or work.

Speaking of eating and working... away I go. For those who have been wondering about the Wicca proofs, I finished them up in hospital (not like there was much else to do when I wasn't delivering a baby!), and they were FedExed back to the publisher this morning. They should arrive in time to slip into the system and have my changes included. (Apparently one of the things I said to the doctor who admitted me after my transfer on Thursday was, "I can't have a baby -- I have two deadlines before the end of June!")

In Praise of Jen

Let it be known that Jen Zouak is a saint and a savior, and deserves fulsome praise for her generosity. I called her for info on a pressing (and in my case, essential) piece of mothering equipment, since she'd given me a recommendation months ago, and she ended up saying, "Look, why don't you just borrow mine? I'm not really using it any more, and I have a backup just in case."

So we went out right after dinner and picked it up. Not only did she save us about four hundred dollars on that bit of equipment, she also lent us a sterilization unit for when we'll eventually be using bottles.

Thank you, Jen. You're wonderful.

Introducing...

Liam was born on June 11 at 2.31 AM after a very short and intense labour and delivery. He was born at 31 weeks, which is nine weeks earlier than we expected. Every single doctor we've spoken with has told us that the reasons for premature labour are unknown, but whatever the cause, Liam has been wowing doctors and nurses with his size and weight (45 cm and 3 lbs 14 oz at birth), and the maturity of his lungs (apparently not many 31-week infants arrive expressing themselves vocally as he did).

Liam is currently in the neo-natal intensive care unit of the hospital, in the caring and capable hands of a terrific team of specialists. He's begun to eat, and his breathing is being supported by an oxygen tube to help further train his lungs.

We'd like to thank everyone who's offered us support since I went into the hospital on Thursday morning. Your good wishes and prayers are certainly among the reasons why I'm in as good health as I am, why HRH isn't insane, and why Liam is as stable as he is.

We would, however, ask that you be very patient with us over the next while. Not only have we just gone through a rather strenuous ordeal, we're leading double lives at work/home and at the hospital until Liam is strong enough to come home with us. If you call or write, chances are good we won't be getting back to you for some time. It's nothing personal; it's a matter of having the time and needing rest. If we need help or advice, rest assured that we will come to you. We need a lot of alone time right now, and grounded people around us. Please don't panic; dealing with the fears of others doesn't do much for our own reserves of energy. (And really, why should you panic when we're not?)

Again, please let us stress that both mother and baby (and father) are doing just fine; in fact, mother and baby have suitably impressed the hospital staff with their resilience and strength since the moment they were transferred into specialised care.

Liam is a very special person to us, and we're looking forward to a day when we can introduce him to you all.

Sentimental Moment

I just finished proofreading the Wiccaning ritual that I wrote for this book, and I'm all choked up and misty-eyed.

Good grief.

30 Weeks

My baby is bored.

This is the only explanation I have for the 24-hours of solid movement. Sure, it increases and decreases, but he's always moving. He's restless. Yes, okay, he's a living thing, and I know of no living thing that is completely immobile. But the sheer amount of movement is stunning.

So is his increasing strength. It really is odd to suddenly lose your breath because he's punched or kicked straight out, little heel or elbow or fist tenting my abdomen in a queer, slightly disturbing sight. When he shifts position, it's a huge production. He's starting to kick Maggie when she curls up against my abdomen and chest at night. He knows she's there, but she's oblivious to him. (Enjoy it while it lasts, Maggie-cat. Come August, you won't be able to ignore him any more.)

Riding in the car is becoming more and more of a challenge. He loved the plane, but the car makes him cranky. I think it's because of the deep bucket seats in the station wagon. Mind you, he's spent an awful lot of time in it recently, so I can understand why his patience grows shorter and shorter each time we drive.

There are times he's moving so much that I have to put down what I'm holding and brace myself, not because I'll fall over or anything, but because it's so alien. In a couple of weeks he'll have grown to a point where he'll move less simply because he won't have the room to throw himself around as he's doing now.

In the meantime, things are still good. The doctor says I'm still at the peak of health. My appetite is good, there's no pain, and I'm sleeping well in general. I've enjoyed pregnancy up to this point; now I'm looking forward to the next two months of room-decorating and nesting and final preparation.

Newt's Big Shopping Day

Item:

One secondhand Avalon stroller, with reversible handle (one of the features I really, really wanted), double rubber wheels, and relatively easy collapse. Dark blue upholstery with a moon/star print that doesn't make me want to vomit like most others do. Comparatively light to carry. $20.

I kid you not. Twenty bucks. That's it. And it's in terrific shape. If the infant carrier we're borrowing from Jeff and Paze settles into the stroller seat securely, then yay; if not, then, oh well, really no big deal. Most of the time the carrier will go from car to wherever we're going as is, without the stroller involved anyhow.

Item:

One secondhand snuggle carrier, adaptable for infant facing in and out. Washable denim fabric. $18.

It amuses me that the infant snuggly was almost as much as the stroller.

Item:

One pad for the changing table, slightly curved to cradle the baby and to reduce rolling mishaps. Designed with straps down the back which can be screwed into a regular dresser, eliminating the need for a different piece of furniture. $24.

Various items:

Two terry covers for the changing pad
Two waterproof changing pads for travel
Three fitted sheets for the Moses basket
Washcloths
Diaper covers
Diaper liners, flushable and biodegradable
Diaper liners, washable
Nightgown
Three 0-3 mos rompers
Three 3-6 mos rompers
Washable nurshing pads
Flannel bib
One pair of socks

I'm sure I'm forgetting something, but that's the bulk of today's purchases. It was fun to actually go out and look at baby stuff, and fun to buy it and bring it home. We looked at cribs, too, but while I'm fine with buying a $20 secondhand stroller without HRH's input, an investment like the crib requires both of us to okay it.

There's a nice plain Shaker-style crib we saw, and I'm still really fond of the one we like at Ikea. It's lower then most cribs, which makes my life a lot easier. (And no, that's not the sides being adjusted; the crib itself seems to be about six inches shorter than most.) The crib's not a huge concern at the moment, as we have the basket for Newt to sleep in over the first three or four months.

As I have a huge issue with the non-environmentally-friendly disposable diaper, we're going to be using a combination of cloth and disposables from day one, just as we'll be using a combination of nursing forms such as breast, cup, bottle and so forth. Hence the investment in liners and covers and such.

It was fun. I finally feel like I can settle down and enjoy this. Now if Newt would stop kicking all the time and waving his arms and jumping around and making me ache, I'd be even happier.

28 Weeks

Sitting has become much easier. Newt no longer jams himself up under my ribs. Rolling over in bed has also become easier. Things are less liquid and more solid, if that makes any sense, and there's less of a secondary reaction. He's also bigger, and has discovered his elbows and fists.

Yesterday I went out and picked up my very first piece of baby-associated stuff. Sure, we've acquired some newborn clothes passed on to us by other moms, and the odd thing given to us by a friend who can't wait until we've moved. We deliberately haven't purchased any baby equipment ourselves because we don't have the room for it. But last weekend I'd been listening to the weather, and although it was a coolish overcast day, the UV index was still rated at high. I realised that it's rare we have a low UV index these days; the lowest it seems to go is medium. Now, I'm having a baby at the beginning of August, which, along with July, is one of the worst months for sun and heat. Infants have incredibly thin skin, and have zero protection from the sun's rays. You can't put sunblock on them for a couple of months, either. Sure, strollers and prams have hoods and shades, but you need more than that.

Thus I got it into my head that I wanted to have a sunhat for him. Now remember, I've not bought anything baby-related yet for a variety of reasons, including the fact that I hate most of the boys' clothes I see, and the fact that we'd just have to move it anyway. This seemed important to me, though. It was starting small. I could pack a tiny sunhat into the corner of a box; it wouldn't take up room. So yesterday when I went out, I went looking for one.

I had all my previous opinions of boy's clothes reconfirmed. Everything was a "Lil' Slugger" baseball-style hat, or an engineer's cap, or something horrible like that. I finally found a single bucket-style sage green sunhat with a tiny, tiny image of three dinosaur silhouettes embroidered in beige on the front, walking in a line between two palm trees. Not only was it not awful, I actively liked it. And it was the only thing that I did like.

I bought it and brought it home, and held it for a while. This is the first thing that I've bought for my baby. A sunhat. A stupid, four-dollar sunhat. And it meant so much to me. It meant so much that I sat and cried for about twenty minutes, unable to stop, unable to put my finger on exactly why I was crying at all. I wasn't upset, or scared, or happy; this little sunhat just moved me emotionally in some very deep way.

Maybe it's because it's more real, now. He moves all the time, and moves in patterns that I recognise and predict. He responds to both his father and I when we talk to him and touch him. And in two and a half months, he will be even more real, and his very own person, all on his own.

And I bought a sunhat for that person.

I think that's what came crashing down on me. As time goes on, he becomes more of his own person, and less a part of me. Intellectually and logically, I've known all along that there will be a third unique party added to our human family unit. But finally sensing it in the emotional gut was staggering. And I think this is something I've been putting off on purpose, because I feel as if I don't have the time or energy to deal with it yet -- I have a move to accomplish and a book to finish first. Like all transitional stages of a rite of passage one must go through it in order to prepare for the actual experience, and I want to explore these feelings, and experience them deeply. But right now I need to keep a firm grip on the other stuff, and I'm starting to feel like I'm being stretched tight between this and everything else.

Blood Test #2

Another blood test done. This time I didn't even lie down for it, like I usually have to: the technician said they'd only need three vials this time, so I took a chance based on how good I'd felt last time and sat in the regular chair. She was chipper and deft and just as good as the last technician. After she taped the cotton to my arm, I got up right away and walked out. So this is how people with normal blood pressure handle a pris de sang. I could get used to it.

The glucose preparation was in fact a remarkable approximation of Orange Crush, carbonation and all, and not sickly sweet in the least. I haven't had orange soda in ages, so I rather enjoyed it. Of course, I would have enjoyed it more if I could have had ice in it and sipped it leisurely outdoors on a back deck or something, as opposed to gulping a full 250 ml of it down in twenty seconds and setting my pendant watch to the clock in the clinic in order to be back at exactly 9:12 for the pris de sang itself. Instead of sitting there and twiddling my thumbs, we went grocery shopping. We'd arrived just past 7:30, and waited until 8:10 for the first part of the test; I wasn't about to sit for another hour on top of that when I could be out and about accomplishing things.

They'll call me back if the test has to be redone, or needs to be extended to the three-hour version. I'm not worried at all.

Of course, now after the sugar rush of the past two hours, I'm slowly crashing. The piles of cats draped all over the chesterfield look like they've got a decent idea. Maybe I'll type herbal info into the GRW manuscript until noon, then nap. And oh gods, orchestra tonight; I'll have to look at all of the Tchaikovsky at some point, because it's so not intuitive to play.

As The Second Trimester Ends...

The baby's currently freaking out for some reason. Think about how much newborns squirm, and then think about that being contained within a soccer-ball sized environment. Yeah. It's an experience. It doesn't hurt; it's more uncomfortable than anything else. Particularly when you're trying to concentrate on something.

We're a couple of days shy of beginning the third trimester. My osteopath is so happy with how my body's adapting that she's given me a whole month off without a maintenance appointment, so I won't see her until after we've moved. My OB is thrilled with how things are going too, and I'm perfectly smack-dab in the middle of where I'm supposed to be for everything in the gestational schedule thing. My appointments are now every four weeks instead of every six.

He still loves the cello.

He's turned himself around so that his head's low and his feet are tucked under my right ribs, where his head was a while back. When he makes a major move I can really feel it now, because he's about two pounds and 15 inches long; for him to roll over is a major production. He's developed a real schedule now: he has four really active periods. The first is between six and eight AM; the second, between noon and two PM; the third between six and seven-thirty PM; and finally, between nine and eleven PM. It's a bit distracting, particularly when I'm really into what I'm trying to write, because having someone punch or kick you one-two-three in rapid succession, can really knock you out of your groove.

I still find pregnancy intellectually fascinating.

Working at the computer is odd, because I can only sit for about three hours before I have to go lie down. In order to sit up, you tense back muscles and stomach muscles to keep your trunk upright. Well, when I do that, my abdomen slowly becomes more and more tense until it's rock-hard and rather uncomfortable to sit. So I lie down on my side and read for a bit; after about half an hour, it's relaxed enough for me to sit upright again.

Every once in a while I wonder what will happen if Newt turns out to be girl after all. Even seemingly uncontrovertible visual proof via echogram is only 85% accurate, they say. I will laugh and laugh and laugh if it's so.

Morning Growl

You now, I am really, really tired of dealing with other people's insecurities and dramas about perceived slights.

Security Deposit Non-Refundable

The baby was throwing himself around so hard last night while we watched a movie that HRH could see my abdomen rippling and moving from across the room. "Good gods," he said in minor horror, "no wonder you ache."

Yeah. My uterus is our son's own private gym. You can pay me a monthly fee for the wear and stress on the workout equipment any time now.

What They Don't Tell You

All the books and web sites tell you that as your pregnancy progresses, you'll have trouble putting your shoes on, and to get yourself a good pair of slip-ons because you won't be able to bend down to fiddle with buckles or ties.

No one tells you that putting your socks on becomes an even more difficult daily challenge. Because, you know, you have to bend over to pull them on even if you have slip-on shoes.

It's a good thing I'm going to be seven through nine months pregnant in the summer, when I can wear sandals and skip socks entirely, because I'm experiencing enough discomfort with this step at almost six months.

And is there a particular reason why this baby has jammed himself right up at the top of my abdomen? There's plenty of room below, but no, he wants to curl up with his entire back snuggled across the base of my ribcage.(This, no doubt, contributes to my difficulty in bending over. One wonders if he were lying lower if bending might be slightly easier for another few weeks.)

23 Weeks and 4 Days

I'm short-waisted. This means I don't have a lot of room between my ribs and my pelvis. (Got long legs, though, which more than makes up for it.)

However, when carrying a baby, that also means there's not a heck of a lot of room between the pelvis and that ribcage. At least, until the abdomen begins to grow out more, and his head can rest more on top of my ribs instead of slightly under them. And even then, the bottom of my ribs will still be pressing against all those lovely squishy internal organs that are being moved out of the way to make room for the miraculous ever-expanding uterus.

Ugh.

It's uncomfortable to sit. The bucket seats in the car are particularly horrific. It's uncomfortable to lie down, because my ribcage drops a bit with the gravity. Pretty much the only thing that doesn't compress him is standing, and I can't stand all the time. Breathing is difficult when I sit as well, although when I lie down it's not as hard. I'm thankful that I know how to breathe properly, i.e. using the diaphragm to breathe from the bottom of my lungs, not the shallow lift-the-shoulders kind of breathing; otherwise, I'd probably spend most of my time very light-headed.

The baby/rib discomfort is a bit frustrating, because otherwise I feel fantastic. Well, okay; the regular enthusiastic head-butting of the ribcage isn't joyous, but at least I know he's alive in there. He quiets down when I play the cello, because the back of the instrument lies right against where his head is. He seems to love it. Since the weather got really warm really fast, I've started wearing the lighter more form-fitting maternity tops instead of looser knit shirts and sweaters, and everyone in chamber orchestra now definitely knows I'm pregnant! There was much whispering around the snack table (which I don't visit at break) last Wednesday, fielded wonderfully by the woman who sits directly behind me in the celli, bless her, who had spoken to me about it earlier. And if they didn't catch it in the previous two weeks, they know as of the concert itself, where I wore my lovely sleek black long-sleeve top and long black skirt, which definitely show off the baby! A few orchestra people have come up and congratulated me, which has been mostly lovely because I've been in the mood for it. Not so much the lecturing about how it will change my life, though, which I've only heard from two people there so far.

Last week, my grandmother sent me a lovely little pair of booties that she'd knitted, which are totally precious. The idea of having a room in which we can slowly begin to build up a collection of baby stuff is becoming more and more attractive.

Topsy-Turvy

The damn kid's turned himself around. It's his head that's been whacking into my right rib.

No wonder I've started carrying higher in the past week.

I wonder when in the past seven days he decided to experience the world right-way-up, instead of upside down as he was before. And I wonder how long he'll stay like this.

More Clothes That Fit!

I have three new maternity tops! A white blouse, a blue sweater, and a lilac short-sleeve knit top. And again, all of them were on sale!

Hurrah!

Stereotypes

Yesterday I had one of my reasons for not making A Grand Public Announcement concerning the pregancy reaffirmed for me. Ceri said something she thought was humourous about keeping a journal so that I could eventually serve the Newt a guilt trip about much pain and anguish he had caused me, and I said flatly that no, I wasn't, because there have been no problems, and I really don't find comments like that concerning the stereotype of pregnancy like that amusing. I mentioned something along the same lines to t! a couple of weeks ago, and he apologised immediately for something he'd said (yeah, I know) and said he'd stop.

I really don't have any patience when it comes to dealing with other people's ideas of "funny" or "caring" when it comes to a situation that has been highly stereotyped. Pregnancy is one such situation; menstruation is another. I remember verbally lambasting a male friend in our early twenties when he made a backhanded remark about a woman likely being bitchy because she was having her period. (Firstly, because of the shock I felt at his descent into not-thinking-and-now-defaulting-to-stereotype mode, and secondly because I knew the woman in question wasn't menstruating at the time.) Yes, some women use the existence of a stereotype associated with situations such as this as an excuse to complain and generally make people's lives miserable, or to invite pity, or to evoke some other sort of response which they find empowering in some way. A few even have real reasons for it. But don't assume I'm everyone else, or assign to me the popular perception of a state like pregnancy. Never, ever lump me in with the lowest common denominator, or an average, or a democratic majority. I try to not do it to you; please do me the courtesy of not doing it to me. Even if you think it's funny.

I refuse to succumb to the stereotype of pregnancy, or to allow friends to succumb to it, because stereotypes and their use irritate the hell out of me. The people who adopt them and apply them do it so they don't have to think, or default to them out of ignorance. And by know you know how I feel about people who are too lazy to think for themselves. My immediate circle of close friends consists of intelligent people whom I trust to not fall into the use of stereotype, and for the most part, they don't. I cannot, alas, say the same of my general acquaintance.

Hence one of the reasons why this knowledge hasn't been widely disseminated. I'm pregnant, not ill or leprous or incapable. My IQ hasn't descended. My arms and legs still work too. I want people to still treat me as a person, not someone different simply because I'm serving as a human incubator as well as a writer, editor, teacher, best friend, cellist, whatever have you. Being pregnant changes nothing about me except for the fact that I have to sit down more frequently, and eat more often. It hasn't affected my mind, or my life philosophy, or the way I think and dream and behave in any way other than the acquisition of any new information or experience changes someone. Okay, yes; it's going to put a bit of a cramp in my social life and availability around August for a bit, but apart from that, I'm still who I was before you knew I was pregnant.

My immediate circle has, in general, been very very good with this knowledge. And if they do slip into stereotype, even with the intention to be amusing, I point it out to them and they promise to stop. So far, so good. Thanks, everyone; it means a lot to me.

Kick, Kick, KICK

Earlier this week, I got the first real kick in the ribs.

Well, now he doesn't stop.

This baby keeps kicking the heck out of me, right under my right ribs. The upshot of this (no pun intended) is that it forces me to sit up straight instead of slouching. For a while, anyway, until he realises that he then has even more room in which to stretch out, and proceeds to use it. Bruises on the inside, I tell you. No wonder I ache. This activity is particularly disconcerting after one has eaten. Even if it was just a couple of pieces of toast and some juice.

It happens a lot when I'm sitting at the computer, and when I'm lying down in bed at night reading. HRH may actually be reaching the point where he stops asking me if everything's okay when I jump.

Stretch!

This is one of those days where I can just feel myself growing.

Oof.

Also feeling slightly guilty for having a very average, normal, no-problems pregnancy so far. Thankful, of course, and cheerful, but slightly guilty.

Baby Day

The sandwiches HRH and I had last night upset both our stomachs, so I think the sandwich meat might have been a bit off. When I got up at the insane hour this morning, I thought that a cup of tea would be lovely. I got halfway through it and put it aside, because all of a sudden it tasted bad. I ate a few crackers and had some water, and eventually went back to bed to read for a bit until it was time to go out.

Originally, I'd planned to run errands this morning, but with the lack of sleep and the upset tummy I asked HRH if he'd mind driving me instead. So out we went. I finally found maternity bras that fit properly (again, thank all the gods for Thyme!), which was one of the main reasons for going out. I was also looking for another sweater, because apart from four or five t-shirts I only have two tops. Didn't find a sweater, but I did get the long full black skirt I'd coveted two months ago on sale, a black floaty short-sleeve top on sale, and flowy black pants that will be ideal for the summer concert. Voila -- a smart-looking mix and match set. Yay me.

Everything else came up empty, though. I was looking for a YA book with a very distinctive cover that I'd seen prominently displayed in Oakville both in the new releases section and face-out somewhere at the beginning of the alphabetized shelves. I thought that with such a distinctive cover, I'd find with no problem here. The title and stuck in my mind for all of a half-day, and I forgot to write it down. Well, I've found it nowhere so far, and I'm rather annoyed.

The tour through the baby equipment section at Toys'r'Us was useless too, as they didn't stock either of the strollers I wanted to look at. They did have the aquarium print edition high chair, playpen, and infant bounce seat from Fisher-Price on display, though, which amused the heck out of me when I saw it in real life. The fish make me laugh. They're so much cooler than bears or bunnies or stars. (What's with the ruffles on high chairs? Seriously, they're just mush-magnets. Cleaning them must be a nightmare.)

I spent a lot more time in the maternity shop than I'd expected to, though, so I was really tired out by the time HRH brought me home. He went off to do more renovation work, and I curled up to read, and ended up napping. Sure, it catches up on the sleep I lost this morning, but I hope it doesn't really mess up my sleep tonight.

Baby Room; Baby Things

It just occurred to me that as of late May, we'll have a baby room to decorate.

What a lovely thought.

Up until now, it's been one of those things we haven't even allowed ourselves to think about, like a registry or a want-list of equipment, because we have nowhere to put Baby Stuff in our current apartment. In the new place, however, not only do we have a garage (storage! studio! laundry room! baby-mover parking!) but an under-stair storage area (which requires only a padlock to make totally secure), a huge open kitchen/dining area with room for a big table and a high chair too, and -- yes -- an actual baby's room.

It's nice to be able to think about these things now. Before, there really wasn't a point, because if we put together a list people would just start buying things for us, or we would no doubt find things on sale and want to bring them home. My in-laws already don't like the three or five boxes we're storing in their basement, so there was no question of storing baby stuff there; besides, we'd just have to move it anyway when we relocated. And then there was HRH's intense school thing and my insane book thing from January through March, both of which necessitated total focus. Now that those are in the past, it's nice to allow ourselves to dream and talk and plan.

It was good for us, I think, because now we have the leisure in which to do it properly, and the timing of it is more appropriate as well. I've never understood people who rush out and redecorate a room for their future baby in the first trimester, or accumulate tons of baby equipment before they need to. What's the point of having stuff sit around for months and months? Yes, having a baby is exciting and joyful and important; but really, you've got nine months to plan and prepare (or eight by the time you figure it out), and only that long to appreciate what's left of your life before it changes irrevocably with the addition of a new member to the family (not to mention the necessity of saving up for the purchasing, be it of new or used items). Entering into the acquisition stage in the late second trimester simply seems the most intelligent thing to do.

So now I can seriously get into researching and comparing various pieces of equipment, and we can start putting together a list. Then we can think of opening a registry somewhere. There's to be a shower in early July (Paze booked that with me two months ago!), so that gives us a good three months to work on this.

Now I need to find a couple of good review sites besides Epinions.com. The pregnancy-focused sites I've found that include reviews tend to be not very clear at all. (Or, you know, maybe that's just my standard impatience with people who don't understand how to write a coherent and useful review.) (Aha - ConsumerGuide.com is decent as well.)

Oof!

The baby kicked me hard in the ribs for the first time tonight. Well, not exactly, I suppose; he's not quite big enough. So, the baby kicked the top of my uterus which travelled through whatever organ is currently squished between the uterus and my ribs (that's my stomach, most likely). Which means it must have been quite the kick.

It was more of a surprise; it didn't actually hurt (yet, sigh; it's only a matter of time...).

Musings At Five Months Minus Six Days

I can feel the baby moving pretty much all the time now, with a break in the middle of the night and mid-afternoon. It's odd to feel it. In the bath last night I actually saw it -- not a huge movement, but the ripple that means he's moving a hand or elbow along the wall of the uterus. While HRH and I watched the last disc of Haibane-Renmei (excellent, excellent) I curled up against him so that he could put his arm around me and rest his hand on my abdomen to pick up the motion. The baby kicks and punches (sudden motion in one place), rolls (slow movement across), stretches (slow movement out in two places at once), and so forth. Doing an informal kick count, I can say that he's in a very awake and active state for about half an hour, a quieter awake state for maybe twenty minutes, then asleep for another forty-five minutes to an hour or so before it all begins again. But then, I don't lie perfectly still all the time either, even when I sleep.

We've come to the conclusion that we're not going to make a grand announcement -- it's just not our style. People can start noticing on their own. For example, the Random Colour girls are having our first official meeting tomorrow afternoon. I'm a week short of passing five months; and besides, I want to wear my pretty periwinkle blue top tomorrow, and it shows off my lovely pregnant shape rather well. So they'll know, which is fine with me. There's a ritual scheduled for April 24 as well, so a different group will find out then. I've never been trying to hide it, or lie about it; it's just been no one else's business. I've simply not been broadcasting it. I prefer it this way.

I've been very pleased with how we've handled this pregnancy thing so far, actually. By not telling the world, it's allowed me to stay focused on the things I need to focus on, and has allowed other people to focus on what they need to focus on without distraction. The very few people who we've told (as opposed to the people who know, no thanks to the loose-tongued person we thought was trustworthy) have been quietly supportive without being intrusive, proving to us that we made the right decision. And the couple of people who figured it out on their own haven't made a huge celebratory fuss about it either, for which I'm also thankful; they've also respected our obvious preference for privacy.

All in all, I'm enjoying the actual physical state of being pregnant. Yes, there are a couple of small inconveniences, like learning how to bend sideways to tie my shoes, and the frustration being right between an XS and S size of pants (too tight, or slips off the hips), and not being able to walk at the same fast pace I used to walk at, and I haven't forgotten that exhaustion of the first trimester; but apart from that, it's been just fine. Of course, I'm only five-months-minus-six-days through it, and I know I'm just going to get bigger from here on; but in general, it's been good, and I find the stages of growth fascinating. It's not my preferred state -- I've heard of women who adore being pregnant so much that they'd be pregnant all the time if they could, but that's certainly not for me. I also know every pregnancy is different. So far, however, this is rather all right. We'll see what happens in the next four months.

More than halfway through. My goodness. I wonder where the time has gone.

Baby Shopping

This Easter weekend in Oakville was also a baby equipment recon mission.

Before anything else, allow me to say this: stroller designs are stupid. If they roll well, they fold into an awkward overlarge shape, and they weigh a ton. I hate them all. I'm 5'3", and I couldn't lift a single one this weekend, because once they're folded they stand as high as my elbow, which means I have no leverage with which to lift them up.

We also looked at baby clothes, and I'm absolutely horrified at what boys are given to wear. There were only one or two newborn pieces I'd even consider having, and anything for a boy of a year and up was heartbreakingly ugly. I hate them all. It's incredibly depressing, and had a surprisingly negative impact on how I feel about this whole thing.

My parents bought us a wicker bassinette for the baby to sleep in for the first couple of months, which is good because it can travel from room to room thanks to the nice big handles, and it also alleviates the immediate need for a crib. I also received the news that our family vintage English pram (the huge metal kind with 7 inch spoked wheels!) still exists in a family friends' garage in Ottawa. Apparently it was damaged in one of their moves, though, so once we've made plans to go out and pick it up after our move it will need a serious overhaul.

And because I was doing a lot less this weekend, I had the opportunity to feel exactly how much the Newt is moving around. Which is to say, An Awful Lot. And Most Of The Time, at that.

More Betrayals

Over the weekend I found out that the person who's been telling people about my pregnancy after promising not to has told yet another two people.

Gods, I want to smack her so hard. Particularly since I'm told that she does it with a little-girl giggle and a coy hand covering her mouth afterwards to indicate, "Oops! That just slipped out! I'm not supposed to tell! Aren't I naughty?"

I'm ashamed to admit it, but the first word that flashed into my mind when I heard this was "bitch." Yeah, I know; I don't use words like that often. But in this case, it's remarkably appropriate, since it's my life she's slamming, and my personal choice to keep this information private that she's making ever-more difficult.

20 Weeks

Observation #1: The baby really enjoys orchestra. Not much of a surprise there; after all, the cello leans against the body, which acts as a secondary resonating device. He's getting a first-hand experience. We've always intended to train our children to be a music-lovers (not that it should be difficult, with the amount and variety of music in our lives), and it occured to me last night that I was pregnant at our November concert, and I've pretty much played weekly since then. At some point I'll have to discuss being a pregnant cellist with our female section leader, just for another point of view. And before you ask, of course I'm playing the July concert. I'll be eight months pregnant, but I'll be playing it, come what may. Rumour has it that we're playing some Tchaikovsky, and I've never played Tchaikovsky before.

Observation #2: He gets a bit cranky when I'm at osteo. I think it's the frequent change of position, and the gentle pulling of muscle and skeleton in the lower back region. He made a very uncomfortable turn during my appointment this morning, which reminded me of Cricket-Mouse standing up abruptly, turning around, and thumping herself down in my lap again. (Among our feline collection, we do have delicate, elegant cats. Our Mouse is not one of them. She does everything with a thump.)

I've noticeably grown so much over the past ten days that it's kind of unreal. Tomorrow I'll officially hit the half-way point, and I can't help but be amazed at how much more growth is still to come. There was an immense difference in the baby's development between the first ultrasound six weeks ago and the ultrasound on Monday; that, of course, is now being reflected in the size of my abdomen. HRH finally got to feel the baby move for the first time a couple of nights ago. Now that I've seen how the baby's lying, I know exactly where his head is, so now I can identify where it is by feel. I set one of HRH's hands on the head, and the other hand on the other side of the abdomen so he could compare the difference.

In general, I'm feeling movement more often. Earlier I compared it to uterine cramps that don't hurt; they still feel that way. No pain, just... odd. And now I'm even more aware of it, as he grows bigger and keeps exercising. Eventually there will come a point where he can't somersault any more, and then he'll just bat his limbs around in frustration. Until then, he's more than welcome to stretch out and flip around.

Still no pain; with the lower back issue now solved, the only discomfort I'm feeling is the general stretch of the abdomen as it grows, and of the baby's head pressing against the pelvic cradle. And I'm having to learn how to bend over again, because I can't just lean down to pick things up or tie up my shoes like I used to.

This weekend we get to go shopping for baby with my parents while down in Oakville. We've started researching strollers and seats and such things, and if we can get them secondhand, so much the better. Now that the rush-rush book is out of the way and that particular associated stress is pretty much gone, and my osteopath has solved the lower back pain problem, I feel as if I have more time to spend on thinking about the Newt and enjoying the pregnancy.

Sewing Frustration

How hard is it to find a maternity pattern for a longish full skirt?

Apparently, nigh-impossible. Gnash, gnash. Plenty of dresses, tunics, and the occasional short straight/A-line skirt; but anything a bit more tailored, or longer and fuller? Nada.

Grr.

Later: Oh, wow -- I take it back. After clicking on pattern after pattern, I have found Simplicity 4704, which only shows a top as the pattern illustration, but which has a whole selection of useful stuff including a flared skirt that's below-knee, and which I can lengthen. Huzzah! And I found an evening dress-like pattern from Vogue as well, which means I'll be able to make a nice dress for the book launch (in a pale sage green, perhaps?), and one for the July concert, too (black, of course).

Second Ultrasound

Last night felt like Christmas Eve. We woke up early this morning and went out to breakfast in order to give us something to do other than just sit and be excited at home. And at breakfast, we talked about names for the first time. If it was a girl, we were set. If it was a boy, then we have a first name, but we're still looking for a second name. In tossing boy names around, I suggested the names of our fathers, Kenneth Graham, and dismissed it because of the author of the Wind in the Willows. (Yeah, yeah, different spelling, but same sound.) It was further dismissed because each of us would be unable to call the kid by one name, it being the name we associate with our respective dads. Besides, as Tal later pointed out, people would nickname him Kenny G, whichis just cruel.

The ultrasound was about half an hour late, because there were two other people booked for our time slot (we love hospital standard procedure, yes we do). we got in at nine, and it took about twenty-five minutes to go through all the measurements and the evaluation.

We have an absolutely perfectly healthy baby in every single way, right on target for the mid-point of the gestation. The difference six weeks has made in the skeletal development is absolutely awe-inspiring. Poor Newt had the hiccups, though, which made measuring the heart and evaluating the rhythm a bit of a challenge, although it amused all of us watching.

And because you're all waiting with bated breath... the Newt is snickering at you all. Five people can be very smug. The rest of us will have to seriously readjust our sensors.

Tomorrow is our second pre-natal appointment, but the only thing my doctor needs to do is check the baby's heartbeat, because she knows everything else is fine and in the right place.

55 kilos, or 121 pounds! Woo-hoo!

More Spring

Another glorious day! It's going up to four above zero today. I will have the windows open as I finish the final line edits. It's a nice change to begin the work week in such a good mood.

We woke up early today and went out to breakfast, which was a nice treat, particularly since Chez Cora was practically empty. While we were out, we saw the most beautiful baby boy. He had the hiccups, which was unfortunate but also amusing. Despite the hiccups, he seemed rather smug about life in general.

HRH started rendering his final project last night. Ten hours later, it's reached frame 406 of 1500. This is defintely going to take a while. When it's done, we may just be able to make it available for download from his portfolio site. Some of you have seen the non-rendered animatic, but the rendered version is going to blow us all away.

Intuition Call!

As of March 14, we've called for a general Intuition Consultation from those who know about the Newt. The 20-week ultrasound is the one where lots of measurements and counts are taken to make sure everything's progressing as it should. And, yes, if the correct view comes up, the gender can also be determined, although that's not the goal of the exercise. We have our suspicions about the gender, and we've asked those in the know to tender their predictions, just for fun. (We're not including our votes in the tabulation, to keep your call as uninfluenced as possible.)

As of tonight, the votes have fallen thusly:

Boy: 5 votes
Girl: 9 votes

We're either going to have a bunch of very surprised people, or very smug people. Stay tuned for the next series of pictures to be posted on the Newt page (if you know, you have the URL) around noon on March 21. If the gender is revealed to during the session, then we'll share it with you so you can validate your intuitive call; if not, then you'll simply have to wait until the first week of August, as we will.

Colour Code

Have I mentioned no pink and no baby blue clothes for the Newt? Gods, I hate colour-coding kids. Pale green, people, is a perfectly serviceable baby colour, as is pale yellow. And lavender, cream, and white. And red, of course, because this will be the Heir to the Dominion. But if people start giving me pink and blue stuff just because of the gender, they will get flat looks of "Excuse me?" Depending on my mood, they may even get the words themselves.

Flow

Okay. For those who have wondered, a moving baby feels like uterine cramps without the pain.

I wish I had more time to enjoy this pregnancy. Apart from the lower-back-affecting-the-hip thing (which they tell me would have eventually happened to me at some point anyway, it's just happening now because of the shift in pelvic set-up and being aggravated by my computer work) it's going so amazingly well, and I'd love to think about it more, maybe meditate on it, and so forth. Other than the back issue, the only issue I've had to really deal with is not being able to bend in quite the same way.

The Newt moves a lot, usually around nine to ten in the morning, again between three and four in the afternoon, and between nine and eleven at night. It's so obvious to me that I often call HRH over to put his hand on my abdomen. Unfortunately, he can't feel it and identify it as baby movement the way I can; I'm feeling it from the inside and the outside, so I know which faint movements on the outside correspond to the stronger sensation of movement on the inside.

We're having the 20-week ultrasound done next Monday, and it's the one where lots of measurements and counts are taken to make sure everything's progressing as it should. And, yes, if the correct view is offered, the gender can also be determined, although that's not the goal of the exercise. I'm looking forward to knowing if the Newt is a he or a she, simply because it feels wrong to keep calling it It or simply The Newt. There's a little person in there, and a little person I want to nurture and cherish; I'd like to accord him/her the respect of addressing her/him more precisely, and connecting it him/her more deeply by being able to encompass her/his personality a bit more.

I really, really wish I wasn't so stressed. I want to take the time to enjoy this. Sure, I have another 21 weeks to go, but I'm not going to be at this stage for 21 weeks; it changes so quickly. Yes, I'm journalling, but life seems to be flowing by so fast that I feel as if I'm losing part of this experience.

Size Matters, and Betrayals

Somewhere over the last ten days, my body realised that it was pregnant, and started growing in earnest. My waist finally gained an inch, the abdomen is now officially five inches beyond pre-pregnancy size, and I actually made 120 lbs! This is the biggest and heaviest I've ever been in my entire life.

Someone who knows I'm pregnant but doesn't see me often e-mailed to say that he'd heard I was finally showing, and the odd thing is, no, I'm not, really; it just looks like I had a huge meal. If you knew me really well and hadn't been seeing me on a regular basis over the past four months, then you might look at me oddly and think I'd changed shape a bit, but you still wouldn't be able to tell that I'm pregnant, exactly.

And on the subject of not knowing, the previous post is of course about someone who knew I was pregnant, and who knew perfectly well that I was being extremely selective about who possessed the information. I want my life to be as normal as I can manage for as long as possible. And so far, things have been going really well. Until, of course, I discovered that she'd been passing the information out.

This so completely disrespects me and my privacy that I have been speechless with rage whenever I thought about it for the past 48 hours. Not good for the baby. Not good for me in general as I enter into the home stretch of the Looming Deadline.

Granted, this person wasn't on the original list of those who would know; she was given the information only because she asked a very direct question. If I'd lied, it would have been rather evident in another two months. So I told her. We've shared pretty personal stuff before, and it had never been a problem -- or so I thought. Now, of course, I wonder how many other secrets of mine I've confided to her have gone merrily sailing out into the public.

Some people really don't understand why we're keeping this private as long as we can. This person is obviously one of them, but at least the less-than-dozen other folk who know are respecting our wishes. We're keeping it to ourselves because we're both stressed with work and retraining, and fielding even more people poking at us and asking how we're doing would send us right over the edge. In the past I've seen pregnant friends being lectured and cornered by well-intentioned people, and I refuse to deal with that until I have to. It's my life, and if you don't understand that, fine; I'm not asking you to understand, just to accept it.

Sixteen Weeks

I think -- I really, really think -- that I felt the baby move while I was driving home from orchestra last night.

This wasn't the gentle flutter I felt about three weeks ago. No, this was a definite press of something, right low down in the centre of where it's lying. I know my digestive processes; this wasn't one of them. It felt like the kittens used to feel back when they were barely a month old, when they'd gently and barely touch my ankles with the top of their heads to get me to reach down and pat them, before they learned that throwing their whole furry bodies against my leg signals their bid for my attention in a way that's hard to ignore.

It was ten past ten. I was on the highway just coming up to the lane which turns into the exit ramp to Decarie on the Turcott interchange, and I had both hands firmly on the wheel because there was a semi beside me and some idiot flying down the entrance ramp from the Angrignon overpass. And the baby rolled, or pushed, or did something. Kitten head touching my insides, gently, deep down.

"You have got to be kidding me," I said out loud, trying to keep the semi in my peripheral vision to the right while watching the SUV scream up to me in the left side mirror. My baby moves while I'm in traffic, and I can't even take a moment to cherish it.

But I did when I got home. I went to bed and laid my hands gently on my abdomen, wanting it to happen again, and loving it whether it would or not.

It didn't. But that didn't matter.

I wonder when it will surprise me next.

Word Musings

I find it rather amusing that the traditional term for beginning to feel a baby move in the womb is known as "quickening." Once upon a time, people thought a fetus lay still until it began to wake up, so to speak; to gain life, to quicken. Now, we know that the kid's not moving any faster than we've already seen it move via ultrasound; it's just bigger, so we can feel the thuds.

If my baby quickens any more, it will break the sound barrier.

Fourth Month

Over this past week I've seen some major changes in my body. Namely, my waist has completely vanished. My abdomen is now as hard as a rock, and I just feel so full all the time. Things have shifted around to such a point that I am definitely showing a curve when I stand and look at my profile. Fortunately, I still have one or two used-to-be-big-for-me skirts that I can wear, and longish sweaters too, for which I'm grateful. Wearing clothes that don't fit just makes me uncomfortable, and I'd rather enjoy this. Pasley's promised to dig out her maternity clothes for me, and after seeing how comfortable Chantale was last night in her new small-but-definitely-maternity-pants, I can't wait. Being comfortable is my new goal; perhaps it will improve my overall mood and take off some of the general stress I've been feeling. Paze told me that there's no reason to suffer; she felt remarkably relieved when she started wearing clothes that fit better, and she has a selection of bigger-but-not-maternity wear to pass along to me as well to wear out and about.

I've finally gained weight; only a pound or two, but it's nice to see that there's been some sort of increase to match the acquisition of volume.

After class we went out to spend half an hour or so with a few people I hadn't seen in ages; it was wonderful. Everyone there knew I was pregnant, which meant I could talk openly with Chantale and Karine about it. I finally got to meet SavageKnight face to face after two years of Internet-only contact as well, which was good!

Chantale has had the excellent idea of the two of us doing a spa day in June, when we'll both need it. It gives me something to look forward to for that point in my pregnancy as well as a reward for finishing the green witch book, due on June 1.

So far, so good.

First Ultrasound

At 8:10 AM today, we settled in to a private darkened room to see the first moving pictures of our child. Yes, there's only one (a relief to my doctor, and she told me it ought to be a relief to us as well), and yes, the age of the fetus is accurate! The spine is developing beautifully, as are the limbs; the heart is strong, and the face is developing as expected. It even has ears (which are a good sign, according to my doctor). Overall, the Newt is really healthy, with no visible problems or defects.

So no, the baby is not big; I'm just a small-framed woman, so the only place for the uterus to grow is up!

Pre-Natal

I met my obstetrician today at the clinic, and I love her, I absolutely love her. She can't be much older than I am, she's about my size, with brown hair and sparkling brown eyes, and she has such wonderful energy.

Chantale was right: lots of waiting for a very short appointment. Papers and papers for hospital registration, birth plan, blood test done now, second blood test done in mid-May. No need for a paper for an 20-week ultrasound because I already scheduled it (that pleased her no end).

While doing the fundal measurement and uterine examination, she said, "Hmm; your uterus is awfully large for thirteen weeks." "Is it?" I said. (I've mentioned here before in the Newt Chronicles that hey, I know nothing about how this is supposed to work; I'm a writer and a priestess, not a medical professional.) She nodded. "I'm going to ask you to come in tomorrow morning for an ultrasound, just to see if we have twins in there."

Oh!

"Or to reassess the age of the fetus," she added with a grin.

And then, my gods... we heard the heartbeat (or a heartbeat, anyway: it came and went out of range, so it could have been one baby flipping around a lot, or the Doppler could have picked up two separate heartbeats... won't know till tomorrow!). It was so strong; so regular; so steady. It sounded like one of the kittens' hearts sound when I nestle my head against their furry sides. HRH was so overcome that he had to bend over and hide his face in his hands. My doctor couldn't stop smiling at us, at how relaxed and happy we were. I've had such an easy pregnancy with no oddities or bad starts that we must have been a relief for her.

Before I even had the appointment itself, the nurse had scheduled my next appointment in six weeks' time; March 22, which is, curiously enough, the day after my originally-first-now-second ultrasound occurs, at the usual 20 weeks.

I'm thrilled that we're getting an ultrasound this early. We decided against the 12-week Nuchal-test ultrasound because of the cost. I envied Chantale and Mike their chance to do it simply because they got to see their baby so much earlier, and had the opportunity to check for defects or problems early on. Hearing the heartbeat today made the baby all the more real, but this unexpected ultrasound is going to make it positively surreal. Particularly if it confirms the presence of twins, which is a sneaky suspicion we've always had since before we conceived.

And you can bet that HRH is now fixated on the idea of holding our very first baby pictures!

So tomorrow morning, we head into the hospital for a quick ultrasound at 8 AM; then I drop HRH off downtown for school, and I drive out to the West Island to see my regular GP for my annual physical at 9 AM (ironic, I know). Then, if I'm not exhausted, I'll go back downtown and do my weekly shift in the back office doing book maintenance and communications stuff.

I added nothing to my word count today but did a lot of reading and note-taking (ah, waiting rooms); and tomorrow being a day chock-full of doctor stuff and office work, I doubt words will be added then, either.

Know what? I don't care. We heard our baby's heart today. And tomorrow, we'll see it. Or them.

Wings of My Dove

I had the oddest sensation last night as I was lying in bed drifting to sleep, almost like a little bird wing brushing the inside of my abdomen. It was deep inside, not in a place where I usually feel digestion, or regular uterine contractions. I'd never felt anything like it before. I wondered later if it was baby motion, but when I saw how much room there is inside the uterus at the moment, well, it probably wasn't. It's a couple of weeks early, anyway. But the idea that it might have been startled me when I thought about it the next day. I don't know if I'm ready to be that pregnant yet.

Later: Well, what do you know; my mother told me that her first feelings of fetal motion were like angel or bird wings brushing the inside of her abdomen, too. I've never run across anyone else describing it this way; most people say it feels like gurgling or regular digestive stuff. There hasn't been any sensation since then; if it was the baby, then it must have been a pretty violent somersault or flip in order for me to sense it. But now I'm looking forward to feeling something again, so I can compare it to what this felt like.

Fourteen Weeks!

I just can't get over how amazing this whole process is, and how quickly everything happens.

How your baby's growing: Head to bottom [Ed: that's not including legs, either!], your baby's 3 1/2 inches long — about the length of a lemon — and weighs about 1 1/2 ounces. Her body's growing faster than her head, which now sits upon a more well-defined neck. By the end of this week, her arms will have lengthened and will be in proportion to the rest of her body. (Her legs still have some growing to do, though.) She's starting to develop an ultra-fine, downy covering of hair all over her body (called lanugo). Her liver starts secreting bile this week, a sign that it's already functioning properly, and her spleen starts contributing to the production of red blood cells. You still can't feel your baby's movements, but her hands and feet (which are now half an inch long) are more flexible and active. Thanks to brain impulses, her little facial muscles are getting a workout as she squints, frowns, and grimaces. She can grasp now, too, and she may be able to suck her thumb.

(From the BabyCenter's Your Pregnancy: 14 Weeks.)

The first trimester is over!

Grrr

The only thing worse than shopping for a bra is shopping for maternity bras.

Shopping score: zilch. Not even a sports bra to fit properly.

Hurrah! Pre-Natal Rescheduled!

The OB/GYN called me; someone cancelled a prenatal, so they've moved my appointment with her from March 1 to next Tuesday, Feb 8! Of course, my ultrasound is still scheduled for March 21, by hey, at least I get to meet my doctor earlier. And she might schedule an earlier ultrasound if she's concerned; she probably has that authority. She's the one who's scheduled to perform the ultrasound, after all.

And wow... we'll get to hear the baby's heartbeat a month earlier than we were going to!

Irony

It amuses the heck out of me that everywhere I look, I have friends and loved ones trying to lose weight, even when they look fine.

I, on the other hand, who could blow away in a strong wind, am trying to gain weight.

I find this humorous.

Sciatica Advice

Here's a bit of sciatica-related advice I got from Rue. It's really helped me so far, because I tend to get my sciatic episodes when I get up from bed or after sprawling on the couch watching TV or a movie.

Sciatica was a nightmare when I was pregnant. Nothing short of falling unconscious takes even the slightest edge off that discomfort. I'm mostly used to it now. What I suggest for you is this. Whenever you stand up from a sitting position, or are standing for a long time, MAINTAIN PERFECT BODY ALIGNMENT. Meaning bring your knees together and stand up without twisting. Getting in and out of a car is the real test. Sit and then spin your butt and bring your legs over. Do the reverse to get out. When standing for while, bring your legs together, point toes straight in front of you and then take a step. The hormone relaxin will make you very limber, and I can't tell you how many times tried to get out of a chair without bringing my knees together and felt the sensation that my leg was coming out of its socket, followed by blinding nerve pain, LOL!

Coffee helps. I would have a cup or two daily, it helps with the fluid retention which affects sciatica.

There you have it: advice from a mom and a nurse! It's really amazing what a difference aligning the body makes before standing up. I was trying to stand with my legs shoulder-width apart for more support because I knew the pain would really get me. Go figure -- exactly the wrong thing to do.

Baby Stuff

The sciatica-like pain is really the only bad thing I've encountered so far. I 've always had back problems, so I was steeling myself for my pregnancy to affect it in some way -- but sciatica? At ten weeks? It's so unfair! And yeah, it does hurt like hell; like someone jamming a white-hot pencil into your back just under your kidney, which then seizes up the lower back on that side and sends pain down the leg. Gods, when it hits I can't even take a step. Good thing HRH doesn't mind waiting on me when I need a drink or a snack. :) It's the only really bad thing so far, though, so if this is as bad as it will get (knock on wood) then I'm grateful.

Other than that, I feel a bit bloated at times; nothing bad, just like week-before-my-period sort of thing. And my chest is tender and sensitive. The headaches have really eased off, thank goodness. I just took a GP-approved Tylenol when I needed it, and I was fine. Now I only get about one mild one per week. It would seem that I'm remarkably lucky in the lack of nasty pregnancy-associated ickiness.

Still eating all the time. My current obsession is grape tomatoes. Also cheese and crackers. Mmm...

Chantale had the optional first ultrasound done! As much as HRH and I would love to do this too, it's not covered by Medicare, and we just can't afford it. We'll have to wait until the regular first ultrasound, which for me doesn't happen until March 21, argh!

Have I mentioned yet that I have gained absolutely no weight?

Health Bulletin

Just so everyone knows -- I'm not ignoring you. I've been in bed sick for the past two and a half days. Things started to go downhill Friday afternoon and bottomed out by suppertime. Today's the first day I'm officially out of bed and dressed and attempting to be normal again. No idea how successful I'll be, but that's the general plan, anyway.

New Friend!

Hurrah! Chantale (AKA Bride of SavageKnight, for all you YUL NaNos)is pregnant too, and only two weeks ahead of me! I have someone to talk to who's going through it too! I love all my friends who are already mothers, but they're immersed in a different experience with their toddlers or infants, and the perspective is at least a year off. It's good to have a support system of people going through the same thing at roughly the same time, even if it's just to say, "No, you're not insane!" or to share info.

I've mainly been in bed for the past two days; I just lost all the energy I'd started building up again after the holidays, and I walked for about an hour on Friday afternoon and encountered my first ever experience with sciatica. My gods, it hurt so badly I thought I was going to cry by the time I got home. It hurt so much that I couldn't bend over to untie my boots; HRH had to do it for me. I was so embarrassed. Anyway, it hurt so badly I couldn't even stand up for about four hours, so I dozed and read in bed. Then by the time I woke up on Saturday I was back to having an evil perpetual headache, and everything tasted horrible, so I stayed in bed again. In the past two and a half months I've been in bed maybe a total of two days, so I should consider myself lucky (particularly since that's about normal for me, pregnant or not!). When it happens I feel guilty for feeling so not-with-it that all I can manage to do is sleep, but when I say somethign like that HRH usually sits next to me and points out that all my energy is currenlty going to growing a baby within the first crucial thirteen weeks, and to cut myself some slack. I thank all the gods that it's not taking over my life, and I should be glad for that! As for the constant low-grade headaches which were worrying me, my GP doesn't seem to think it's a problem. Sure enough, now they're coming and going, and they're less constant.

I hit ten weeks on Friday! Because I haven't had an official appointment yet, I have no confirmed due date, but technically it should be around Aug 5-8. Both my mother and I have a feeling I'll be early, though, so we're planning for the end of July, just to be safe. I haven't gained any weight at all, and I've been eating all the time -- at least, until the middle of last week when my energy started decreasing and everything started tasting bad. My waistbands started to get snug almost right away, but that's not so bad because my pants fit everywhere else, and they haven't become uncomfortable; I just fill them better. The main problem has been my bras! I went up a cup size in the first month alone, and had to buy new ones. I've never been chesty to begin with, so this has been pretty much the only noticeable change so far, and only a couple of really close guy friends have noticed.

No cravings for me yet, but I do sort of get on a kick with certain foods like carrots or Swiss cheese crackers: I'll eat them for a couple of days then ignore them. I went on an olive kick the first few weeks I knew I was pregnant, the really big oversize ones from President's Choice - mmm. Tried to go back to regular sized ones after that and they were just awful!

I've been reading tons of books too - I really like The Pregnancy Bible by Joanne Stone; it has excellent text, and wonderful pictures, and covers all sorts of things. I have Your Pregnancy Week by Week too (which HRH likes because it shows real-size sketches of baby!) and naturally, What to Expect When You're Expecting, which is actually the least helpful one I've read so far. I also have a Canadian book called The Mother of All Pregnancy Books which talks about pregnancy in Canada, which is a nice switch from American stuff.

I Slept Ten Hours, Honest I Did

After having so much energy for the past few weeks, I'm wiped out again. It's rather frustrating, because I'm on a tight deadline, and my productivity has been cut by about half. And yet all I want to do is doze on the sofa with a cat or three. I don't even want to read.

This can stop any time, thanks. I don't care how normal it is.

Adrift

I called Lasalle for my appointments today. I spent an hour and a half on the phone, being switched back and forth and on hold. Argh.

My first OB/GYN appointment: March 1. My ultrasound: March 21.

I'm freaked out. They don't even want to see me until I'm 4 months. Sure, nothing's going wrong as far as I know -- but I'm not the expert, and what if it is going wrong and I can't tell? I'm going to need to touch base with a medical professional before that or I'll go insane. All the books talk about seeing your natal doctor at 8 weeks.

So I made an appointment with my own GP for late January in order to check blood pressure etc and for my own peace of mind. She at least has a baseline of readings taken when I saw her in mid-December because my test was positive.

Unfair?

It seems so unfair that so much of the important growth and development of a baby - nervous system, key organs, etc -- happens within the first eight weeks or so, often when you don't yet know that you're pregnant, so that you're not taking optimal care of either of you.

Yes, I had sushi, and wine, and Advil, and antihistamines, and skipped breakfast before I knew I was pregnant, and no, I don't think our child will be any worse off for any of it. It just seems like Nature's trying to slip something in when you're not watching for it. It would seem to make more sense for the really sensitive, crucial stuff to happen after eight weeks, once you know what's happening, so you can avoid all the dangerous things. I understand why the sensitive stuff develops early on, of course: it's all the stuff that needs the entire forty weeks to develop and mature, as they're the most sophisticated systems in the body.

Still. It just seems awkward, somehow.

A Bit Better

As I actually don't have a gynaecologist (my GP has always done my internal work and necessary exams), my GP has now given me a list of ob/gyns at Lasalle. HRH went out and picked up some info etc on the maternal unit there; it looks really good, and I've only heard positive things about them. I'm going to call them for an appointment next week to get things rolling. I've also been put on the waiting list for the CLSC birthing centre; since I'm due in early August, and it's my first, the midwife on duty thinks it will be more likely I'll deliver right at the end of July, and there aren't as many deliveries scheduled for that time so we just might end up there after all. The CLSC maison naissance and Lasalle do a lot of work together, apparently, so transferring would be no problem at all.

So. Feeling better and less stressed.

And So It Begins

I'm in the middle of trying to figure out natal stuff; this morning I was informed that the CLSC birthing centre, our first choice for delivery location, isn't taking new people because they're too full (which they said nothing about to my GP whens he called them before Christmas asking what info I'd need to get to them). So I have to go to a hospital instead, and I hate hospitals. The hospital websites are useless; I can't find any information, and I need to find an ob/gyn and schedule an ultrasound in the next two weeks. I've had a headache every day, and I'm just so frustrated I don't know what to do any more.

Grr.

New Category for New Thoughts on New Family Members

I'm two months pregnant now, and although these entires won't be public until I unlock them from draft to published status, they're all collected under the "Newt" category so you can go through them later if you're so inclined. Sometimes, I've just got to write stuff out, even if I can't publish it just yet because only a handful of people know about the pregnancy this far.

We've made the deliberate choice to keep this to ourselves until around the end of the second trimester when we can't keep it a secret any more. The main reason we haven't told everyone is because I'm a really private person, and I'm having enough trouble dealing with the half-dozen close friends who have questions and advice. I can't imagine fielding advice from people I don't know very well. Ideally, we'd like to keep it to ourselves until I start showing and I have to start fielding questions!

We've done this for a couple of reasons. First, this is our own damned business, and I don't need a bunch of "helpful" advice from people who aren't my doctors, unless I ask for it. Second, we have enough stress on our plate right now without fielding inane questions. Yes, I know the advice and the questions arise from genuine excitement and interest and concern for our well-being, but really, things are fine, and there are other places my energy and attention needs to go right now. On top of that, this news will stress a few other people out, and I don't need the stress of handling other people's stress, thanks. Nothing personal; this is a survival method.

I've been extremely tired, and with the impending second book being dropped into my lap I'm going to have to further readjust my schedule, which means more things will need to be dropped a bit earlier than I expected. Other than the need for eleven to twelve hours of sleep daily, there's been next to no extreme symptoms: no bad nausea, no discomfort. Mild headaches, yes, but I can deal with that.

The category name, "Newt," comes from my father of all people. When we told my parents when they came down for Christmas, HRH was talking about how the embryo had a tail, and my father said, "Like a newt!" And bang, there it was; the baby had a nickname. All baby-related stuff will be put in the "Newt" category from now on. (Just so you know, I've gone back and adjusted the category accordingly on the previous pregnancy-related draft posts, which is why they show up before this announcement of the category creation.)

We're expecting this little one in early August. More updates as events warrant.

Plan B

I got up at seven this morning (a direct result of having a two and a half hour nap late yesterday afternoon). I've done over two hours of web work, and answered e-mail, and caught up on some reviews. I fully intended to settle into some green witch work next, but...

We are not well this morning.

Ick.

Once HRH is up (which may be a while yet, as he was up till one in the morning playing X-Men Legends -- let him have his fun, he goes back to school next week and won't be able to do holiday stuff like this any more) methinks I'll be going back to bed. I'll take books with me and the pile of Post-It notes my father-in-law gave me at Christmas (I will never have to buy sticky notes again. I'm not kidding. You should see this package), and mark places to tie into my book as textural support, and I'll have my notebook too, but I really don't think much actual writing work will get done. Even if my laptop was in my possession (it is currently serving as t!'s emergency unit) I don't think I'd be accomplishing much.

Yes, I've had breakfast, so it's not hunger. Yes, I've had copious amounts of peppermint tea to quell the queasiness. No, nothing has helped. I'm just sick, and I want to be in bed.

I can't work in bed if HRH is asleep. It's almost nine-thirty anyway; he should be up, late night or no late night. I'll go help him along.

The Little Things

I found decaf Lady Grey tea at the supermarket yesterday.

I shouldn't be on the verge of tears simply because I have a cup of decaf tea in front of me instead of bouillon or a tisane. I have so missed tea.

Life is good.

And yes, the headaches are now officially gone; I think they were indeed a result of going no-caffeine (except for the occasional chocolate - it's Christmas, and I'm not a saint). And now that the holiday madness is over, I'm not as exhausted. Huzzah! Normality! (Or what passes for it in my life, anyhow.)

Gods Bless Us, Every One

It occurs to me that those persistent low-grade headaches (which are now mostly past, thank the gods) might have been caused by caffeine withdrawal. I may only be an occasional coffee drinker, but I used to have at least one pot of good tea every day, and maybe a glass of Coke too. Cutting all that out could very well have triggered the headaches. Anywhats.

Christmas with my family and HRH's family was delightful. Apart from tons of food (including my mother's home-made tourtiere for Christmas Eve dinner), we were terribly spoiled in the gift department by new sheets, fluffy towels, two T-Fal frying pans in different sizes (thank you, thank you, thank you!), new clothes, a tea press and yummy caffeine-free tea (convenient), tons of chocolate (so much for the no-caffeine thing!), a handmade citrine pendant from HRH, an heirloom locket from my gran, and a selection of DVDs and CDs from my wish list. It was a wonderful two days as we shared quality family time and love, which is precisely what the holiday season is all about to me. We all cried three times as we exchanged gifts; I think that's a record. And of course, there was one very special gift given to my parents on Christmas Eve, and to HRH's parents on Christmas Day. It's on order, so to speak; it won't arrive until August. It will, however, be worth the wait.

Aaaaand... my holiday gift to me was snapping up the $65 USD secondhand copy of Turville-Petre's Myth and Religion of the North: The Religion of Ancient Scandinavia when the ABEbooks e-mail notification landed in my in-box this morning. Even with the $10 USD shipping charge from the UK, it's the cheapest price I've ever seen over the past two years that I've been coveting it as one of the authoritative resources on the subject. Let's hope they still have it in stock and someone else didn't get to it before I did.

Dad was quite impressed when he saw my LCD monitor; I wonder how long it will take before he has one too. I'm still mucking about with the settings, trying to get the perfect blend of contrast and brightness; my tastes seem to change every time I sit down.

How Very, Very Interesting

Anyone who's recently heard me be frustrated about seemingly striking out in a rather private endeavour can disregard current complaints. It would appear that while I was complaining over the past five weeks someone somewhere was snickering.