Another random thing I want to remember: Sometimes, Tad will be lying awake on my lap and he'll make eye contact with me and then slowly and deliberately stick out his tongue. And it seems to be effective for him, because I do nurse him after I finish laughing at him.
(Edited one week later to add: I had already forgotten this. Good thing I have a blog.)
Also, he is capable of raising only one eyebrow at a time. So far it's presumably involuntary, but I bet in a few years he will be giving me the Spock Eyebrow just as effectively as his father does.
Tad weighed 8.2 when he was born, 7.11 when we left the hospital when he was 2 days old, and 7.9 at the pediatrician's office when he was 5 days old. The pediatrician wasn't too worried, but still scheduled a weight check for the following Monday, at which point Tad was 12 days old and weighed 7.13--an improvement over his lowest weight, but still far from birthweight.
I felt horrible about this, of course, though I didn't let too much of that show through when I posted about it on Facebook. Anyway, one of my uncles (the earthy gray-mustached type you'd expect to meet over coffee at a truck stop) commented, "Do you think that people in the old days even thought about this. Just feed him he'll be fine".
Coming from anybody else, that would have earned a reaction of, "Stop minimizing my
FEEEEELINGS." But coming from him it somehow worked, because coming from him it felt like love--which is what it would have been coming from anybody else.
Things I had to deal with last week included a cluster-feeding newborn, a jury duty summons, and a tax audit.
The newborn still eats constantly, but I've been excused from jury duty and the tax thing should be sorted out as well.
Having a newborn is still HARD, but we might be finding our sea-legs a bit. I haven't sobbed in a while, anyway.
I had a big breakthrough last Friday when I realized that this whole thing is hard on Tad too. He's not constantly hungry and needy out of pique. He's just confused by having been thrust into a world where we have pain and hunger and cold and loneliness and everything. No wonder he wants to spend all day nestled up listening to my heartbeat.
I still get easily overstimulated by the constant being touched, but it's at least a little less frustrating when I try to see it as both of us in this together.
We also think Tad might have a bit of reflux. (He is SO his father's child, poor scrawny indigestiony little thing.) I called the pediatrician's nurse line on Friday and got the advice to burp him a lot, sit him up for half an hour after feedings, etc. He got worse over the weekend, though, so on Monday I called again and we ended up snagging a 3:45 appointment, where we got a prescription for Zantac. So we stopped by Kroger pharmacy on the way home and then Wendy's because even reheating leftovers seemed like too much work that day.
I joked on Facebook that I need to step up my game if I want to get a reputation as the paranoid first-time mom--I definitely expected to have to work a little harder to get taken seriously when I called the pediatrician, but they took me seriously right off the bat. Is it always like this with 2-week-old babies or do I just know the magic words?
I seem to have developed the flu yesterday. I am supposed to keep an eye out for mastitis, but in the absence of anything but fever and achiness I am to take Tylenol or ibuprofen, rest, chug fluids, and wait for it to pass. So far Tad seems unaffected, fortunately.
I am SO TIRED, you guys. When does life in general get easier?
If you found these takes boring, you will experience an even greater sense of ennui reading my birth story. I'm about halfway done, because my powers of navel-gazing know no limits.
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