Chapter 2: Where the narrator engages is free and unfettered use of formerly unacceptable terms like "poop".....


Yes, yes, it's all about the poop, people.

Early breast-fed poop is the best. Early it was just the meconium and Nicholas' poop was the pleasant color and consistency (but thankfully, not the smell) of tar. Good quality tar, mind you, but tar nonetheless. Cleanups a breeze! Just peel it off! And then once the breastfeeding began in earnest and the colostrum began giving way to real milk, the poop became more...poopy (more like wet mustard seeds, actually) but still remarkably smell-free. And for those of you new moms out there who haven't heard, (or new dads who are charged with clean-up) this stuff is like teflon for the butt.






Poop doesn't stick, rolls right off, and it supplements that new baby smell like nothing else.

I probably should have warned you about the delicate nature of our conversation today, but I guess the headline was your first indication...


... and "boobs"...

While mom is responsible for the upfront, and I'm doing pull-through. Which is fine, but Nicholas really doesn't have much use for me during the 80% of his life where he has a clean diaper but an empty tummy. And does he love the mommy more? Well duh. Dr. Freud will see you now...

But for some reason, and right from the very beginning, his preference was for the right breast. I mean, it's not like Mom's a soft-serve machine with chocolate on this side and vanilla on that side. No stripes. Just plain vanilla. But there you are. Which, if you are familiar with the "demand and supply" model of breastfeeding (not to be confused with the "trickle down" model, that's diaper territory) means that the favored side grows perceptibly...um...well huger. It's been enormously entertaining to see Lizzie's friends get freaked out as she casually breastfeeds in front of them. (huh huh, he said "enormously.")

So enough chat, where are the pictures?

Here he sleeps. Does a lot of that. When I first returned to work everyone congratulated me and then asked, with that little sympathetic head tilt, if we were getting enough sleep. Trust me, we're sleeping great. If we go to bed at 11:00, he will typically sleep right through to morning. A little snack (just scoot over to mom and she'll take care of you son) and he's out for another few hours.

He likes to be held, waking or not.

Here he is with big sister. She has been incredible, really helpful and attentive, beyond the "oh what a cute baby" kind of attention to changing diapers, getting him in and out of strollers, dressing him. The jealousies and angst will come later I'm sure, but for now it's all good.

Of course, he doesn't just sleep. Sometimes he forgets to blink and just stares, wide-eyed and alarmed.

You may notice there a little yellow in the eyes. We have nearly forgotten about The Bad Yellow Times, but in reviewing the pictures the other night, both Liz and I grew distressed all over again. He was jaundiced right after birth, not uncommon (roughly half of all babies are, close to 80% if premature) but his bilirubin levels were alarmingly high (close to the range where brain damage is a real concern). So it was back to the evil hospital again.

Yes, that's an IV tube in his arm. The pinhead pediatrician said it was the only way (she being only one in a long line of pinhead healthcare workers who seem to believe that breastfeeding is a quaint country practice because they go out of their way at every opportunity to thwart a new mother's attempts to do just that.) Two separate pediatricians wanted us to supplement with formula, which is totally out of the question for many reasons. Elevated bilirubin is best cleared by breast milk. It's fluid, it's has a laxative effect, it's easy on the digestion. There's no reason not to. But they had us so scared at that point, we went along with the horrible suggestion to induce IV fluids, because we were told it obviated the need for lots of heel sticks. Wrong. Lying bitch.

Hospitalization involved almost 18 hours of light therapy in the isolet.

The goggles protected his eyes from the harsh light.

Look how they massacred my boy.

BUT this is past us now. He's home, jaundiced no more, and a delight. I'll leave you with his first trip in the stroller, wearing his Gilligan hat and casting a squinty pirate look at the camera.

posted by MT at 5:01 PM |