Archive for September 19th, 2008

Many folks mentioned that breast feeding was going to be a challenge, so I expected it.  What I didn’t expect was the horror of finding blood (from me) in my daughter’s spit up.  The initial challenge of latch presented itself, and most of the time, I think that we’re doing okay.  However, after two nights of epic feeding sessions to try to get her to sleep (i.e. two hours of 20 minutes of feeding, lay her down, she screams, I feed her again, rinse & repeat) I decided that I needed to get some suggestions from veteran Moms.

We drove up to North Raleigh this morning and met in an Episcopal church’s nursery discussing the benefits of breastfeeding and then any questions from the group.  I was very reassured that as long as she’s having sufficient wet/dirty diapers that means that she’s eating enough.  I was also reassured that when they say that she should have 3 bowel movements a day that anything in her diaper the size of a quarter or larger counts.

All in all it was useful to find out that I shouldn’t try pumping until she’s 6 weeks old in order to avoid nipple confusion.  They even referred me to a group of nursing Moms who work and meet in the evenings.  I hope that the reassurances that I got today that just because there is initial discomfort when she latches doesn’t mean that we’re ‘doing it wrong’.  I look forward to the time when we’ve got a few weeks under our belt and she’s gaining steadily and there are no more tears during latch & I know that she’s getting what she needs from me.  ‘Cause there is nothing more sweet in this world than her deep blue eyes staring up at me as she nurses and makes her sweet contented baby noises.


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Multiple Hull Breach

So, Erin and I wake up this morning, and Erin mentions that Grace needs a new diaper.  Okay, I can handle that.  I picked her up, carried her over to the nursery changing table, and started the process of changing.  I always first inspect to confirm status.  Rather than stick any fingers anywhere (as it’s been suggested I do), I take the extra time to take the diaper off and peek.

Okay, soiled diaper.  The kind that takes more time to clean up.  No problem.  We’re both getting used to this.   I get the wipes to clean things up before replacement.  I hold her ankles in the air to lift her, wipe everything clean (front to back, of course), I drop the wipe in the soiled diaper, and I place it aside.

Usually, I have the clean diaper in reach, so I can immediately wrap her up.  I hadn’t this time, and the stash was empty.  (Before chastising me for lack of preparation, remember this is early in the morning.  Cut me some slack.)  I continue holding her ankles in the air while I lean over and fumble in the drawers.  After glancing down to find one, I look back and suddenly notice this pool of pee surging across the changing table.  Ugh.  Double trouble.  I swear she smiled at me.

For those who haven’t done this, changing a diaper in mid pee isn’t too easy.  It’s already too late to whisk her to a towel.  Of course, you don’t want to patch the flood.  Urgent pleas and profanity wouldn’t work.  Yelling STOP wouldn’t help.  All you can do is watch and wait.  – Ahh, the fountain of youth.

At this point, the changing table is soaked.  My hands are warm and wet.  The baby is crying big time.  I dropped the diaper out of reach.  I need to clean her bottom again, so she won’t get a rash.  Could things get worse?

Yes, they can.

You know how I mentioned Grace was crying?  Well, screaming and kicking actually.  Thank goodness she stopped.  Back to calm baby noises.  Gurgle, hum, gurgle.  “Good girl.  Let Daddy change your diaper now.  Okay, loop around the leg, fasten the left side, wrap the right side.  How you doing otherwise this morning, Sunshine?”  — COUGH, COUGH, VOMIT!

Oh, great.  Seriously, how can a person this small manage to spew three times in a matter of minutes?  Through every means possible, she’s successfully wet her pajamas, her britches, the changing table, and her Daddy.  Multiple hull breach.  A true three point shot.

What now?  Okay, first lift her to make sure the vomit doesn’t choke her.  She’s fine.  Her windpipe is definitely clear, a process facilitated by her yelling and screaming.   Next, wipe her — all over.  Dribble is rolling off her cheek and gosh knows what’s happening down low.  Procure and administer some dryness.  I somehow take comfort knowing that she’s out of ammo.

Erin says that she smells a blog post.  I imagine that’s not all she smells.  Thanks for reading.  Parents, I’m betting that you’ve had an experience similar to this.  Perhaps not as rich.  My mom tells me that projectile vomiting adds another dimension to this.  Oh, great.  That’ll give me something else to share with you.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to do some laundry.

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