B - day 12.
N - day 12.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Both boys at home
N and B finally got to meet. It was pretty exciting. N is having a little bit of jealousy, but that is pretty much to be expected. Here are some pictures of my little guys...
B playing on his playmat... Trust me, he was looking around.
I should search, because we have a picture of me and N doing almost this same thing his first week home.
N enjoying cinnamon toast for breakfast. Everything looked better for him in the morning. (We don't normally feed him Cheetos either - those are for his "end of summer" party at school.)
Here's B testing out the swing while N eats breakfast. He looks relatively comfortable, I think.
B playing on his playmat... Trust me, he was looking around.
I should search, because we have a picture of me and N doing almost this same thing his first week home.
N enjoying cinnamon toast for breakfast. Everything looked better for him in the morning. (We don't normally feed him Cheetos either - those are for his "end of summer" party at school.)
Here's B testing out the swing while N eats breakfast. He looks relatively comfortable, I think.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Home at last
We've had a whirlwind couple of days. As you all probably know from E's previous post, our new little guy arrived on August 12, and everything looked fantastic with him. He was eating well, sleeping well, and generally looked like your regular guy (super handsome, of course).
On the early morning of August 13th, he still hadn't produced any stool yet, so they went to stimulate him to do it (read - take his temperature rectally). At that point they realized that something was a little bit off with our little man. He has something that is referred to as imperferate anus. Read about it on Wiki, I'll spare the details here. Because of this particular defect, they had to stop all feeds and hook him up to an IV. He was transported to Children's Medical Center of Dallas where they performed an emergency colostomy to enable him to pass stool. Needless to say, both E and I were stunned, terrified, insert-proper-adjective-here scared for B. This isn't something that can be seen in an ultrasound or any testing while they're in utero, so this was a complete shock to us. Plus, abdominal surgery on your child who is one day old is not exactly the thing you're expecting when you go into labor. He was in the NICU at Children's until yesterday afternoon, when we were discharged (hence the delay in posting).
B made it through surgery just fine, and now is wearing a colostomy bag on his side for a while. He'll undergo two more surgical procedures. The first will create an anus for him and connect all of his bowels properly so that he can go to the bathroom normally, but will leave the colostomy in place. This is so he can have an opportunity to heal before he starts pooping regularly. He'll then undergo a third surgery to remove the colostomy and reconnect everthing. This whole process will take about six months, give or take, depending on how he's doing and growing.
In addition to this, they did a number of tests at the hospital to check for things in the VACTERL association of birth defects (read at your own risk, it sounds WAY scarier on Wikipedia than what he's got going on). Essentially there are seven defects that are associated with each other, but a child with one may have some of the others, all of the others, or none of the others. They aren't really sure. But just in case, they checked him out for all of them. B exhibits a oddity in his kidneys - they both function totally normally, but instead of being on the left and right side of his back, they're both on the right. I'm thinking this gives him superpowers later in life if anyone tries to kidney punch him on the left. It was a relief to find out that even though they show an oddity, they are working perfectly, so it's just an interesting thing to know. In addition to that, one of his lumbar vertebre is shaped like a sacral vertebre, or something like this. This is something else the doctors are so not worried about, but because he shows it and the kidney thing in addition to the imperforate anus, he technically shows three of the seven characteristics of VACTERL, so he technically has this association. However, after his additional surgeries none of this should be a problem.
It's been pretty amazing how many people have reached out to us as either being related to someone who had this, knowing someone who had this, or had this themselves. It was an amazing relief to talk to a friend of ours who confided to us that she was born with this defect and we never knew it. She made us KNOW that B can have a perfectly normal life. We've just got to get through the next few months.
The good news for us is that after the next two surgeries, B should be like any other little boy. Right now he's wearing his bag, but it's not too terrible to deal with. We're really lucky in that his daycare is willing to work with us on this - so hopefully we won't have too many issues there. We were really concerned with how everything would work with me going back to work, but it sure sounds like they're going to be okay working with us on this - especially given that it's temporary.
B is otherwise a healthy little man. He's a week old today, and he looks fantastic. When he's dressed you can't even tell that he's any different than any other baby. His big brother is interested in him. I'm not sure that N really knows what to think, but he doesn't seem entirely opposed to the idea of having a little guy join our brood.
Please keep us in your prayers as we go through this. It's going to be a tough couple of months, but look at that guy? How can you not love that little face. He's perfect.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Impatience is a virtue ... but only if you're small
Hello again blogging world, this is E. A is taking a moment and relaxing after a busy day. As is the long standing custom, I write a special blog on the day of our son's arrival into the world. Yes that's right, B has arrived and is currently doing a very good impression of a Qdoba burrito on display since he is swaddled snugly in a blanket and is currently residing behind a sneeze proof piece of plastic.
First of all, here are the important details. It was the magical time of 8:14 AM when our little man joined the air breathing population on this hot hot day of August 12. He's 7 lbs and 1 oz of large headed German/Italian offspring. He measured out at 19.5 inches and has a beautiful head of baby hair. We don't know if he's going to keep all this hair like his brother did, but hopefully he does.
Now it's time for me to relate how the events came to be. For the past couple of weeks, A had been going to the baby doctor and getting checked out on Wednesdays. I've been attending since they could say at any moment, "Get thee to the hospital!" to A. Of course I would have no choice but tag along and be useless like the last time. For further details of the "last time" see my past post exactly 15 months ago.
So we're in the Dr.'s office and A is being examined and they have good news - A has started dilating. Not much but we were told it was enough to signify that something is about to happen in about 1.5 weeks or less. Really? A's due date is in 1.5 weeks and you're telling us that something is going to happen in less than or equal to 1.5 weeks. Wow! It's like we got one of those magic cards out of Zoltar from the movie "Big." It has to be true. They can predict the future! Honestly people. We just payed money for someone to tell me that the inevitable event that has a very predictable deadline is going to happen at most by the ... deadline. Again, wow.
After this stunningly brilliant observation we wrap up the appointment and I trot off back to work so that I can get a few more hours in. A is doing great and I have nothing to worry about. She's been taking the week off because the new work policy allows her to take up to 4 weeks prior to the due date off. She went for 2 weeks prior because it made more sense to her. In her "down" time she, planted a tree, mulched the flower beds, reorganized the kitchen, reorganized a tv cabinet, got her car detailed (it was very dirty and had a few hundred cheerios rolling around in it), ran a dozen other small errands, worked out daily, trimmed the hedges, filled out a mountain of paperwork to go on baby leave, and several other things that I can't remember. She did all this in 3 days.
I get home in time to help A finish up dinner with N and put him to bed. I notice A is having some discomfort so I ask her what's wrong. She says "just cramping." I'm a dude, I don't get cramps down there, and if you read the blog from 15 months ago you will realize that A was induced when N was born so we didn't have the prior experience of knowing what these cramps meant. I'm currently guessing Braxton Hicks, but I asked if they were coming at regular intervals. A didn't know. As part of my job as baby daddy, I am supposed to be the keeper of the watch and note any patterns that might emerge from "cramps" that would indicate the inevitable event given a 1.5 week deadline might actually be occurring now. 21 minutes later we realize that these "cramps" are coming at 7 minute intervals. We start gathering our things to go, I call my mother who lives over an hour away to come watch our son while we go to the hospital. Another few minutes go by and the "cramps," or as other women of the world call them CONTRACTIONS, are still coming at about 6-7 minutes apart. Now A goes to the restroom and I hear something bone chilling. "I'm bleeding - quite a bit."
I make the executive decision to not wait for the official baby sitter to show up. Instead I grab A's phone and dial our wonderful neighbor up to come and baby sit for a few minutes. Our neighbor, S, stepped up to the plate and graciously offered to watch N so we could take off sooner. Needless to say, we were off. During the pregnancy I had but a few small jobs assigned to me: 1. keep the daily ice cream supply flowing to the pregnant woman, 2. time contractions, 3. haul booty to the hospital. I usually don't drive in a hurried fashion, but I was now. I may have run a red light or two on this journey, but they didn't have cameras on them so I guess we'll never know.
We get checked in, assigned to a room at around 9PM, and A finally gets checked out. Luckily the "quite a bit" of blood she noticed was just due to the fact that she had dilated very quickly and was now in good old fashioned, natural, non-induced labor. I'm personally relieved and glad to know both A and the baby are doing OK. A then asks for the magical cocktail known from far and wide as the epidural. We hear "no problem, you'll get one in about 30 minutes." The legal drug dealer was currently involved in another operation and had to stay there until it was over in case of any problems.
I start chatting to A about random things to help her focus on something other than her pain. We make phone calls, do some texting, and she grimaces with every contraction. A long 2 hours go by. A asks again for the epidural. Again, "30 minutes" was the response. 40 minutes later the nurse comes in and offers A a different painkiller to help her before the epidural can be administered. Whatever they gave A had a few side effects that weren't desirable. I found myself with a new job this time as official spit bucket holder. It's not as glamorous as you'd think. I would much rather be spewing inept prognosis of "you'll have your baby by your due date." 20 minutes later, A gets her epidural. She was 9 cm dilated by this time. Another cm and it would be time to stop mucking around with needles and start pushing out babies. I'm not pleased right now, but A seems to be very happy and relaxed so I just drop the subject of my wife sitting around and suffering for 3 hours.
Now, last time A pushed for over 3 hours. She made quite a name for herself among the nurses at the hospital as well she should have. If you can imagine going to the gym and performing some kind of weight lifting maneuver that strained every fiber of your being and then doing that lift every 2 minutes for 3 hours, then that's what she did. My wife is kind of a legend around here. Two nurses that were on shift 15 months ago came by to see the amazing pregnant woman again. Given the past issue of having to actively push for such a long time and since she and the baby were doing fine, A was allowed to labor down and let nature take it's course. This meant we got to catch some sleep and wake up in the morning and then get the show on the road. So I slept and A dozed for a few hours.
When it was time, to start pushing we stupidly asked "how long will this take?" "30 minutes" was again the response. It took about 40 and I was happy that I didn't have to punch the Dr. that told us 30 square in the face because we both like her. I wanted to go get my eldest son N and bring him down to see his mom and little brother B after everyone was all cleaned up, but not if they were going to be moving us from one room to the other. I wanted to stay and help A out with that. At 2PM I asked how long that would take and again was told "30 minutes." I decided to wait until after the move. 3.5 hours later we were moved and it was too late to go get my boy and bring him over because it was getting on to bed time for him.
I am currently presented with quite a paradox. I could either go find the individuals who can't give me an honest estimate of time and kick them in the pancreas or find Stephen Hawking and explain to him that at this hospital there is a non linearity in time that must be studied which would lead to tremendous advances in the understanding of the universe. Both will probably lead me to some sort of detention either in a jail cell or insane asylum.
Instead I choose to leave you now and go to sleep. But not before I post some pictures of our new lad.
First of all, here are the important details. It was the magical time of 8:14 AM when our little man joined the air breathing population on this hot hot day of August 12. He's 7 lbs and 1 oz of large headed German/Italian offspring. He measured out at 19.5 inches and has a beautiful head of baby hair. We don't know if he's going to keep all this hair like his brother did, but hopefully he does.
Now it's time for me to relate how the events came to be. For the past couple of weeks, A had been going to the baby doctor and getting checked out on Wednesdays. I've been attending since they could say at any moment, "Get thee to the hospital!" to A. Of course I would have no choice but tag along and be useless like the last time. For further details of the "last time" see my past post exactly 15 months ago.
So we're in the Dr.'s office and A is being examined and they have good news - A has started dilating. Not much but we were told it was enough to signify that something is about to happen in about 1.5 weeks or less. Really? A's due date is in 1.5 weeks and you're telling us that something is going to happen in less than or equal to 1.5 weeks. Wow! It's like we got one of those magic cards out of Zoltar from the movie "Big." It has to be true. They can predict the future! Honestly people. We just payed money for someone to tell me that the inevitable event that has a very predictable deadline is going to happen at most by the ... deadline. Again, wow.
After this stunningly brilliant observation we wrap up the appointment and I trot off back to work so that I can get a few more hours in. A is doing great and I have nothing to worry about. She's been taking the week off because the new work policy allows her to take up to 4 weeks prior to the due date off. She went for 2 weeks prior because it made more sense to her. In her "down" time she, planted a tree, mulched the flower beds, reorganized the kitchen, reorganized a tv cabinet, got her car detailed (it was very dirty and had a few hundred cheerios rolling around in it), ran a dozen other small errands, worked out daily, trimmed the hedges, filled out a mountain of paperwork to go on baby leave, and several other things that I can't remember. She did all this in 3 days.
I get home in time to help A finish up dinner with N and put him to bed. I notice A is having some discomfort so I ask her what's wrong. She says "just cramping." I'm a dude, I don't get cramps down there, and if you read the blog from 15 months ago you will realize that A was induced when N was born so we didn't have the prior experience of knowing what these cramps meant. I'm currently guessing Braxton Hicks, but I asked if they were coming at regular intervals. A didn't know. As part of my job as baby daddy, I am supposed to be the keeper of the watch and note any patterns that might emerge from "cramps" that would indicate the inevitable event given a 1.5 week deadline might actually be occurring now. 21 minutes later we realize that these "cramps" are coming at 7 minute intervals. We start gathering our things to go, I call my mother who lives over an hour away to come watch our son while we go to the hospital. Another few minutes go by and the "cramps," or as other women of the world call them CONTRACTIONS, are still coming at about 6-7 minutes apart. Now A goes to the restroom and I hear something bone chilling. "I'm bleeding - quite a bit."
I make the executive decision to not wait for the official baby sitter to show up. Instead I grab A's phone and dial our wonderful neighbor up to come and baby sit for a few minutes. Our neighbor, S, stepped up to the plate and graciously offered to watch N so we could take off sooner. Needless to say, we were off. During the pregnancy I had but a few small jobs assigned to me: 1. keep the daily ice cream supply flowing to the pregnant woman, 2. time contractions, 3. haul booty to the hospital. I usually don't drive in a hurried fashion, but I was now. I may have run a red light or two on this journey, but they didn't have cameras on them so I guess we'll never know.
We get checked in, assigned to a room at around 9PM, and A finally gets checked out. Luckily the "quite a bit" of blood she noticed was just due to the fact that she had dilated very quickly and was now in good old fashioned, natural, non-induced labor. I'm personally relieved and glad to know both A and the baby are doing OK. A then asks for the magical cocktail known from far and wide as the epidural. We hear "no problem, you'll get one in about 30 minutes." The legal drug dealer was currently involved in another operation and had to stay there until it was over in case of any problems.
I start chatting to A about random things to help her focus on something other than her pain. We make phone calls, do some texting, and she grimaces with every contraction. A long 2 hours go by. A asks again for the epidural. Again, "30 minutes" was the response. 40 minutes later the nurse comes in and offers A a different painkiller to help her before the epidural can be administered. Whatever they gave A had a few side effects that weren't desirable. I found myself with a new job this time as official spit bucket holder. It's not as glamorous as you'd think. I would much rather be spewing inept prognosis of "you'll have your baby by your due date." 20 minutes later, A gets her epidural. She was 9 cm dilated by this time. Another cm and it would be time to stop mucking around with needles and start pushing out babies. I'm not pleased right now, but A seems to be very happy and relaxed so I just drop the subject of my wife sitting around and suffering for 3 hours.
Now, last time A pushed for over 3 hours. She made quite a name for herself among the nurses at the hospital as well she should have. If you can imagine going to the gym and performing some kind of weight lifting maneuver that strained every fiber of your being and then doing that lift every 2 minutes for 3 hours, then that's what she did. My wife is kind of a legend around here. Two nurses that were on shift 15 months ago came by to see the amazing pregnant woman again. Given the past issue of having to actively push for such a long time and since she and the baby were doing fine, A was allowed to labor down and let nature take it's course. This meant we got to catch some sleep and wake up in the morning and then get the show on the road. So I slept and A dozed for a few hours.
When it was time, to start pushing we stupidly asked "how long will this take?" "30 minutes" was again the response. It took about 40 and I was happy that I didn't have to punch the Dr. that told us 30 square in the face because we both like her. I wanted to go get my eldest son N and bring him down to see his mom and little brother B after everyone was all cleaned up, but not if they were going to be moving us from one room to the other. I wanted to stay and help A out with that. At 2PM I asked how long that would take and again was told "30 minutes." I decided to wait until after the move. 3.5 hours later we were moved and it was too late to go get my boy and bring him over because it was getting on to bed time for him.
I am currently presented with quite a paradox. I could either go find the individuals who can't give me an honest estimate of time and kick them in the pancreas or find Stephen Hawking and explain to him that at this hospital there is a non linearity in time that must be studied which would lead to tremendous advances in the understanding of the universe. Both will probably lead me to some sort of detention either in a jail cell or insane asylum.
Instead I choose to leave you now and go to sleep. But not before I post some pictures of our new lad.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Captain Adherent and me
After three weeks I'm now finding it within myself to write about something that happened recently. Why did it take so long, you might ask? Because it has taken me this long to decide to swallow my pride and admit that when it comes to traffic violations in this family, it's me. It's always me. It's always been me. And I suppose, I'm finding, that it will always be me.
Now I will admit, I have not always been the best driver. I wasn't. I drove too fast. I swerved around like an old drunk man in my lane. I texted while driving. I ate a hamburger while talking on the phone and changing lanes in downtown traffic while speeding and trying to balance a open can of soda between my legs. I did not drive while drinking, but pretty much anything that you can legally do in the car even though it isn't a good idea - I did all that. I can't ever remember applying makeup in the car, but that probably happened too.
Fast forward to college when my now-husband and I start dating. Apparently at first he always volunteered to drive not because he was chivolrous, as I thought, but instead because he feared for our lives when I was driving. Because he was still trying to woo me (his word, not mine), it took him nearly two years to muster the courage to say anything. After a few years of me being frustrated with his unrequested advice and his being frustrated with my unwillingness to learn, I can fully admit that I am now a much better driver. I use my blinkers. I no longer go more than 5 miles over the speed limit. I try my very best to be courteous at all times. (And I'll admit that this all happened prior to our children.)
So why then, is it ALWAYS me who gets traffic violations? I KNOW I've been in the car with him when he's sped just a little more than he was supposed to or cut someone off or generally done something unfriendly behind the wheel. Not often, but it happens. Despite this, if there's a ticket coming for something - it's got MY name on it.
So imagine my surprise three weeks ago to get the mail out of the mailbox and find an envelope addressed to my husband from the "City of Rowlett Red Light Camera Enforcement Division". Could it be, I wondered smugly to myself, that the king of all road rules has violated the rule of not running a red light - in an intersection with a CAMERA? I am feeling a little full of myself and a bit more pleased about this than I really probably should. Not because it was HIM, but for ONCE, it WASN'T ME!
I leave the envolope innocously on the counter until he gets home from work. As we're going through the mail he gets a concerned look on his face and I know he can see me watching him open this envelope - ALMOST with a little glee. I know he's annoyed with himself and probably super upset to have broken his years and years of clean driving record.
Until we see the picture. That's MY car. At 5:03 pm. At THAT particular intersection. On THAT day. There's no way there was ANYONE in the car but...
ME.
Dammit.
Turns out if you've got two names on the car and they live at the same place, if you run a red light they just send it to the first name on the list. Doesn't matter who it was.
Except it's ALWAYS me.
Again - dammit.
Now I will admit, I have not always been the best driver. I wasn't. I drove too fast. I swerved around like an old drunk man in my lane. I texted while driving. I ate a hamburger while talking on the phone and changing lanes in downtown traffic while speeding and trying to balance a open can of soda between my legs. I did not drive while drinking, but pretty much anything that you can legally do in the car even though it isn't a good idea - I did all that. I can't ever remember applying makeup in the car, but that probably happened too.
Fast forward to college when my now-husband and I start dating. Apparently at first he always volunteered to drive not because he was chivolrous, as I thought, but instead because he feared for our lives when I was driving. Because he was still trying to woo me (his word, not mine), it took him nearly two years to muster the courage to say anything. After a few years of me being frustrated with his unrequested advice and his being frustrated with my unwillingness to learn, I can fully admit that I am now a much better driver. I use my blinkers. I no longer go more than 5 miles over the speed limit. I try my very best to be courteous at all times. (And I'll admit that this all happened prior to our children.)
So why then, is it ALWAYS me who gets traffic violations? I KNOW I've been in the car with him when he's sped just a little more than he was supposed to or cut someone off or generally done something unfriendly behind the wheel. Not often, but it happens. Despite this, if there's a ticket coming for something - it's got MY name on it.
So imagine my surprise three weeks ago to get the mail out of the mailbox and find an envelope addressed to my husband from the "City of Rowlett Red Light Camera Enforcement Division". Could it be, I wondered smugly to myself, that the king of all road rules has violated the rule of not running a red light - in an intersection with a CAMERA? I am feeling a little full of myself and a bit more pleased about this than I really probably should. Not because it was HIM, but for ONCE, it WASN'T ME!
I leave the envolope innocously on the counter until he gets home from work. As we're going through the mail he gets a concerned look on his face and I know he can see me watching him open this envelope - ALMOST with a little glee. I know he's annoyed with himself and probably super upset to have broken his years and years of clean driving record.
Until we see the picture. That's MY car. At 5:03 pm. At THAT particular intersection. On THAT day. There's no way there was ANYONE in the car but...
ME.
Dammit.
Turns out if you've got two names on the car and they live at the same place, if you run a red light they just send it to the first name on the list. Doesn't matter who it was.
Except it's ALWAYS me.
Again - dammit.
Monday, August 2, 2010
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