Introducing James

Paul's email and photos to introduce James:

We're delighted to announce the birth of our baby boy, James, who arrived safely Saturday morning. Both James and Lana are in good health.

James was a few weeks early, but don't let his small size fool you: he's got lungs to compete with the best of them! 

I hope you'll have chance to meet him soon. 

Name Game and Hospital Day 3

or _A Baby By Any Other Name Will Still Need Diaper Changes_ 

"You mean like James Bond?"

I knew someone was going to make the joke, but I didn't expect Theresa to be first.

Anyway, Paul checked our baby name spreadsheet, found the long-list short, and short-list even shorter.  So there we have it: as of last night, our baby boy is James.

Though he's already gained a number of nicknames from the different nurses.

Peanut
Mr. Squirmy
Grumpy-pants

It snowed at some point last night.  I'm in this bubble.  It doesn't matter what's outside.  I hear the sounds of other babies crying, and there was a code red, but they're not part of my world.

Mom and Celina didn't coordinate outfits, really.

Celina dropped by in the morning.  The visit was hijacked by my Mom.

Celina brought me an iPod; Mom brought food, thicker clothes (for me and James), and little handkerchiefs to keep James's head warm (she was not convinced by the hospital provided toque).

I'd hope to have a heart-to-heart with Celina, but it was also good to be able to show them I could now move around a bit better and know how to change a diaper.  I wanted Mom to be reassured and not worry.  But, one can only do so much in half an hour.

Kevin still wants to visit, but makes do with a call.

Kevin: "You should eat more."
Me: "You sound like your mother." 

Mr. Squirmy is too cool for his hat.

I've started to feeling better about things.  The hospital is a good training ground for me.  I'm only required to concentrate on how to do things.  They've provide all the supplies -- without distractions about quantity, price tags... laundry is whisked away too.

Cloth diapers, disposable diapers, wet wipes, washing cloths, baby formula, bottles, nipples, barrier cream, swaddling blankets, baby clothes... I try them out and add to my list of things we'll need to buy (i.e. send Theresa to pick up for us).  I really like the whole plastic bassinet on wheels with stainless steel supply cabinets... but we're not likely to find that.

Paul comes after work, and again, we do a lot of staring.  We talk about how velvety soft his cheek is with all the little hairs (but already not as soft as the day before).  Paul notes how his eyes are unusual -- dark, not exactly brown, and how they have a far away look (probably because he can't focus yet or track).  I point out how his head is just larger than my fist, and smaller than Paul's.  He really is a little one.

Hours Old and Years Older (4)

My body makes me so sad.

I certainly didn't expect to be back to normal 36 hours after giving birth (like the actresses or celebrities that make headlines on magazines), rather something more like Erica Andrews in her 24-hours-post-partum selfie.  I didn't expect this.  My ankles are so swollen they've disappeared.  My feet have ballooned so they barely fit in my flip-flops.  There are 15 staples and 4 stitches holding together a leaking incision.  And again, there's pain that makes it hard to even roll out of bed.

I guess, I should be amazed and appreciative.  The little heater that kept me warm from the inside now needs me to help regulate his temperature -- and my body can do that.  This body of mine is also (in theory) able to provide all the food he needs.  But I am not there.  I wish I could feel strong like Erica Andrews feels, about being whole with this little person...
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Rhonda came back as promised to help with breast feeding.  When we again couldn't get him to latch, she came through again and brought me a breast pump.

I tried to multi-task, holding him skin-to-skin and pumping milk at the same time, but it doesn't work.  With my feet up to help the swelling, the pumped milk (the few ml of colostrum) run down my side instead of into the collection container... more pain for naught.  I cried.  Some tears land on his head.  At least he's warm.

Hours Old and Years Older (3)

Paul: Problem is that right now anything that's not sleeping is either startling or boring.
Me: He's like me -- would rather sleep than eat.

After my family leave, I started reading as much as I can.  The books (AHS Healthy Parents Health Children manuals), the health pamphlets... maybe I should have read them before instead of cramming now (too focused on pregnancy stuff).  Regardless, I wasn't going to let myself be caught off guard or make more mistakes.  I set my phone alarm and update it for 3 hours after the start of every feeding.  I made lists for things that need to be done at home, supplies we'll need to buy.  I don't really sleep.

I didn't realise how manic and tense I was until Paul came after work and I felt parts of me relax.  But the relief is short-lived: He makes me laugh, and it turns out laughing is painful.

I was scared: Getting out of bed to change diapers and for feedings was painful enough, but not even being able to laugh?  How was I going to keep this up if being happy hurts?

Paul reminded me this is only the second day.  He assured me I will heal and that we can do this.

Rhonda, the evening nurse, checked on us and encouraged me to take a shower.  I really didn't want to.  I am terrified of catching an infection here (retreating to an ingrained rule "organisms can grow in water, therefore staying dry will keep me safe"). I was sure it would be painful. But she insisted it would make me feel better.  We were both right.

It hurt to maneuver in the shower, especially since I didn't want to touch most of the surfaces.  Once I stopped the water, I felt cold to the core.  So cold, I thought maybe I was in shock. Shivering set off more pain.  What must have only been seconds felt like minutes. But I eventually warmed up.  Dressed in a clean gown, I did feel better.

Clean and back in bed, Paul and I concentrated on the baby and our next steps... like picking out a name.

Hours Old and Years Older (2)

"You're perfect."

No, I'm a total mess. But Celina was trying to be kind, and I guess I was managing to hold it together enough for a short family visit.

The short visit was even shorter than I expected though.  Mom thought she remembered the way since I was born in this hospital too.  But there's been major renovations and a new wing since, so even if she did have perfect memory...

When they finally found their way to my room (close to 40 minutes since arriving at the hospital), Theresa, Celina, and Mom could only stay for about 20 minutes.  They brought with them an orchid, a big bunch of flowers, a card, some food...

Me: "Why did you bring all this stuff here?  You should've brought it to the house."
Theresa: "You have to show there are people who care for you so they won't mistreat or neglect you."
Me: "I really don't think it works that way."  

I told Celina how grateful I was for the night nurse who helped me last night - indeed this was a noble profession she was working towards. And I asked her if she wanted to work with babies (she didn't seem sure, but not likely).  Our conversation was cut short with all the fussing and activity from Mom and Theresa.

Mom was beaming from ear to ear, so happy to hold her new grandson.  She had been, as expected, worrying about us.  She also took a look at my partially eaten breakfast and newly arrived lunch tray and concluded jointly, I wasn't eating enough and they were not providing enough food.  I told her the dietitians knew what they were doing, and I just didn't have enough time to finish, but I would eat. Anyway, her grandson needed to eat first!

Theresa was a whirlwind trying to pass along greetings from Angela and Kevin (who was pretty upset he couldn't come), asking me lots of questions while trying to find space for the things they brought.

Twenty minutes turned out to be more than enough.

Hours Old and Years Older

"Baby" and I survived the night.  It sounds melodramatic, but it was a feat.

At 8 PM visitor hours ended and Paul had to go.  I was still groggy when the nurse told me a private room was available (about 8:30 PM? Too bad it wasn't earlier - no visitor hour limits for privates), and the two of us were wheeled away.

Did I fall asleep?  I remember a new nurse taking Baby's vitals and changing him for me.  Then she explained she was going to remove my catheter and help me clean up.  I remember how she helped me wheel the IV stand into the washroom, changed my dressings, and when I was wincing unable to bend, helped me put on my underwear.  I cried -- so grateful she was there it overcame any embarrassment.

Did I fall asleep?  5:30 AM A new nurse was taking Baby's vitals and asking me when I last fed him.  I checked the log: Last night at 11 PM.  HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO GO FOR MORE THAN 3 HOURS BETWEEN FEEDS!  But he didn't cry, he didn't wake up...  YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO WAKE HIM... HE'S PREMATURE AND SMALL... HE CAN'T REGULATE HIS BODY - HE NEEDS TO EAT.  She didn't yell, but her tone was hard and I understood the seriousness of it.

He could he have died from sugar levels dropping too low.  I felt a failure: I didn't remember anyone telling me the 3 hour rule.  Was it in the books? The pamphlets?

I cried at what might have happened.  And then again in relief: when he didn't latch, he took the bottle.

Boy, Oh Baby Boy

I remember moments in the operating room:
- two nurses talking about their weekend
- nurse Heather bracing me for the spinal block

- anaesthetic pain shooting down my right leg
- the operating table tilting to the left

- Dr. T's voice directing the operation 

- Paul looking worried while holding my hand

- tugging and pulling, but no pain

And then, Paul declared we had a baby boy. 

While they stitched me up, they wiped him down, weighed him (right: the Panda Warmer), wrapped him, and then Paul held him to show me.  Paul teared up.  I couldn't feel my legs.  I was mostly in a daze.

Things were even more hazy in the recovery room - I'm not sure if any of my questions made sense:
- Will you do a swab?
- Did you get the cord blood donation form?

At some point, we also found out he's healthy and big enough (again on the cusp) not to need to go to the NICU - such a relief! 

Then there were parts that were just missing my from my memory (others filled me in afterwards):

- Paul left our room for dinner
- The nurses gave us instructions on what we needed to do to take care of the baby
- I left Catherine a "drunk" voice mail

I certainly didn't expect to be so out of it.  But I at least remembered to take a couple pictures (below). Hello, baby boy.

Item 154 to 190

"Day" 18 and 19

Day 18
- 1 Potato masher (where did this even come from?)
- 1 Dell laptop user guide - laptop recycled long ago
- 1 Landscape Idea Book - Greentree catalogue (maybe one day, but not now)
- 2 National Post, Saturday, May 18, 2013 and Tuesday, May 21, 2013 - almost entire issue unread, from our Calgary 1st anniversary trip
- 1 2014 Calendar  "Garden Walk"
- 1 pouch of potpourri
- 1 hooded t-shirt from Celina, white with a cute purple and black cat print - feeling too old to wear this.
- 1 brown long sleeved knit shrug - wishful thinking for the flat stomach to wear it properly
- 1 Chanel t-shirt - at least that's what it says on the label... and across the chest. From Theresa, never worn
- 2 Silk skirts - beautiful colours, kept thinking I could make something beautiful with them... but realistically...
- 1 bottle of facial moisturiser - so old, it's separated
- 1 pair of black, velvet capris - so stylish and cool, but so unflattering for my height
- 1 magazine - Better Homes and Gardens Sep-2010
- 1 Grey argyle wool sweater - so pretty, but never quite fit right
- 1 Eyeglasses / contact lens "Complete Eyeware Case" from Avon
- 1 Babe Faberge fragrance gift set - from the 80s?  Salvaged from my parents house. Oh, the packaging!

Day 19
- 1 tea light holder, Avon "Crusade Tulip"
- 1 pack of 5 scented votive candles
- 1 tulip shaped vase (too many vases, not enough flowers)
- 4 picture frames
- 2 magazines - Bust Feb/Mar 2010 and Family Circle July 2015 (read both on the bus, second one got the attention someone was willing to comment on)
- 1 purse - faux Burberry print (oh, China :P)
- 1 Vogue magazine, September 2013 - Jennifer Lawrence on the cover, but it was Benedict Cumberbatch inside that gave me pause
- 1 Black blazer - New and oh so shiny - too shiny to wear to work
- 1 Red pleather motorcycle jacket - Bye, bye fantasy life
- 3 Blue t-shirts - originally meant for crafting
- 1 pair of jeans - So cool!  But was never flattering
- 1 black plastic catering tray
- 1 Clay pot - an interesting shape for a vase, originally held pickled winter vegetable

It's Complicated or Funny (uh-oh) Valentine's

Yesterday, what started off as being good news ("Your baby is moving a lot... awesome."),
changed with the switch in doctors.

Dr. T.: You need to come back tomorrow for a Doppler ultrasound.
Me: But I have one scheduled Tuesday.
Dr. T.: You need to come back tomorrow.

I felt so deflated.  I thought we were in the clear - things were o.k.  But there we have it, another day of uncertainty.

Turns out I misheard, and the estimated weight of our baby is 1.75 kg (3 lbs 13.7 ounces)

Today, we spent 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. in the hospital, most of it was waiting (either for something to happen or for the duration of the test itself).

Paul tried to keep me entertained.  We read the paper.  And then I started dozing while he programmed.  Then when all that was exhausted, we tried to predict if the number on some readout would change or not.

The results: Baby is active (NST -- Fetal Non-Stress Test -- was again, fine).
Ultrasound doppler, placenta blood flow is good (blood is reaching the baby's brain)...

So we're left with these possibilities for the small size:
1. Baby is just small (constitution)
2. Something else is wrong
   i. I have an infection
   ii. There's a genetic issue

But as the blood flow is good and movement is good, Dr. S (kind and patient in explaining it all to us) told us it's actually better for the baby to stay inside rather than induce.  But at the same time they'll be monitoring progress with an ultrasound and an NST each week (about 3-4 days in between).

She also asked if we wanted to do some genetic testing.  I looked at Paul - what difference would it make at this point in time?  It's something that could be done after birth.  She also said it would likely take weeks for the tests to come back, and so it'll be the same time frame (knowing around time of birth).  Though one benefit, if we knew now, we could avoid the semi-weekly exams as the problem would be explained...

The ultrasound screen said things like GA (Gestational Age) 30 weeks. <1 nbsp="" p="">
Still trying to stay positive. 
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Five hours at the hospital doesn't make for a great Valentine's Day, but we're both trying to stay positive.  We're together, and sticking together to work through this.  Not romantic, but it must be love.
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Not Nesting -- Spring Cleaning

I'd thought I was pretty good with my projects last year... but wow, I'm now seeing all the things I missed.  Need to dust the doors, wash the walls (since Wendy mentioned it, I now think about it)... Paul wants me to ignore it and take it easy: not too much lifting or bending.  But I just can't seem to let it go, it's all seems disgusting (so maybe it is nesting...?)

I can finally see why there are so many things out there with the purpose to cut down on cleaning time -- two afternoons and I've only made a small dent.  Oh, well, it'll be soon time to stop: new year!

Closing the Year with Hot Pot!

Paul gets adventurous: 5 orders of spam!

No, not actually.  But he does go for a Tom Yum soup base.  I am a little less adventurous this time at 97 Hot Pot (I'm not just eating for myself...), but it's still all delicious.

It doesn't feel like that long ago that we were here, but it's been a year.

Again, I didn't like how the individualized pots meant we were focused on what was right in front of us, but it did mean we can customise the food and cooking to exactly how we'd like it. 

This time, I decided to try XO sauce, ginger, cilantro, chili oil, and green onions in my dipping sauce.

Celina's in a medical biology class, and looks more closely at the cooking pots, examining each morsel questioningly.  Yep, learning about all sorts of bugs and parasites can do that.  

I take this as my chance to ask Theresa more about pregnancy (guess I wasn't that curious before).  She apparently gained about 20-25 pounds in each pregnancy.  Also, she breast fed with Celina, but not with Kevin. 

I definitely ate too much and needed to go for a walk to the high street.  It was incredibly warm outside, maybe even disturbingly so...

At home, I'm motivated to clean - sort of.  Spring cleaning for Chinese New Year is traditional after all.  But, I don't get that much done.  So tired.  But still getting rid of things and some dust, so... doing o.k.

Andrew and Sherry (what you can can't prepare for)

It felt good to go over to Andrew and Sherry's to talk about pregnancy and parenting, see it in action, and get some down-to-earth advice. 

We arrived during the sleep routine:
- No TV after 6 p.m.
- Snack and stories start at 6:30 p.m.
- 7 p.m. bed time
- lavender oil to help relax them, and sometimes melatonin drops

But of course, since Paul and I are sooo exciting, after bed time the kids left their beds to peek in on what we were doing. 

Not much really.  We had some food and talked.

I was warned about about some of the judgement that's likely to come:
There will be people looking at the bulge of the diaper and judge: cloth=good, disposable=bad; the bulge of baby's cheeks for muscle development: breastfeeding=good, bottle-fed=bad...

But remember, it doesn't matter.  You'll be doing your best, and that's what matters. 

They talked about strength when things don't go according to plan. 

The funny: thought their first baby would be a girl -- in the delivery room they were rethinking the plan (right, boy scouts instead of girl scouts)

To the truly trying: Beforehand thought the only thing she couldn't cope with was a child in the autistic spectrum. 

How things can escalate to C-Section: Their advice: If you start out with fewer / less intervention(s), there are more things you can do before getting there. Reminder: You have rights. 

"The boys" went then to talk about furnaces :)

Sherry then says she'd be happy to listen to me vent, and be the "appointment" I have when I needed to escape Mom's over attention. 

They are good people.