Wine Please

Just in case we have not had enough fun around here, Cooper thought of the stellar idea to rash things up a bit. And I’m not talking your basic diaper rash from on-going diarrhea (which he DOESN’T have, thank goodness). No, I’m talking about a nice bright pink maculopapular rash! Go ahead, check the link. I promise it’s not too gross or anything. I’ll wait.

Back? Okay.

So he’s got this rash, and while I was 99% certain it wasn’t serious, I was 100% certain they boot me out of daycare with the biggest foot they could find if I walked in with that child looking like that.

What do you mean, “like what?”…go back up and look at the dang link. Sheesh!

Soooooo….Justin’s home with him today again and Cooper otherwise seems fine. No fever, better appetite, less diarrhea, more mobility, and better mood. Just to be sure, I made the rounds with my mom, the nurse; the nurse at the pediatrician’s office; Mr. Google and My Friend Wiki; and finally got to speak to the pediatrician. Seems that it’s just a harmless rash that some kids get in response to something in the liquid suspension of the antibiotic…that it’s not indicative of a reaction to the medication itself. So I got her blessing to continue the augmentin (and just keep an eye out that he doesn’t have any severe symptoms, like breathing issues), to continue the florastor (that stuff is GOLD, baby!…two doses and no diarrhea!), and she faxed me a note to tape to his forehead when I bring him back to daycare tomorrow.

I did neglect to ask the doctor, however, if beef-basted dog biscuits might cause a rash…

Justin took Cooper in this morning for another round of fever, diarrhea, vomiting, ear-tugging, and not-eating-anything. This child started getting sick on Saturday, and when I saw him tugging on his ear four days after finishing the second round of antibiotics for his ear infection, I got concerned, then annoyed.

The concern is obvious: I don’t want my baby to be sick. I don’t want another round of antibiotics that will make his long-suffering diarrhea worse. I don’t want him not eating. The eating might seem trivial to some of you, but unless you have a 12-month old that eats nearly as much as you, you probably don’t understand the anxiety of trying to get this human garbage disposal to eat more than half a yogurt and one waffle the entire day. Plus, he needs food to help buffer his stomach against the ever-increasing strength of antibiotics he’s had to endure.

The annoyance is that I almost feel like it didn’t get the correct treatment the second time around if he’s sick only a few days after finishing the medication. Or that maybe they should reconsider their stance on giving young children decongestants and/or anti-histimines like Benedryl. Those decongestants and anti-histimines not only drain/dry up the snot, but also help do the same with fluids in the eustachian tubes, where most middle ear-infections originate. Any time I had an ear infection, even one not related to a cold, my mom gave me a decongestant and/or anti-histimine to help drain my ears.

I’m also annoyed because I can’t figure out how his first-ever ear infection turns into this Ear Infection That Would Not Die! I will agree that the cold that originally caused the ear infection was a nasty one. I had it the same time as he and it developed into a sinus infection; Justin had it and was miserable for a while; Gavin still has the lingering cough from it from over 3 weeks ago. I also understand that the 10-day stint of basic amoxicillin might not have been enough to clear up the infection when he’s in daycare and fighting off other germs in addition to the infection raging in his own body.

What I am a little annoyed about as well, is before the 2nd round was fully identified, he had his 12-month check-up and was cleared for his regularly scheduled vaccines (MMR, Varicella, and Prevnar), which do tax the immune system as well (as they should). I kinda wish I would’ve gone with my gut and asked that we post-pone those vaccines (or at least one or two of them) until his 15-month check-up. Makes me think that maybe his body might’ve been able to more fully fight the ear infection with the help of the cefoprox if he wasn’t also “in training” to fight other potential illnesses. But woulda, coulda, shoulda, right?

So instead I will keep my fingers crossed and prayers going that this third round of antibiotics (the almighty augmentin), along with hefty doses of Florastor to fight this antibiotic-induced diarrhea, that he will be right as rain and eating again.

I forgot. I’m sorry. And Justin, who usually does this, has been ridiculously busy and hasn’t gotten a chance. So thank goodness Trannyhead is on the ball and posted Sumo’s pics (happy b-day, by the way!), which reminded how neglectful we’ve been.

These pics were done over the span of two different photo sessions because Cooper was just not in the mood to have his portraits done. On the first day I’d set him down and he’d start crying immediately.

I even tried sitting him with Gavin, whom he adores, and he’d still start bawling!

So Portrait Innovations saved that photo shoot for us and we came back two days later to try again. This time I brought Justin. And this time instead of crying (although he was a little crabby), he just kept crawling away.

But we begged, pleaded, bribed with milk and poofs, and managed to get some decent shots of our little tempermental toddler:

I can hardly believe it’s been a year already. It’s certainly been a busy one…seemingly busier and harder than Gavin’s first year. Odd, since you’d think with your second child, everything would be a bit easier.

At my initial consultation when I was first pregnant, I asked the Nurse Practitioner since I had already had a very large baby with a considerable amount of damage to my undercarriage, and statistically subsequent babies are larger than the first, if it was possible for me to have an induction at 39 weeks. She replied that sure, they do it all the time for 2nd and 3rd pregnancies (which makes me thing at 4th pregnancies the kid just falls out on their own). So I felt reassured that I would not be crawling to my 41st week with this baby.

Again, I had a very easy pregnancy. In fact, it was easier than the last one because my blood pressure stayed low and only went up a little bit in the last couple weeks before Cooper’s birth. I did have issues with pre-term contractions that started about 6 weeks before, but my doctor put me on work restriction so that I would cause a pile-up on the highways I commute. So the last 5 weeks of my pregnancy I sat working from home, which did help keep the contractions down to a minimum (though were still getting some as often as once every two hours). I was lonely, a little bored, and had much easier access to food than if I was at the office.

So even though I ate a little bit better than my first pregnancy (well, except for that Chik-Fil-A addition I had: 12-piece chicken nugget meal with Fries, Cole-Slaw, and Extra-Large Sweet Tea), I started eating a more once I got home. By the time I weighed-in right before I had Cooper, I again, just as in my pregnancy with Gavin, gained 37lbs and my waist was 43 inches. However, since I didn’t have any water retention and swelling, all 37lbs were my own and not blamed on water.

I had my check-up at 38 weeks, and even though I was still having some contractions, I was only 2cm dilated, so I reminded the doctor about the promise made to me 8 months prior. On my way out, I got myself scheduled for Thursday, July 12th, just in case I didn’t progress on my own. I had my pre-induction appointment on Tuesday and was 2-3cm, so I was told I didn’t need to get the prostaglandin gel this time around. I quite relieved because I didn’t want as crabby as when I was going to the hospital to have Gavin.

Thursday morning we got up, called the hospital to make sure they could take us. We were cleared for entry, so I got up and took a shower, took some time to do my hair a little and put on some waterproof mascara, ate my contraband applesauce, got Gavin ready and made sure his overnight bag had everything and anything he could possibly want for his first night away from home without either Justin or me (he got to stay with his best friend, Ainsley). We drop him off at Dave and Kari’s house and he was upset about us leaving, so Kari got him to go help her wake up Ainsley. Turns out while we were at the hospital, he was having a good ol’ time playing with Ainsley and I think he even went to Chuck E. Cheese.

So we get to the hospital a little later than we were supposed to (like 35 minutes later), and as I’m walking up to the nurses station to check in, I realized I was very comfortable, non-chalant, and even chipper. Thought maybe it was because I knew what to expect, but then also realized I wasn’t in labor yet this time around, so I didn’t have that misery making me mean and nasty. We get into our room, laugh at how the baby fry-warmer is located in the closet (our other room we had down the hall 3 years before, had the fry-warmer in a corner), and I even posed for a couple pics, mostly because we didn’t think anyone would believe us when we told them I was in a calm and happy mood.

They got me hooked up to my 5 bazillion miligram IV bag of penicillan, since I flunked my GBS test, and I sat there getting sanitized for a good 3 hours. Afterwards, they ramped up my pitocin and I got my epidural, since the anesthesiologist was apparently doing nothing more than roaming the floor looking for a back to poke. Seriously, the nurses came in 6 times to ask if I wanted it yet…since I wasn’t in any pain, I didn’t feel the need. But when they mentioned that he might not be immediately available when I was ready for him (read: climbing the walls), and I was sure I was getting one (yes, please!), to maybe get it now. So I did. And let me tell you, since I wasn’t in blinding agony, I got to find out how much that epidural actually hurts! Well, not so much hurt as sting (don’t want to scare anyone away because OMG it is a godsend!). But it certainly did not tickle!

Once the epidural kicked in a little, they checked me and I was already 5cm dilated. I was thrilled, and also confused as to why my contractions weren’t getting very strong yet or why my water hadn’t broke by now. But my doctor came in a few minutes later with the monster crochet hook and broke it for me around 12:15pm. The nurses began coming in every half hour or so to check on, and usually raise, my pitocin. But I never felt too uncomfortable (yes, yes, I know I had a epidural, but you still feel a lot of pressure).

About 2pm, my contractions were actually starting to get uncomfortable a bit, and Cooper had moved again, and Justin and I had trouble finding him with the baby monitor…we had already rearranged the monitor on my belly a few times since my water broke because Cooper was moving around a bit more as my labor seemingly painlessly progressed. A different nurse than who was assigned came in to help us find Cooper’s heartbeat (my nurses were helping out with a delivery a couple doors down). She rolled me from one side, then the other (thankfully with my wonky epidural, I could actually use most of my left leg to help her heave my bulk around), and kept smearing more KY on my belly and moving the monitor around on it, pushing down a bit. She got a concerned look on her face, and put the oxygen mask on me, saying maybe by getting a bigger burst of oxygen into my body and bloodstream that it might help us locate his hearbeat easier since he seemed to have burrowed into my butt. She kept prodding and pushing and smearing and encouraging Large Calm Breathing on the mask.

I could feel her nervousness and I was starting to get anxious myself. I stole a glance at Justin behind me and he looked concerned, too. When she couldn’t locate Cooper’s heartbeat, she calmly said, “one minute, I’ll be right back.” I just nodded, not knowing if I needed to start panicking or if she was a newer Labor/Delivery nurse and needed more experienced help (our other assigned nurse was new to labor and delivery).

As she stepped out of our room, she hollared, “Claudia!” and I could hear the note of alarm in her voice and could hear her footsteps quicken before the door shut behind her. My heart started pounding wildly and I grabbed Justin’s hand as the tears and blubbering started. I’m not sure if I said anything coherant, but I remember making some sort of sound and being scared.to.death.

All these thoughts started racing through my head. I was terrified that something happened to Cooper, and was even more scared that if they did an emergency C-section that it might not happen in time.

Our nurses came in, and Claudia immediately checked me. She announced, “9, nearly 10cm! and bloody-show”. She instructed the other nurse to call my doctor. Claudia then looked at me, still seeing the panic on my face (I’m not sure if Justin still looked upset…I kind of had tunnel vision) and told us that the reason we couldn’t find his heart beat was because he had scootched so far down. My doctor then came in, verified Claudia’s assessment of my cervix, and sat with Justin and I, chatting amicably while the nurses scurried around getting everything ready.

My doctor looked at the clock and said, “we’re gonna have this baby in about 20 minutes…just want to give your cervix a little more time to make sure you’re a good solid 10 cm, then we’ll push.” Then she went on saying she remembered I was a “good pusher” and now that I knew what I was doing, she was fully expecting some championship pushing from me this time around. And since I was experienced, she offered to dial up my epidural and said that Claudia would help me know when to push in case I couldn’t feel the pressure, to which I agreed.

Just at 3pm, the doctor donned her haz-mat suit and we started pushing (after I reminded everyone that someone had to keep counting at all times while I was pushing, or else risk getting cussed-out). After about 5 pushes (with a brief pause in there while the doctor unwrapped Cooper’s double-wrapped umbilical cord), at 3:21pm, Cooper Josef was born. As my doctor was still suctioning out his mouth and getting his umbilical cord clamped and ready for Justin to cut it (so proud of you honey!), I was still sitting up in the stirrups, and elatedly announced to her (and half the hospital), “THAT was EASY!” And she replied, “I told you it would be! You are made to have babies!!” At which point Justin turned three shades of green and almost had to sit down.

Apparently I am made to have babies because while Cooper weighed less (8lbs 3 oz…11 oz less than Gavin), he was actually larger gestationally (he was born at 39 weeks and Gavin was born at 41 weeks). And Cooper’s head was larger than Gavin’s, yet I only required one stitch….not the many many stitches required after Gavin’s birth. And like most 2nd (or 3rd) births, the recovery period was much easier. Hell, on the day we came home, I realized that I not only needed to pick up my pain prescriptions, but some nursing pads and maxi pads. So instead of trying to explain to Justin which ones to choose, I just took the truck and shuffled off to Target all by my two-days-post-partum-self (left the Cooper at home with everyone there). Unfortunately, Cooper’s colic and my poor milk supply more than made up for the easy pregnancy and delivery. But I can hardly remember that aggravation now:

Last night, or rather, way early this morning, around midnight, I realized I forgot to make the mini-cupcakes I was planning to bring for Cooper’s class today. I got sucked into Twitter and Plurk for the n’th time this week and totally lost track of time. I figured at midnight that I was actually getting to bed early for the first time all week…but read Burgh Baby Mom’s post about homemade grilled pizza and thought, “OH CRAP!!!!”

I rushed through a few other computer-related things I needed to finish then went nuts.

• Pre-heated the oven, then saw the fine print on the cake mix indicating non-stick pans needed a lower temp.
• Mixed the eggs, water, and oil with the Funfetti cake mix by hand even though the mix called for an electric because I was terrified of waking up the whole house with my very noisy hand mixer. And I’m a rebel. No really, I am…went to TF South High School, home of the Rebels!
• I put the pan of mini-cupcakes in the oven, then realize I have NO idea how long to bake because the mix didn’t have time for mini-cupcakes. So I got to babysit the oven.
• Got Cooper’s cups of formula made for school while suspiciously eyeballing the rising cupcakes in the oven.
• Wiped down most of the horizontal surfaces in the kitchen. At least the ones not covered by dirty dishes or mail/papers.
• Since I got to babysit the oven, the dang timer went off three times and it is louder.than.sin.

I pulled them out and was arranging them in a dish to bring to the daycare when I heard Cooper fuss over the monitor. I froze…it was 12:30am. A minute later when he was done and quiet again, I realized that I had involuntarily hunched down behind the kitchen island and was holding my breath. I wonder what that says about my parenting. I mean, it made sense a few months back when I was putting some folded clothes away in his room and he stirred in his bed, that I dropped to the floor and crawled out of his room on my belly. A little extreme, but not for a mother tired of a baby getting up twice a night (at that point). Now that Cooper has been sleeping through the night since coming home from Chicago, I get a little testy when he rescinds on our agreement. And apparently it triggers some sort of Post Traumatic Stress response, as well.

The fiftieth time I checked on the little buggers…

No, I did not wipe down my stove…thank-you for asking.

YUM! Actually, I didn’t have a single one. And I did not frost them because while I love the teachers at daycare, I know that they stragetically give the kids the sweet treats at the end of the day, right before parents pick them up.