It’s been a rough week and it would be something of an understatement to say you’ve given us quite a scare. After weighing in a few ounces shy of expectations at the doctor’s office, we were concerned and spent the first part of the week trying to minimize your tendency to regurgitate the entire contents of your stomach with every movement. We worried your ability to spout breast milk like a fountain was interfering with your equally important need to develop chubby cheeks and fat thighs. This involved essentially chaining myself to the loveseat in your bedroom so we could complete your marathon 45 minute nursing sessions without interruption and then hold you at a 45 degree angle for the next half hour, preferably asleep to minimize disturbance. Since you seem to be hungry every hour and a half, this has made the entire household a slave to the demands of your incessant, tiny stomach.
Towards the end of the week, while your father was conveniently out of town, you began to worry me with a bout of unusually heavy, nasally breathing and projectile vomiting. We brought you immediately into the doctor who confirmed that while you had gained some weight, you were still on track to a lifetime of soda and happy meals. We were given strict orders to return on Monday for another weigh in. Talk about pressure to perform- I’m trying to lose weight while ensuring that you gain it. There must be an easier way to perform the transfer that doesn’t involve quite so many bodily fluids.

We’d barely gotten home, myself already exhausted with worry, when it became obvious that you’d caught a cold. Your nasal congestion cut off your airway and made nursing difficult, leaving you choking and sputtering for breath. By Saturday evening, after a late night trip to urgent care, we’d rushed you to the ER, where they tested you for RSV (negative), poked and prodded and then sent you home to suffer through. We spent some terrible hours between steam bath showers, snot sucking and sauna like conditions in your bedroom, before we finally found relief and you began to eat and breath easier.

You’ve nearly fully recovered three days later and have passed into a stage of ferocious hunger. For the past few days I’ve spent three or four hour stretched doing nothing but nursing you almost constantly, allowing you to sleep wormed into the curve of my chest and shoulder, warm and heavy. All this effort has gained you several ounces and a return to good health, at least for now.

There are other notable things this week besides the excitement of illness. Your fascination with your hands continues and you waggle your fingers and clasp them together often, like an evil villianess plotting some sort of mischief. You’ve begun to smile in earnest now, a gummy, lunatic grin and usually unrelated to anythign in particular. The color of the wall or a particularly interesting bit of ceiling seems to be deserving of a good laugh.

Your brother seems to have hit upon an excellent nickname for you that’s really catching on- “Mr.s Waaaaaah!” He calls you that affectionately, mimicking your cries of outrage when you are cold or hungry. Despite our best efforts, both your Dad and I have found the nickname adorably funny and I think you’re stuck with it.
My best laid plans to put you on a schedule and get you to sleep in your own bed have been thwarted by all the drama and I hope that next week will bring calm and rest for the both of us.

Big Brother