The Moment

December 29th, 2009 . Posted in Sprout | Comments
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My coworker came in after having been out for a week on paternity leave.  He was a nice guy, but one who had taken a job with a scope of responsibility that was much bigger, broader, and nastier than what had been presented to him in the interview.  Because of this, I would only know him for five months, but our conversation that morning would remain with me to this very day.

“Is it normal,” he asked, “to not feel any connection with your baby?”

Having no children of my own at the time, I told him that I really wasn’t qualified to answer the question.  He seemed genuinely worried, and I felt bad for him.  From the little that I knew of him, based mainly on his hushed, frustrated telephone conversations with his wife, I would have guessed that he agreed to have a child just to keep the peace.  He seemed to be the type of husband who, by default, always agreed to everything.  The job was not a good fit for him, and he soon left the company after several weeks of making a go of it.

I recalled this conversation shortly after we learned that we were going to be parents.  After doing some research, since I was now very much invested in knowing the answer to my coworker’s question, I found that it’s actually not that uncommon for one or both parents to feel some sort of disconnect with the baby at first.  Sometimes a bond happens right away, and sometimes it takes a while – but the parenting instinct does kick in eventually, so it’s not anything to add to the worry pile.

With this in mind, I was fully prepared for either outcome when the Sprout was born.  For sure, both my wife and I were more than ready to get past the pregnancy part and start the parenting phase, but I really feel that both of us regarded the moment of birth as a big step into The Great Unknown.

The C-section took all of 20 minutes or so, after hours and hours of being in the hospital – we checked in on Monday night, labor was induced Tuesday morning, we waited all day on Tuesday until, finally, the doctor made the decision to deliver via C-section at 11pm.  It would still be another hour or so before everything, and everyone, was prepped and ready to go.  By the time we headed to the operating room, midnight had passed and we had entered our third day of being in the hospital.

I stayed on one side of the curtain and sat on a stool, with my wife on the table in front of me and the anesthesiologist beside me.  I won’t lie – it was a scary, scary scene, made better only by the fact that we had complete faith and trust in the doctor.  In all, it only took 20 minutes from beginning to end.  When our baby was delivered, the anesthesiologist pressed me to pop my head up to take a look.  After some prodding, I peeked over the curtain and, across the room, I saw our daughter laying on a heating pad, her eyes open wide, her head sweeping the room from side to side, the grayness of her skin slowly being taken over by pink as her first intake of air made its way through her body.  It felt great to see her for the first time, but it was not The Moment.  She was too far away, a small form in a large and empty space. I may have made a remark to my wife that the baby was fine, and looked healthy and strong.

Then, the nurses bundled the Sprout up in a stock hospital blanket, put a little hat on her, and carried her around the curtain to present her to my wife for the first time.  My wife, upon seeing the Sprout for the first time ever, burst into tears, told her that she loved her, and kissed her on the temple.  It was, at that moment, an instant bond for both of us.

This was The Moment, and is the best thing that I have ever witnessed in my lifetime.  It is the gem that I keep in my heart, the one that I call on when the storm clouds gather and the night is dark.  It comforts me and assures me that, no matter what else happens in this world, there will always be promise and hope and good that I can reach out and touch with my own hands.

The Quickest Month

November 9th, 2009 . Posted in Letters, Sprout | Comments
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Dear Georgiana,

You are a little over a month old now! Your Mom and I continue to find out
new things about you, and it’s a delight to watch you grow into your new world.

Before we met you, everyone told us that children “grow up so fast”, and now I understand what that means. Looking at the videos that we took when you were still in the hospital, you were so small – today, you already look different. Your face is fuller, and you’ve definitely gained a healthy amount of weight. You’ve also lost some hair, which is puzzling, but we have been assured that it will grow back. I still feel like I’m not taking enough pictures.

You will never be this small again.

I see such a curiosity in your face, and it is a joy to behold. You want
to look around so badly, and your body and muscles have yet to catch up
with your intents. But these days are short, and your wish is right around
the corner – you’ve almost mastered holding your own head up, which is
something the rest of us take for granted until we see you fussing in
frustration that you cannot. Wait till you start walking – it’s quite a blast.

In the universe of newborns, you’ve taken it pretty easy on us so far. You
now sleep at night up to 5 hours at a time, meaning we only need to get up
to feed and change you once. We’ve even taken you out a few times, although you won’t remember a thing about them, and you did just fine out
in the world.

I can’t believe that, in just a few months, you’ll be crawling. Right now,
we kind of take it as a given that you will stay put wherever we set you
down. That’ll change soon enough.

Love,

Your Dad

Learning Experiences, Numbers One and Two

October 30th, 2009 . Posted in Sprout | Comments
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This past weekend, we decided to take the Sprout on a little road trip out
for lunch in Bucks County, which is a little over an hour away. We got out
our diaper bag, and proceeded to pack it with all of the essentials – three
bottles of formula, a bottle of water, a stack of diapers, and wipes.
Everything was neatly stowed and easily accessible, and we loaded the baby into the car seat, and loaded baby + car seat into the car and set off.

You can pretty much predict what happened next. As we accelerated onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike, around the halfway point of our trip, we realized that the diaper bag was still sitting on the kitchen table.

Lesson Number One: A well packed diaper bag is essential, but even more
critical is remembering to take it with you.

We ended up stopping at a supermarket and creating an ad hoc setup consisting of a plastic grocery bag full of purchased formula, bottles, and diapers. Everything that we needed, or so we thought.

Lesson Number Two is actually a corollary to Lesson Number One. After
lunch, we decided that it would be a good idea to put the Sprout into a
fresh diaper before hitting the road. Bear in mind that we were using a
brand of diapers other than that which we had grown accustomed – so it was
a shock and surprise when we discovered that the Sprout’s newly purchased diaper had leaked all over the ONE outfit that we had with us. And since we were in Bucks County, where townhomes typically cost over a million dollars, the nearest children’s clothing shop was very happy and willing to sell us a onesie, for $35.

Lesson Number Two: Pack a change of clothing. In fact, pack a couple of
changes.

Other than these two things, we haven’t had many other hiccups. Things are
going well, and we are very fortunate that the Sprout is not fussy, other
than those times when she needs feeding, a diaper change, or that
once-a-day early evening discontent that lasts for about a half hour.
Given the stories I’ve heard, I’m thankful for what we have.

Our Little Bag of Sugar

October 16th, 2009 . Posted in Letters | Comments

October 16, 2009

Dear Georgiana,

As I write this, you are now a little over a week old, and have been living with us at home since Saturday afternoon.  When you were first born, you weighed 5lb 3oz, and at the time that you were released from the hospital, you had lost 2oz and weighed 5lb 1oz, or a tiny smidge more than a bag of sugar.  Even in this short time together, we’ve grown to know so much more about you.

Looking back at the pictures from your first day in this world, I can already see you growing, and it is only now that I understand when people tell me that kids grow up too fast.  You are only going to be this small once, and not for very long – no matter how many pictures I take, I still never think they’re enough.  When you had your first doctor’s visit on Wednesday, she said that everything about you was just fine, and you actually gained weight.  As your mother likes to say, you gained a cheeseburger – which is to say you put on 1/4 lb since leaving the hospital.

We’re growing accustomed to the person that is you.  You get the hiccups, like a lot.  You don’t seem to mind them, and for us it’s quite entertaining.  You also sneeze quite a bit, which we are told is completely normal, and right now your skin is very flaky, which we are also told is normal.  We have a dozen pacifiers, but your favorite ones are the ones from the hospital.

Speaking of which, none of the clothing that we have for you fits because you are a bag of sugar.  When you wear sleeves, your fists end where the elbows would normally go.  You disappear in most every outfit.

I know that you wouldn’t know this, but for a baby, you are remarkably unfussy.  You cry when you are hungry, or when you need a fresh diaper, but other than that, you are a quiet one who sleeps much of the day.  You wake up once or twice during the night for feeding and changing, but so far you’ve demonstrated none of the stereotypical traits that make everyone tell us that we won’t get any sleep.  I love that you love your mother on such a deep level, and nothing makes me happier than to see you snuggled up on your mom’s chest, asleep.

D

The First Night

October 12th, 2009 . Posted in Sprout | Comments
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Following Georgiana’s birth in the early morning hours on Wednesday, mother and baby were discharged from the hospital on Saturday afternoon.  After having driven with the car seat installed and ready to go for a couple of weeks now, it was satisfying to finally be able to put it to its intended use.

The Sprout is a joy to behold, and surprisingly unfussy.  She slept most of the day away, waking only to be fed and changed.  It was with an equal sense of dread and anticipation that bedtime came, and we faced our first night with a newborn in the house.

The first few hours were predictably chaotic.  She started crying and would not stop, except for a few brief moments that only served to provide us with a false sense of relief.  My wife held her and walked around the room for a bit, then I did the same to no avail.  The Sprout’s grandmother took over from there, and at that point, with the baby’s crying muffled by virtue of being at the other end of the house, I fell asleep.  Having heard all of the “lack of sleep” stories from parents who are older and wiser than we are, none of this was a surprise to us.

Because the Sprout is small, and because the C-section required that my wife take pain meds on a regular schedule, I had set the alarm to go off in the middle of the night.  When that time came, I reached across the bed to find emptiness where my wife should have been, and in my sleepy stupor it barely registered with me that I didn’t hear the baby crying.  I fell back asleep.

Four hours later, I woke up again to find that nothing had changed.  My wife had not come back to bed, and the baby was not in the Pack-n-Play that we had set up in the bedroom.  Out of a growing sense of concern, I looked in the nursery, which was empty.  I went downstairs.

My wife was lying on the couch, with the Sprout safely snuggled on her chest, asleep.  She told me that, after the baby would not settle, she came downstairs with her so as not to disturb the rest of the house, placed the baby on her chest, and soon after discovered that the kid had fallen fast asleep, with the soothing sound of her mother’s heartbeat in her ear.

As I write this, we’ve just crossed the third night with the baby, and everything is going smoothly.  My wife sets the Sprout on her chest until she falls asleep, then eases her into a small travel bassinet by her side of the bed.  At some point during the night, either the baby will stir awake, or my wife will wake her for feeding and a diaper change.  Other than that, everyone has experienced smooth sailing straight on until morning.

We remain cautiously optimistic.

The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

October 7th, 2009 . Posted in Letters | Comments
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October 7, 2009

Dear Georgiana,

You were born this morning.  As I write this, you’re coming up on the end of your very first complete day of your entire lifetime.  I do hope that you’re enjoying it so far – it gets more interesting, I promise.  Life is more than hospital rooms and tests and poking and prodding.  There are kites, for example, and bird feeders, and model rockets, and computers that fit in the palm of your hand.  I’ll explain each of these to you as you get older.  Then, as I get older, I expect you to explain them to me.

If anyone had asked me just a few days ago, I would have very likely told them that you would have been born yesterday, but your birth had its own schedule to keep.  Your mom and I checked into the hospital on Monday night, with the complete expectation that you would be born sometime on Tuesday.  By 11pm on Tuesday, when it looked like you would never arrive by yourself, the doctor decided that a C-section would be the best way to go.  And, at 12:23am this morning, you were born.

In the weeks leading up to today, your mom and I had tried very hard to picture what you would look like, and we weren’t very good at doing that.  We had fuzzy images of you before you were born, and they were really only good for figuring out how big you were.  We met you for the first time when the nurse brought you to us in the operating room – you’re smaller than we expected, but bigger than we had ever hoped.  Does that make sense?

Even though the both of us were exhausted from being in the hospital for so long, seeing you was like the dawn of a new day.  I remember the first breath you took, and the first time I heard you cry.  I remember the look on your mom’s face when she saw you for the very first time.  I remember walking with you as the nurse wheeled you down the dark and empty hospital corridors back to our room.

Since you were born this morning, so much has happened that I’ve only managed to sleep for three hours.  I’m at home for tonight, which you will see for yourself very soon, and within the next few minutes I will be asleep.  Knowing that you’ve arrived safely, though, is going to give me the best rest I’ve had in a very long time.  I want you to know that you were so very much worth the wait.

D

Happy. Birth. Day.

October 7th, 2009 . Posted in Sprout | Comments

Well.  That was a hell of a thing.

Georgiana, 5lb 3oz, born October 7, 2009 at 12:23am

Checking In

October 5th, 2009 . Posted in Pre-Parenting | Comments
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We are in the hospital room.

The registration process went very smoothly.  In fact, everything about tonight has gone more smoothly than I could have ever anticipated.  We had a light dinner about a half mile up the road from the hospital, parked the car in the deck, and strolled into the maternity ward at precisely the time we were told to arrive.

After checking in, we were shown to our room, a very large private room at the end of the hall, with its own private bathroom and shower, a nursing rocker, and this foldout chair/bed contraption that I’m now sitting on, tapping away at my keyboard.  The whole experience has had the air of checking into a hotel more than a hospital.

They’ve started the Cervidil tonight, and at some point tomorrow morning, they’ll induce labor.  For now, I’m going to settle into this stiff, but oddly comfortable, foldout chair and try to get some sleep.

Four Days Hence

October 2nd, 2009 . Posted in Pre-Parenting | Comments

It was a strange feeling when, in the grocery store, I picked up a pint of half and half that had an expiration date later than the delivery date for the baby.

That was two weeks ago.  Now, it’s going to happen in a matter of days.

We’re checking into the hospital on Monday evening, and labor will be induced on Tuesday.  Four days from now, we will be parents.

How are we feeling?  The spectrum is wide and includes excitement, anxiety, impatience, and sometimes an utter calm that shocks me with how quiet and blissful it can be.  I look at our pictures in iPhoto, and wonder at what’s to come.  In a matter of days, there will be a new set of photos showing a new face – this whole new person – that today we still have yet to meet, and as hard as I try to imagine what it will be like, I always end up pulling a blank.  We’ve only known her as a fuzzy black-and-white image on a monitor, a line on a heartrate monitor, a steady thump of a beat on a sonogram.

I’m looking forward to launching into this new chapter.  I just wish life had a fast-forward button for moments like these.

Seat Backs and Tray Tables

September 18th, 2009 . Posted in Pre-Parenting, Sprout | Comments
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If this pregnancy were an airliner, we’d be firmly planted in our seats, with our seat backs and tray tables in their upright and locked positions.  The ‘Fasten Seatbelts’ sign would be illuminated, and you would be able to look out of the window and see the tiny cars, houses, and stores dotting the landscape.

Every airline flight, though, experiences a little bit of turbulence, and, if you’ve never flown before, every little bump and shake can make it seem as if the plane’s going to fall out of the sky at any moment.  Your only reassurance comes when you look out of your window and can see solid ground again, and realize that your trip is coming to an end – except for the landing.  You grip your armrest and pray that the flight lands safely and taxis to the gate, where you’ll finally be able to get off the plane and start to relax a little.

This is exactly what pregnancy is like.

Ever since we first found out about the pregnancy, we’ve had our share of anxious moments, which I’m fairly certain is normal for everyone in our position.  Here’s the latest one.

About a week ago, we had a scare where the doctors raised the possibility that the baby would have to be born this week, via C-section.

My wife undergoes non-stress tests twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays, which also includes a measurement of amniotic fluid level using ultrasound.  The medical center was closed on Labor Day, so she had to go in the following day – which saw such a backlog of patients for monitoring that her ultrasound was performed by someone other than her regular tech.  The woman who had performed the measurement was a bit unsure of the operation of the machine, but seemed to get her bearings soon after.  The amniotic fluid, which had measured in previous sessions at nines and tens, came in at six.  Six is not good.

It’s never a good thing when the doctor’s office calls and wants to see you the day after a test.  That’s exactly what happened.

When we met with the doctor the next day, he said that, as a result of the low fluid measurement, we’d have to prepare ourselves for the possibility of a 37th week delivery via C-section – two things that we wanted to avoid at all costs.  To add to the frustration, we did not get another fluid measurement that day – we would have to wait until the next day before another test would be performed.  We had set aside work so that we could come in for a five minute consultation with the doctor, with no test.  Balls.

That day and night, I was filled with dread and anxiety.  Amniotic fluid levels are supposed to decline as the pregnancy enters its final weeks, but not as precipitously as this.  I researched the causes of low amniotic fluid – while there were more serious causes, I found that hydration could also be a contributing factor.  As a precautionary measure, my wife increased her intake of water, which was all we could do.

On Thursday, we went to the testing center and, after the non-stress test, went into the ultrasound room.  The tech was really nice and chatty (as they all seem to be) and, after measuring the four quadrants of fluid, announced the total – eleven.

I kept repeating it to myself after she said it – eleven, eleven, eleven – completely on track.  Completely normal.  Completely within the range of what we had seen for the previous five weeks.  Everything was fine.

We still don’t know if the first tech had just messed up the calculations, or if hydration was an issue, but since that day we’ve had nothing but readings in the tens and elevens, and are happy as hell about it.  The baby is showing excellent movement, and her heart rate is doing all of the things that we’re told it’s supposed to be doing.

And if I squint my eyes just so, I can almost see the runway coming up.

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