Spud in Public

In the past few days we've made some tentative attempts to bring Spud out into the world of other humans. Not really to see how he perfoms around strangers or in a strange environment, because I honestly don't think he knows where he is or who is around. Mostly it was to see how WE would perform with the diaper bag and baby wipes and stroller and car seat, and in an attempt to see if some of our pre-natal activities would work post-natally. After his last pediatrician visit on Tuesday (he's 9 lbs 11 oz. and 22.5 inches now), we took him into Starbucks for a while in the carseat. He did fine, and was a big hit with the baristas. On Thursday, we went up to the mall. In the parking lot, we debated the use of the stroller vs. the sling, and ultimately went with the sling. I lugged him around the entire mall for about 2.5 hours and he slept almost the whole time. No worries. We gave him a bottle when he woke up, then slapped in the pacifier after he finished the bottle. He did great! On Saturday we went to dinner with some friends. We sat at an outside table, near the exit in case of a meltdown. Claire and I have for a long time been one of those childless couples that gives nasty looks to parents with screaming children in restaurants, and now the fuzzy booty is on the other foot. So we will try not to destroy the romatic evening of the other diners whenever possible. Again, Spud did just fine, placidly chugging his bottle while we ate dinner.

He still won't sleep in the crib for long. We are using it to hang laundry. Notice that there are not one but TWO mobiles in there (one from Joe and Valerie, and one from Megan and Bryan; thanks!), in a futile attempt to placate him and prevent him from shrieking two seconds after being abandoned in the crib. No dice.



He does like the swing that our friends Richard and Lynn gave us (thanks!), and a bouncy seat that our friend Anne gave us (seen in the previous post).



(In case you were wondering, the other booty was found some 30 feet away in the hall.) So sitting up alone is ok, buy lying down alone, not so much.

Pacified

Last week we started feeding Spud from the bottle (still fed from Mommy, but, uh, "pumped"). He took to it fairly quickly and now Daddy can participate in the feeding process. Prior to this, he had absolutely no interest in a pacifier. He spat it out with a very insulted expression reminiscent of the one a Belgian eating a chili dog might have (that's the most insulted + spitting expression I could think of, sorry). But once he got used to being bottle-fed, it was a fairly easy transition to the pacifier. Fake nipples: very useful.





In case you are wondering why a pacifier is so useful, please see the photo below:



Another way of looking at this handy device:

Smiles All Around

He's smiling! It's pretty rare--he has to a) be fed, b) have a clean diaper, c) not be upset about anything, and d) be in a smiley mood. So, it's not a very common thing yet. But still, hey, he's interactive! And happy! (When he's not angrily screaching) He makes little 'he he he' noises when he's smiling too, which we think might be laughing, but it might just be gas.

Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin

Spud has met both sets of his grandparents, and now it's time to meet some other relatives. Aunt Megan, Uncle Brian, and Cousin Marcus came down to visit from Pittsburgh. They kept Claire company while I was in Cleveland with my parents (my Mom is having heart surgery there). Thanks Megan and Brian! Marcus was born on August 30 (my birthday too), so he's about 9 months old now. He is a happy and smiley baby and set a good example for his 1-month-old cousin Spud (who really wasn't paying much attention and probably didn't comprehend what was going on).





And now we know what babies are like when they are 9 months old. We took notes.

His Ass is in a Sling

Claire bought an Infantino baby sling today. Spud seems to like it a lot, although I was initially somewhat concerned about his ability to breathe in there. It's like a lil' baby taco. He's been asleep in there for over an hour as I write this (with both hands), so we highly recommend this contraption. Someday, he'll have a very very strong emotional need for lying around in a hammock, but he won't know why. Then I'll yell "Get outta the hammock and finish mowing the lawn or you're gounded!!".

Hakuna Patata

Maybe I've seen too many Disney films in my life, but I've been thinking that I should have a Lion King moment with Spud before too long. You know, when Mufasa and Sarabi give Simba to Rafiki to hold up high in the air, overlooking the cliff to show off the new cub to all of the animals in their entire kingdom.



It seems like something a proud father should do. I realize that I'll need the following:

A) a cliff
B) a kingdom
C) a monkey

Despite my earnest intentions and sincere interest, the whole thing starts to fall apart when I think about logistics. Plus, Spud's neck still doesn't support his head, so when the monkey holds him up, his head will just bob around randomly and it won't be the least bit majestic.

Circumspect

Bath time.
Likes: baths
Dislikes: getting out of bath and subsequent evaporative cooling.





Random acquaintance: "Have you thought about, you know, circumcision?"
(This conversation took place in the weeks prior to Spud's birth.)
John: "Huh?"
Random acquaintance: "Circumcision. You know, when they cut.."
John: "I know what circumcision is."
Random acquaintance: "Well, you are having a boy. You should probably think about what you're going to do."
John: "Yeah."

I hadn't thought about it.

(Later)

John: "Uh." Looking uncomfortable.
Claire (very pregnant): "What."
John: "Should we get Spud circumcised?"
Claire: "All decisions related to THAT part of the body are entirely yours."

Here's my thinking. On the one hand, it's not like the kid's foreskin is a birth defect or anything. Right? The procedure is a completely unnecessary mutilation of my very very young son's body. How could I possibly do that? On the other hand, it's a very common practice and it's the "normal" thing to do and it might have some health benefits. I think. I mean, it's not like I see very many, you know, penises. Most of the very few I have seen (keeping in mind that I am 100% heterosexual) are in fact the circumcised variety. At least I thought so. Come to think of it, I didn't really know what an uncircumcised, uh, one of those, even looks like.

So I did what I have done for the past decade or so when confronted with a difficult question. I started up the computer and clicked on Google. I sat there, in front of Google and hesitated to type in the word "penis". The cursor just blinked on and off, taunting me.

It turns out that foreskins are making something of a comeback, but circumcision is still performed on the majority (albeit a slimmer majority than in the past) of boy babies. And it varies by region: out west fewer than 50% are circumcised, elsewhere in the U.S. the rates are higher. Now, this really didn't carry too much weight for me. If the majority of Americans jump off of a bridge, will I also do it? No. I think the majority of Americans are IDIOTS. Exhibit A: Dancing with the Stars.

Ultimately, it's about what is "normal". From a biological standpoint, it's normal for a baby boy to NOT be circumcised. From a cultural and social standpoint, and quite frankly from my own personal experience, it's normal for a baby boy TO BE circumcised. Tough one.

Sleepy Spud Faces

The calm, sleepy moments between bouts of hungry shrieking.




Required response: "Awwwwwwww!"

The Husband's View of Birth, part II

On the Matter of Labor, continued

Let me just reiterate one thing here at the outset, because it is considerable in its, uh, reiteratableness. We had no idea that labor would be such a busy and non-stop activity. During Claire's pregnancy, many was the time that we laughed heartily at the popular culture's portrayal of labor: e.g. Steve Martin rushing out of the house and driving recklessly to the hospital in "She's Having a Baby, accompanied by lots of yelling by husband and wife. We knew better. We brought books and magazines along to the hospital to read between contractions (and for the halcyon and quiet time after the birth when the baby was sleeping quietly in the hospital crib).

But we were on the go the whole time. As we settled into the hospital room, we discovered that it did not have a bathtub. Luckily, the other rooms were mostly empty, and we moved next door to a room with a tub. I made several trips down to the parking lot to retrieve bags from the truck, while our doula (Alex) stayed with Claire and got her into the tub. Contractions the whole time, by now quite long and quite intense, and arriving every two or three minutes.

An hour in the tub or so. Then sitting for a while, then on the birth ball. My job was to wait for contractions and go get Claire in a big hug and we held on. Alex was a big help, letting us both know that things were proceeding normally and that we were ok. If Claire stood up to change position, she'd get a particularly strong contraction. They came along like big waves at the beach; she'd be recovering from getting beat up and tossed around by one, only to get hit head-on by the next one. She was most pissed by the fact that she still hurt somewhat between contractions. She had read that there would be a nice break between them, but not so much in the later stages. By about 4:30, she was starting to get tired and beat up, I could tell. But she never asked for pain medication or an epidural. She just kept at it. She wasn't going without pain meds for a silly "I am Woman, Hear me Roar" reason or because we're hippy types or anything. Nobody likes pain. But we kept reading and hearing about the so-called "cascade of interventions": an epidural leads to slowed labor, slowed labor leads to pitocin, and pitocin leads to intense contractions, and intense contractions stress and slow the baby's heartbeat, and next thing you know, you've got a C-section. Claire did not want this. So she cowboyed up. She also wanted to keep moving and changing positions during labor, which speeds things up and takes advantage of gravity. With an epidural, you're on you back, hooked up to the spinal drip, an IV, and a fetal monitor.

We had agreed ahead of time that it might be ME that brought up pain medication first, that I might have a hard time watching Claire hurting. So we agreed ahead of time that nobody could mention pain meds except Claire. But she didn't, she just kept plugging away. My wife is ONE TOUGH CHICK. I think if labor had stalled, or if we had spent several more hours at it, she might have considered something. But everything kept moving and progressing, until finally, it was time to push! Instead of "AAAAAAAAAAaaaa", she started saying "AAAAAAAAaaaa--eerrrrgg". Time to get on the bed.

Up next: "Any chance we could do this WITHOUT the doctor?"

Joined at the Hip

Claire and I read a lot of books about babies before Spud arrived. Dr. Google also provided us with a lot of information. We thought we had a pretty good idea what having a baby was going to be like. Mostly, lots of diapers and not lots of sleep. We expected crying for no particular reason, and constant monitoring for signes of illness, distress and danger. Two weeks after his arrival on Planet Earth, we pretty much have the new life that we expected, with one major exception: He does NOT like to be left alone. Pretty much EVER. We thought we could park him for a while in the crib to sleep so we could, you know, brush our teeth or eat or go to the bathroom or shower. Not so, usually. He does not like being in the crib. He can be totally fast asleep in our arms, and we can carefully place him in the crib, and slowly, quietly creep away. And he usually wakes up and cries. Pick him up again, and he's fine. So we are with him, holding him, cradling him, sitting with him on our lap, and sleeping with him (well, Claire is), almost 24/7. We have baby handoffs. We eat in series instead of in parallel. He will grow out of this, right? Because we really have to pee sometimes.




A rare victory.

A Light in the Attic

Back to the pediatrician today to be weighed. At two weeks old (tomorrow), he needed to have re-achieved his birth weight. He is spot on: 8 lbs. 9.5 oz. Way to go mommy! The Dr. insisted that he be weighed with no diaper on, I suppose to make sure we hadn't hidden anything in his shorts to increase the weight (like a boxer trying to cheat to move up to another weight class). Unfortunately, this gave Spud a great opportunity to pee into the air, which he took. The Dr. narrowly escaped.

Today we noticed that he seems to be LOOKING at things a lot more. Before, when he had his eyes open he might temporarily focus on your eyes or the window, but mostly he just looked around randomly. Today, he is clearly seeing people and things and staring at them, eyes wide open. There's somebody in there today.

Renegade Spud On Wheels

Today I took the lil' guy out for his first stroll in the stroller, during a brief break between rainstorms (we were under a tornado watch throughout the afternoon). We strolled up and down the road in front of the house a few times. I thought he was enjoying it.



But then he gave me a gesture that suggested otherwise.



Our stroller is not very hip. I think Spud would prefer this Pramulator 3000X that I found on Dark Roasted Blend. All of the other babies would be SOOO jealous.

More Grandparents

Spud's maternal grandparents are here. We are all stunned with joy and excitement over the new grandbaby!



We had a fairly long period of the fierce-type crying this afternoon. It MAY be that Claire drank a Coke, and zapped Spud with his first jolt of caffeine. Zoooom! He has since crashed. Now he's going to want Starbucks.

The Husband's View of Birth, part I

On the Matter of Labor:

We awoke on Friday morning at about 8 a.m. after a good night's sleep. Claire got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, as usual.

Claire: "Ow."
John (sitting up, blinking): "What."
Claire: "I think that was a contraction."

So we were off and running. We sort of expected this, since we had gone to the OB the day before, and the Dr. had "aggressively" stripped her membranes because we were 6 days past due. She was 3.5 cm, as she had been for 2 weeks. After all of the reading we had done about labor, we expected that the first contractions would be small and irregular and far apart. Early labor was a casual and boring time, and you could casually pack and head to the hospital some several or many hours later. You could nap, take a bath, or, as one book put it, go to the mall and walk around.

5 minutes later:

Claire: "There it is again."
John (still in bed): "Another contraction?" He looks at the clock; "That was fast".
Claire: "Mmm hmmm".

And they were never more than five minutes apart, from the start. They started out pretty short (15 seconds or so), but progressively got longer and longer as the morning went on. By 10:30 a.m., Claire's contractions were already hitting the critical 5:1:1 hat trick (5 minutes apart, a minute long, for an hour). And they were getting stronger.

John: "Is that another contraction coming."
Claire: "Aaaaaaaaaaaa."
John: "Ok. There there."
Claire: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaa."

I made Claire a couple of English muffins. We had packed most of our stuff for the hospital weeks before, but I had to get it out to the truck between contractions. I'd head out the door with a handful of bags and Claire would start another contraction, so I'd drop the bags and run back in the house to give her a hug and hold her hand until it passed.

Claire" AAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa."

At 11 a.m., we called our doula, Alex. It was time to go. The boring, slow, casual early labor was a myth. We had sudden onset immediate full bigtime holy shit labor instead. We headed out the door and left for the hospital soon after Alex arrived. Claire had two contractions between the house and the truck. She had about 5 contractions during the 10-minute drive on the way to the hospital. I wondered if people in other cars could see the nice woman in the red truck yelling at the top of her lungs. I pulled up to the hospital entrance and helped Claire out.

Another contraction. Claire: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAAaa."
Hospital admitting lady, coming out the front door: "What's going on?"
Claire: (thinking: DUH..I'm hugely pregnant and yelling. What do you think???)

So my first primary goal was accomplished: we did not have the baby in the truck.

Tomorrow: MORE Labor.

The Spud Diet

Spud went back to the pediatrician yesterday. He still weighs the same, 7 lbs 14 oz. The Dr. says that he needs to be back to his birth weight by the time he's two weeks old. So that's 12 oz. in 7 days, buddy! Eat up! The thing is, he is a serious chow hound, at least for the past few days. Claire feeds him every 2 hours or so (day and night), and he can go at it for 45 minutes or more. How can he eat that much and not gain weight? It's the new fabulous eat-all-you-want-and-don't-gain-weight Hollywood diet: the Spud diet. Chicks in New York are lining up to learn his secrets.

He's 1 week old tonight! Seven whole days on planet Earth. To celebrate, I will relate the poop colors of the past week:

Friday - Sunday: black, sticky, meconium (daddy changed ALL of these diapers by the way)
Monday - Wednesday: darkish yellowish, less sticky, MUCH easier to change
Thursday - Friday: orangeish "pumpkin innards" poop with little bits