first milk mustache.
Someday, when Jack is 6'3'' like Richie (or even bigger) and I find myself spending more on groceries than I ever did on daycare, I may have to remind myself of the first week. Sure those hands and feet make us think that Jack really will be 6'3.'' But when we went for his first doctor's appointment and found out that he had lost nearly a pound and were hovering at 6lbs and 10 ounces...we got scared.
Bibi and I took Jack because Richard was back at work for the first time. We were not surprised to find out that his bilirubin as he was starting to get a little bit...orange. But the boy who seemed to have gained an ounce on his first night was losing ground fast. For a couple of days we had been commenting on how cute his wrinkled brow was...how much he looked like a little old man or a puppy whose skin was just a little bit big for his body. The night before we went to see the pedi, I noticed something like powder in his diapers. It turned out that these were both symptoms of fairly serious dehydration.
When the nurse came in and drew blood, little buddy didn't make a peep. We thought he was good natured. The pedi called it lethargy.
The more we talked with Jack's doctor, the more I felt I had been noticing some symptoms for a couple of days. (Both Richard and I had been concerned about dehydration on the last day we were in the hospital. Our nurse said there was nothing to worry about. It isn't in my nature to push further.) I cried. And then I got a plan.
We followed Dr. B's advice and started supplimenting with an ounce of formula at every feeding. Richard got me an emergency appointment with a lactation consultant so that Jack and I could work on our longterm technique. Aunt Lizzie and I spent 48 hours waking Jack every two hours on the hour. We pumped his little arm, laid him on the hard floor, sang and jiggled--all to keep him awake and feeding. Without Biz, I seriously would have thrown in the towel on the nursing. I so wanted to get calories in this boy as fast as I could.
After the first twenty-four hours, Jack had done his part and gained eight ounces. And I felt myself able to breath again.
I learned a couple of Mommy lessons.
1. I am Jack's advocate. Even at three days old, I knew him better than the hospital nurses. I'd known him exactly three days longer. I can trust myself--at least a little--to ask questions on his behalf when it seems like he isn't himself. And I have the right to keep pushing when I think I'm getting the run around.
2. No matter how much I have thought out my parenting philosophy (no bottles, no formula, no exceptions), when it comes down to it, I will throw that plan out the window in a heartbeat to help my son. No doubt. No arguments. No exceptions.
3. Jack is still a mystery. This boy that we were laughing about, the boy we thought would never wear newborn clothes, who had a 99th percentile tummy, who weighed six and a half pounds a month before he was born--well he turned out to be a little bit smaller, a little bit blonder, a little bit more fragile than we imagined. Still, he is exactly who he always was.
And finally...milk. It really does do a body good.
Bibi and I took Jack because Richard was back at work for the first time. We were not surprised to find out that his bilirubin as he was starting to get a little bit...orange. But the boy who seemed to have gained an ounce on his first night was losing ground fast. For a couple of days we had been commenting on how cute his wrinkled brow was...how much he looked like a little old man or a puppy whose skin was just a little bit big for his body. The night before we went to see the pedi, I noticed something like powder in his diapers. It turned out that these were both symptoms of fairly serious dehydration.
When the nurse came in and drew blood, little buddy didn't make a peep. We thought he was good natured. The pedi called it lethargy.
The more we talked with Jack's doctor, the more I felt I had been noticing some symptoms for a couple of days. (Both Richard and I had been concerned about dehydration on the last day we were in the hospital. Our nurse said there was nothing to worry about. It isn't in my nature to push further.) I cried. And then I got a plan.
We followed Dr. B's advice and started supplimenting with an ounce of formula at every feeding. Richard got me an emergency appointment with a lactation consultant so that Jack and I could work on our longterm technique. Aunt Lizzie and I spent 48 hours waking Jack every two hours on the hour. We pumped his little arm, laid him on the hard floor, sang and jiggled--all to keep him awake and feeding. Without Biz, I seriously would have thrown in the towel on the nursing. I so wanted to get calories in this boy as fast as I could.
After the first twenty-four hours, Jack had done his part and gained eight ounces. And I felt myself able to breath again.
I learned a couple of Mommy lessons.
1. I am Jack's advocate. Even at three days old, I knew him better than the hospital nurses. I'd known him exactly three days longer. I can trust myself--at least a little--to ask questions on his behalf when it seems like he isn't himself. And I have the right to keep pushing when I think I'm getting the run around.
2. No matter how much I have thought out my parenting philosophy (no bottles, no formula, no exceptions), when it comes down to it, I will throw that plan out the window in a heartbeat to help my son. No doubt. No arguments. No exceptions.
3. Jack is still a mystery. This boy that we were laughing about, the boy we thought would never wear newborn clothes, who had a 99th percentile tummy, who weighed six and a half pounds a month before he was born--well he turned out to be a little bit smaller, a little bit blonder, a little bit more fragile than we imagined. Still, he is exactly who he always was.
And finally...milk. It really does do a body good.
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