Sick baby

My poor dumpling is running a fever this evening. It’s the first time he’s ever run a fever and, while I rationally know what to do/look out for, I am worried. Luffy and I are both worried. 

My poor baby. 

We’ve been having quite the week – sleep wise. He’s been so proud of his new found crawling skills that he seemed to want to practice it all the time. Naps were fine, but bedtime? No sir, he did NOT want. No thank you. Good day sir. I SAID GOOD DAY. 

Bedtime protests and shenanigans, we had it all. On Wednesday, we made the mistake of giving him a nap too late (never been a problem before, mind you, but he’s transitioning from three naps to two). He refused to even entertain the idea of sleep until 10pm. Luffy went to bed at 9:30, for comparison purposes. Last night, we put him down for bed, only to look at the monitor and find him pitifully howling, sitting upright in his crib. Lay back down, baby, I wanted to say, but, of course, you can’t reason with infants. Around 12:30 last night, I was woken up by more howling and found the dumpling, yet again, fully upright. After calming him down, he randomly stayed awake for at least two hours – I lost track. He wasn’t upset; he was just chatting with himself. I dozed, checking on him on and off, until I finally found him asleep again around 3am. 

So when he was tired today, we figured it was just because he had a two hour crib party last night. Then, he developed a bit of a cough and what sounded like some chest congestion. We watched him closely, but other than the fatigue and slight cough, he seemed ok. Right before bed, Luffy took his temperature again: 102.9. Officially a fever. We took his jammies off under his zippadee zip and gave him a dosing of Tylenol. He’s sleeping now, but I worry. A momma’s job, I suppose. I’m sure he’s ok, but still. My poor dumpling. 

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Never fear!

It was negative. Whew.

My original speculation was correct – hormonal weirdness – anovulation – Clomid to conceive hypothetical second baby. Check – check – check.

And that’s all we’ll say on the matter, moving on.


I’m taking the dumpling in to the pediatrician’s office this morning to have his iron levels rechecked. I, um, am not very optimistic that his levels are going to be any better than they were last time. He has thwarted me in all attempts at getting that stupid supplement into his mouth and down the hatch. He even hated the smoothie I made for him — with banana! One of his favorites!! I plan on asking for tips because I am tapped out.


I got bangs! Again! Woo!

To explain, I had bangs all through college basically. I think I look pretty good with bangs (I have a long, empty forehead and my hair just sort of naturally seems suited for bangs). Anyway, had them for a while and then decided to grow them out for our wedding. (I had a birdcage veil and thought that the line of the short veil plus the line of my bangs wasn’t a great combination. Plus, we all know that bangs are a wildcard and, on a day that they needed to be absolutely perfect [I did my own hair], I didn’t want to risk it.) (Parenthesis!!) So I grew them out and that, of course, took forever. So then I thought I needed to stick with the no-bangs look for a while and then I got tired of it and chopped my hair off again.

And now that I write that out, it’s not at all as interesting as it is in my head, so I’m sorry about that. But I’ll leave it because the dumpling is waking up and it’s time to head to the pediatrician’s office! Happy Friday!

What a week!

Man, it has been a busy and boring week.

That’s kind of the funny part about taking care of a newborn that they don’t really tell you. It’s a tad boring. He eats, he poops, he needs a diaper change, he fights sleep tooth and nail, but then he does sleep. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Roughly every three hours. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

Variances to the routine are usually not pleasant (see gas pains or overtired, cranky baby). We get about half an hour right now of happy alert time, which is fun! I walk him around the house and show him the birds outside. We pet the cat. We get kisses from daddy. Then we go back down for a nap.

My entire day hinges upon how well he naps. You see, when he doesn’t get more than about 14 hours of sleep a day, he is not pleasant. He is cranky and inconsolable and rather screechy, to be honest. It wouldn’t be a problem if he just went to sleep like a reasonable human being. But no. He fights sleep like he’s gonna miss out on something awesome. The dumpling has serious FOMO. Tricks I’ve found so far to put him out (without nursing cause that’s our nighttime secret weapon):

  • White noise – specifically the “in utero” setting of our baby sleep app
  • Vacuuming while wearing him
  • Wearing him in general, although not always cause he again fights me and he’s rather strong for being such a peanut
  • Rocking him at speeds that I think might possibly border on abuse (I mean, the guy really likes it so I don’t know, maybe I’m raising a daredevil)
  • Walks outside, but only on Tuesdays
  • and my ultimate trump card: car rides

I’m very fortunate in that car rides put him to sleep. Thus, when he’s been screaming and fighting his nap for hours and I need a break – into the car we go! Momma gets to drive around in peace (and usually I get to actually drink some water or have a small snack – it’s blissful) and dumpling gets his much needed nap.

We’re slowly figuring him out though, getting a little better at soothing, a little more confident. He’ll be four weeks old tomorrow and officially a month old on Friday. Thanksgiving is going to be pretty low key. My parents are coming in to town. My mom’s actually driving in today because she wants extra newborn snuggles. My dad’s coming in Wednesday. Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, although it will be a little less exciting this year. (My mom and I always bake, for instance, but we probably won’t get to do much of that with the little dumpling hanging around. We also believe in the open-the-wine-at-noon rule for the day, but since I’m nursing around the clock, I should probably not do that.)

Still though. It’s going to be fun. I had a surreal moment yesterday evening. Luffy happened to ask if we needed extra chairs for the day. We both paused and then said no, there were only going to be six of us. And than I stopped and realized that no, there were seven of us. It’s no longer just Luffy and me, party of two – we’ve been upgraded to party of three!

Coming to terms with a c-section

Before we ever got pregnant, Luffy and I discussed adoption. Our attempts at conception hadn’t been going well and we were discussing the alternatives. I told Luffy that, much like he considered having children part of the human experience, I considered being pregnant part of the female’s human experience. And indeed, it has been. I am in awe of my body and what it is capable of creating and handling. My distended abdomen bears no resemblance to my once flat stomach and yet, I know I will get back to that place eventually. My son kicks and moves around inside me and the sensation is so unique, it’s indescribable. The sheer physicality involved in being pregnant – in lugging around 30+ extra pounds each and every day – is astounding.  So that part has been absolutely true, for me at least.

However, I’m nearing the end of my first pregnancy and I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that part of that experience for me, arguably the most important part, will be missing. And not only is it missing from this pregnancy, it’s likely to be missing from the rest of my pregnancies. Which means, as a first timer, that it’s highly likely I will never experience it. I’m talking, of course, about labor and delivery.

As y’all know, my little boy is breech and our attempts at turning him haven’t been successful. A breech baby means an automatic c-section for me. At least, for me with my current doctor. Let’s pause for a second here because every time I come across this scenario in online communities I always see someone do a quick drive-by with a you know you don’t HAVE to have a c-section – you can CHOOSE to have a breech baby vaginally. And that’s true. I could absolutely choose to do that. However, I am not choosing to do that for several reasons. First off, it would mean changing my care provider with mere weeks left in my pregnancy. I am comfortable with and trust my doctor and do not want to go on the hunt for a new doctor with literal days left. Additionally, as many pro-low-intervention people seem to gloss over, there are real risks to delivering a breech baby vaginally. With the head being delivered last, the cervix may not open wide enough. Additionally, it’s difficult for the head to navigate the pelvis when it’s the last to be delivered. One of the biggest risks is cord prolapse, where the umbilical cord is squeezed between the birth canal and the baby, thus depriving the baby of oxygen. This could be a huge problem, especially if the baby gets stuck in the birth canal while the head is being delivered.

So no, I really haven’t considered attempting a vaginal delivery of my little boy. Mostly I am hoping that he has decided to turn head down before the date of the surgery.

And yet, I am also finding it challenging to accept a c-section. As I scroll through my pregnancy apps, with all of their suggestions about how to tell false labor from the real thing and how to manage pain during labor. As I remember my coworker bragging on his wife last year that they were in and out of the hospital in under 36 hours. As I read through others having a hard time getting their desired VBAC. As I read through other women’s birth stories… it all weighs heavy on my heart. Labor is not something I will experience. Luffy will not hold my hand and kiss my forehead and stroke my hair as I labor to bring our child into the world. I will never be able to recount something along the lines of well I had no idea that today would be the day or I felt miserable all day but the contractions just would not get into a steady rhythm!

Instead, Luffy and I will wake up on the morning of Tuesday, October 25th knowing full well that we will be parents by the time the sun sets. I’ll make him breakfast while I fast. We’ll give Jas scratches and treats as she (unknowingly) laps up her last morning as an only child. Then we’ll head to the hospital, completely calm and collected. I’ll be stripped and disinfected and anesthetized. Luffy will scrub up. I’ll lay prone and bare on a table as my doctor surgically removes my son from my womb.

It feels so clinical, in comparison to the primal and natural process of vaginal delivery, and I am sad that a vaginal delivery is not in the cards for me.

However, there are pros and cons to both sides (as I keep telling myself and anyone who will listen – oh look you!). For instance, in that little scenario I played out above, my mom will be in town because she knows exactly when to expect Little Dumpling to arrive. In this scenario, my son has a much better chance at arriving safely, of course, but it’s also somewhat safer for me (even with all of the complications involved with a major surgery). True, I’ll need to stay in the hospital longer, but going into labor myself and attempting a vaginal delivery (even if baby boy were in the right position) is no guarantee that I wouldn’t end up on the operating table anyway. Then there’s the fact that we do know exactly when we’re going in and getting him. I won’t be one of the many women who go past their due dates and face medical intervention on the other side. I can count down the number of days I have left (eight full days of pregnancy left!) and can savor them (and also freak out over them).

So pros and cons. Oddly enough, it’s a lot like that rambling, nonsensical post I did the other day – all about the paths of life and how we can’t choose every path. While I would love to have a vaginal delivery and not be facing an automatic c-section, it’s also nice in many, many ways to be working with a scheduled delivery. So I’ll relax this week. No more uncomfortable positions, no more worrying that my heating pad is positioned in a bad way (heat at the bottom of the uterus), no more wallowing on my hands and knees. I’ll simply enjoy my last week of pregnancy and look forward to meeting my little guy next week. That is, of course, unless he decides to flip in the meantime. Then I’ll probably be freaking out about vaginal delivery and missing the dependability of my scheduled c-section.