They shot him.

In the thigh. With a syringe. Containing the immunizations for diphtheria, tetanus, pertusis, polio, Hib and pneumo conjugate.

I have been dreading this day since he was born. DREADING it. I still remember in the hospital, when they took his blood, and he cried, and I scrambled over my bed in my swollen, delirious post-partum state, shoving a meal cart out of the way to get to him. The Hubbs was beside him, holding his hand, but that wasn't enough because he was still crying. And at that stage of our relationship, his crying was the most unbearable sound possible. I maneuvered myself over to him, to the amusement of the evil ladies who delighted in taking newborn blood, and stuck my (clean) finger in his mouth. He quieted immediately. He stopped crying. He sucked my finger and it brought him all the comfort in the world. I get weepy just thinking about the first major crisis we survived together.

I approached his two month shots with the same trepidation. I really didn't want to go. We considered not immunizing our son, but after heavily weighing the pros and cons, decided that our Sweet Baboo will be getting all his vaccines. Some he will be getting on an altered schedule, and some he'll be getting right on time, but he's getting all of them. So when I turned to my husband on the highway on the way to the Dr and said "We're not going", he knew not to take me seriously.

I had heard HORROR stories about baby's first shots. I've heard that the person's baby screamed like they've never screamed before, a horrible, blood curdling, gut-wrenching scream to end all screams. Just thinking about such a sound emaniting from my sweet, sweet baby made my eyes tear up.

Thank God I didn't actually have to endure it. The nurse told me to hold him like I was feeding him so that he would be comfy and secure, and wouldn't get as upset. I thought, why not actually feed him? This kid loves his mommy milk, and I wanted to do what I could to comfort him in his hour of need. I've heard theories that the parent shouldn't hold the baby while he's getting his shots because then he will associate the parent as the cause of the pain. I considered that, but I knew deep down that I just couldn't hand him over and let someone prick him while I stood by, sheilding myself. So I fed him. And she stuck him. And he cried. 

He did not scream a horrible, blood curdling, gut-wrenching scream to end all screams. He cried for two seconds, and then went back to eating. And she stuck him again. Again he cried, then refilled his mouth with boob mere seconds later. He fussed for less than a minute total while I held him and rocked him and told him how proud of him I am. My husband kissed him and told him what a brave boy he is.

 

He really is. He is such a little trooper, and I couldn't be prouder of him for taking it like a man (or woman. I don't descriminate).

On the way back from the doctor we stopped off at a store to get some more tile for redoing the kitchen floor. He was fine for the first while, but The Hubbs took FOREVER, and eventually he started to whimper, then cry. I tried to soothe him with his pacifier, but that didn't work, and so I wound up having to unsnap him from his carseat and hold him. He quieted immediately. I love the fact that I can calm him instantly just by holding him--that I've been able to do that since the day he was born. He knows who his mommy is.

When The Hubbs FINALLY returned from the store lugging two heavy boxes of tile, I had to slip Our Sweet Baboo back into his carseat. He was NOT impressed, but when the car started the motion lulled him to sleep and he slept like an angel while we drove, grocery shopped, and drove back home. He woke up right as we walked through the door, and lay giggling on the couch with my husband, totally forgetting why there are one blue and one red band-aid on his thighs.

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Driven to Drink

Trying to get this kid to sleep is driving me to drink. Unfortunately, my breast milk makes it impossible for me to do any real damage.

That is all.

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Bed, Bath and Beyond

My son is seven weeks old today, and we decided last night that its time to start a bedtime routine for him. He's been sleeping in our bed most of the time since we had him, since its the best way for all of us to actually get some sleep, but sad to say thus far his "bedtime routine" has consisted of falling asleep tucked in beside him mom while Hubby and I watch a DVD. Disgraceful, I know.

Anyway, in honour of trying to reclaim some semblance of normalcy, Hubby and I have been having Baboo start out in his own bassinet at the start of the night so we can still have some time to ourselves to cuddle, and then when he wakes up to eat for the first time he comes to sleep with me and I move to the foot of the bed. I know, it's weird, but safe bedsharing guidelines dictate that he not be anywhere near any furniture he could get wedged in between, and I'll be damned if I'm getting rid of my antique night tables. So baboo and I sleep at the foot of the bed for the rest of the night. It's actually the best of both worlds. I get my time in with my husband, and sweet snuggles from my son.

I never understood bedsharing until I actually had a baby of my own. I just thought the parents were weak and couldn't say no to their child, but now I understand that it's actually totally wonderful and natural to have your baby beside you at night. Seems natural to me, anyway. And that way I can feed him without either of us having to wake up fully. Plus, I'm neurotic, and instead of having to sit up in bed and strain to check on him all night to make sure he's okay, I just have to open my eyes to know that he's fine.

Anyway, this turned into a testimonial on bedsharing, which it wasn't meant to be. I was going to talk about our new bedtime routine.

First our Sweet Baboo and I take a bath (I wear a bathing suit, apparently I'm shy), then we put on the Beatles' lullaby CD and do infant massage, then I swaddle him and offer him some milk, which he will always take because he's always hungry. After he eats I rock him to sleep and recite Good Night Moon, then stick his pacifier in his mouth if he'll take it (he won't always) and then put him in his bassinet. He's sleeping peacefully as I type, which is kind of a surprise. Last night his pacifier kept falling out of his mouth and he kept waking up and fussing til I put it back in. I'm surprised his eyes didn't pop open as soon as I put him down. Must be the full moon.

It's such a romantic night out there, but unfortunately I still have not been cleared by my doctor for sex. I'd ask the hubby to sit on the balcony with me and have a glass of wine, but we just moved and our patio furniture is still in my parents' basement.

So instead I'll sweep the house, which is ripe with dust bunnies while my adorable but goofy husband laughs uproariously at a Seinfeld episode we borrowed from the library. Yep, the full moon had inspired some WILD behaviour in this household.

The pictures in tonight's blog post are of our bath, my sweetie sleeping adorably in his bassinet, and the full moon as I see it from our balcony. Enjoy.

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My love affair with a breast pump

Yesterday was my third wedding anniversary, our first with a child. The most action I got was from a breast pump.

We planned on going to dinner and a movie. Nothing spectacular, but more than we've done in awhile, since we have a six-week-old and are student working poor.

My mother was going to baby-sit. I was going to shower and put on make-up. My hubby was going to shave and change out of the spit-up covered jeans he'd been wearing for three days. It was to be a momentous occasion indeed. We'd miss the baby, but a movie about marginalized aliens on earth would take our mind off it and bring back that lovin' feeling.

Then my mother had a nervous break-down.
It was a couple of weeks ago. She and my father had just had the most stressful move in the history of the world. The money almost didn't come through for the down payment, he was working round the clock and not around to help her with any of the logistics, they almost lost the house twice and the one they were living in was promised to someone else. It was literally the day before they were about the be homeless that the money came through.

Then there was the matter of my husband and I, who'd been living in the basement apartment of their house since before our Sweet Baboo was born, finally moving out and getting an apartment of our own. It is great for us to be out of there. When we got married we lived across the country from my parents, and everything was at a nice comfortable distance. While I missed my mom, I was overjoyed to be nowhere near her husband (my father) and could take or leave my sister. But my husband and I had terrible luck, and after struggling for a couple years we decided to take my parents' offer of their basement and try to get back on track. That definitely didn't go as planned, but that's a story for another day. What I was getting at is that hubby and I taking our baby and moving two towns over (all the towns here pretty much sprawl together, so its not as bad as it sounds) took a toll on her too. I don't know that she missed hubby or I, but she definitely missed Baboo.

Then's the issue of her chronic illness, which keeps her from getting a decent sleep and has her in constant pain throughout the day. And her troubled joke of a relationship with my father, that probably should have been over before it began. (True story, also for another day.) All of these stressors plus her history of depression and she wound up in the hospital. In another post I'll tell you all about that scary night when she went into full-on diagnosed psychosis, but for now I will selfishly focus on how it affected our anniversary.

My mom is much better. She was in the hospital for four or five scary days, then made a dramatic recovery and was released. She is functioning normally now, chatting non-stop like her old self, driving herself to appointments and events, and showering her first grandbaby with love. But I am just not comfortable leaving him alone with her yet. What if there was a relapse and it happened again? I shudder to think about what might happen to my sweet, sweet son, and no movie and overpriced but oh-so-delicious steak from The Keg is worth the risk.

Sad to say, I don't know when we'll be comfortable leaving him alone with her again. It could happen any time. . .Of course, we can't tell her that's why. It would crush her, and I won't be responsible for breaking a grandma's heart. I did ask my sister if she would be there the next time my mom baby-sits. I told her it was because I didn't want to tire her out, I didn't want to play the nervous break-down card. She said she will. She's going to check her work schedule (she just got back from Europe and today's her first day back at work), and let me know when she can "help" my mom baby-sit so that hubby and I can take a rain check on the movie. I don't know when or why life became so complicated, but I'm glad my sister is there to help us, and I'm glad she was there to call and tell us what was going on the night my mom wound up in the hospital.

This is why I want my son to have a sibling. My hubby is so not on board--but that's a story for another day.

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