a little update on me: I am feeling more normal this morning… but still feel like I’ve had the flu for a week or so. No spikes in fever and my heart rate has normalized. My sweet doc informed me this morning that I met septic criteria yesterday and was SO happy I came in yesterday. I’ve been pumping every 2 hours throughout the night and getting about 5 oz per pumping, which seems a little less than normal at home, but still ok. I finally have a little appetite (probably why I am less then my pre-preg weight already, hate me if you want, but this isn’t a fun way to drop 20 pounds in a week). The last I heard from my hubby, at 2:33am, he was terrified to go to sleep, even though the baby was sleeping peacefully… this post may tell you a little bit about my husband’s OCD, and from whence it came…
this commercial makes me cry every single time… but the important line, “that first night was a doozy,” fully encompasses our first night home.
Jackson was born at 5 am, and at 8 pm that night he spit-up for the first time. It landed in my husband’s boot. We laughed and it was kinda cute. No biggie. But, as the night went on, he hadn’t had his first BM, and the spitting up became more significant, after every single feeding. I was sending him to the nursery between feedings, because I hadn’t slept for two days, at least. He was a champion breastfeeder from the first latch (that’s why I love a full term baby!), and I knew I had tons of colostrum, as I had been leaking it at some capacity since about 20 weeks gestation. We were rockin’ that side of things. The new spitting, and the no pooping was yet to be alarming, because I knew both were definitely still on the spectrum of normal. And, in the middle of the night, he began pooping and peeing regularly (every poop was in the nursery, no meconium clean-up for mommy or daddy, good baby!). His spit up was bright yellow, obviously colostrum. The nurse gavaged his belly, got 50cc of air out, and we figured that would help, but not really. OK, so I have a spitty baby… (remember my 30 burp cloths? Not such over-kill now, right??) My nurse brain was still working at 95%, my new mommy brain wasn’t quite caught up, so since he wasn’t acting like he was in pain with the spit-up, he was poo’ing and peeing, and he was getting gobs of colostrum that he was gulping down; he was just normal for the situation.
the goofy blue sleeper is the hospital’s by the way. I couldn’t wait to dress him in our cute stuff from home!
His space-age EEG cap for the SafePassage research sleep study. Poor kid has a research nerd for a mom. He slept right through the whole thing.
Enter the next day: the pediatrician came in to talk to us about circ’ing him. I should have known when he listed “death” as a possible complication of circumcision that this man was a little “over-kill” but whatever. After the circ, he stopped back, said it went fine, but that he was concerned about the spitting because it was bright yellow, and he couldn’t rule out bilious fluid, but that the nurses in the nursery reassured him that I was a capable, competent person who would be vigilant about any sign of problem. (which, in nurse brain, totally true, I think). So, while he had originally wanted us to stay another night, he was going to let us leave. YAY, right? I wanted out of there at about 12 hours, so I would have been really mad to have to stay 48+ hours (I think this stems somewhere from working in a hospital, the less time there when not being paid, the better!). We completed all necessary discharge paperwork and hoopla, including the research sleep study for the study that I had been participating in since 20 weeks of pregnancy, SafePassage. We dressed him in his first little outfit for home, and I kept praying he wouldn’t burp up bright yellow all over it until we’d taken a few pictures. So, we were discharged at about 30 hours.
The first afternoon home we had lots of visitors, and I was on a proud momma high. I was exhausted, but I was enjoying every minute with Jackson at home. It’s what I had been waiting for, for literally years. We finally had our baby in our house. I knew I should try to nap, but I just couldn’t. I was too happy and proud and excited.
That night, the spitting up continued. And he’d only had one poopy diaper for me, and he hadn’t peed since his circ. Jesse went to sleep, a proud papa. And suddenly, my nurse brain got turned down to 50% and my new-momma brain got cranked up to 110%. I just stared at him. I couldn’t close my eyes, I nursed him, and he would fight burping, and he would spit up… gobs of yellow. Pretty soon, I started to have a mini-mental breakdown. What if the pediatrician was right? What if it is bilious emesis? What if he had a volvus? (see, still 50% nurse brain going on here) What if his circ got botched and he can’t pee? (that doesn’t happen, really) Why isn’t he pooping more?
And then it got worse. I started to panic that if I fell asleep, he would quit breathing. I had images of him dying. I was getting freaking delirious. And Jesse was asleep, bless his heart, because one of us needed to sleep. I really wanted to pump to prove to myself that what he was spitting up was exactly what he was drinking down, but I hadn’t opened the pump before now, and stupid me, read the booklet of directions. I’ve set up a thousand of the exact same pumps in the hospital for new moms. We never boiled/sanitized the parts first. No one died. BUT I WAS DETERMINED I HAD TO SANITIZE THAT SHIT. And I couldn’t leave my baby’s side long enough to boil pump parts, so I couldn’t pump. The vicious circle just perpetuated.
At 5 am I got up and started to cry the moment my sister in law asked how the night went. My son, my perfect baby, was peacefully sleeping and I had managed to not cry until that moment. I woke up my mom, handed her a sleeping baby, and boiled those damn parts. I pumped beautiful liquid gold and breathed a sigh of relief. Jackson peed. And pood.
And I finally crawled into bed, where it took me forever to fall asleep, because my brain, both mom and nurse halves, was on fire.
That was our first night. A doozy. And after I regaled the tale to my husband later that day, he developed a case of the “what if my baby spits up and breathes it in” OCD ever (maybe naivety is better in some situations). So his second night was a doozy, too. Goes to show, no matter how intelligent and rational you are in real life, in new parenthood, you are stupid. You cannot make sense. But you learn. You pray to whatever force you feel will help. And you trust. Because, the sun comes up, and it is worth it.