The Monitor

In the old house, Iris started out sleeping in the guest bedroom downstairs, if she ever really was able to sleep away from my person. This was mainly because it was closer and less noisy to get to her if she woke up and had the potential to be coaxed back to sleep. The creaky stairs to the finished attic would have, at the time, killed any ability to reestablish sleep if there was one. Still, in a bedroom, behind a door just a few feet from where we were, Iris always slept with a baby monitor.

I remember people rolling their eyes at me for jumping to tend to her when, to most, there was nothing happening. She always sounded just as asleep as she had moments before to anyone else, but to Kyle and me, she sounded awake, because the monitor allowed us to hear the moment her breathing changed from "deeply asleep" to "going to wake up in 5.3 seconds." We were not wrong. Even just the few relatively silent steps we had to take to get to her once we noticed the breathing change always overlapped with her zealous scream of wakefulness. The thing is though, that change in breathing which allowed us to act short seconds faster than we could have had we waited to hear an actual cry, always meant the difference between relative ease in reestablishing sleep, and the unholy terror that is infant Iris, righteously pissed off that you dared to wake her. Even though she likely woke up because she did something like stab herself in the eye with the points of all her fingers and then sit up (while still asleep).

When she was older and much better at sleep, and she did sleep upstairs in her own room, we still had to keep a monitor on her. She was gated from the stairwell, so even though she was of an age where most children wake up and then walk down the hall to let their parents know that nap time is over, she was trapped a few feet away from the top of a 60 degree-angled stairwell of doom. The only way to know that we had to go get her was to listen to the monitor. So we did.

Then we moved to the Ugly Brown Ranch (shush. you know I love her, but she is ugly. and brown.), and Iris' bedroom was merely down the hall. No monitor needed. I mean, where would we be? The kitchen? She was fine. I was 64 months pregnant, so I wasn't exactly moving from wherever I'd parked my butt once she finally passed out.

We lived in this house for like a week and a half before Cormac was born. I managed maybe 15 days of monitor-free life before I had a brand new baby who almost sort of liked to sleep alone, and who subsequently needed to be monitored. Let me tell you, those days of monitorless life were really awkward for me.

Almost without break, I have been listening to the soothing sounds of white noise via oscillating/box fan through a monitor for three years. Every moment I have to myself, truly to myself, alone reading or pretending to care about chores or something, I have heard the sound of rushing air through a baby monitor. I'm listening to it right now. I have come to the point where I actually, literally and completely cannot relax unless I can hear the monitor buzzing away next to me.

Sometimes I almost grab it when I'm gathering small purse items before I leave the house. I sleep with it cranked up to "it even annoys the crap out of white noise-obsessed husband" volumes. I take it to the bathroom with me. Kyle and I had a rare night away on our recent anniversary (THANK YOU JENNIFER PARKER, YOU ARE THE BEST PERSON EVER), and I found myself standing outside the hotel with Kyle, lamenting that I couldn't quite relax because I couldn't hear the monitor.

As I sat here tonight with my monitor-cum-binky, I realized that someday, because we now live in the Ugly Brown Ranch (bountiful and beige though she may be), I won't actually require the use of the monitor anymore.

I'm not completely sure what I'm going to do when that day comes.

Conditioning

I had a social studies teacher who once told our 7th grade class that air conditioning was originally invented to literally condition the air. It had little to do with cooling; more of a filtration effect was desired. I don't think that's correct, or cooling wouldn't have just been a handy side-effect. It's difficult to cool air, especially when one has only ice and ammonia at the ready to accomplish the task. It seems that the history books tell us that, from the outset, air conditioning was contrived of to cool the air, and also to control its humidity. Thus, the term "conditioning" came into being, since it sought to achieve both simultaneously.

We didn't need to turn on the air. Not really. Not when you're only looking at outside temperatures and how they affect internal ones. Windows open, fans on, the house was surprisingly pleasant to inhabit (talk to our tenants in the old place, they'll tell you a different story). So, ugly brown ranch for the win, it would seem.

The problem is that the littlest Kelley suffers from the kind of allergies that respond to fractional changes in allergen pollution. The first whiff of warm air causes all the little flora to burst with randy glee, which in turn causes Cormac's face to start pumping the mucus hydrants like his face is on fire. The poor kid is miserable.

We made it maaaaaybe two nights without the AC on before it became evident that we needed to shut ourselves off from the outside air. He could just barely get air through his nostrils, and didn't seem to be very agreeable to mouth breathing (while I understand the concept is disgusting, I was willing to give it a pass if it meant proper blood-ox levels). It got so bad that I took him to the doctor, terrifying thoughts of his tiny body trapped under piles of apparatus, being whisked away to the ER to establish an airway. I am nothing if not thorough in my hypochondriac projections.

The doctor (new doctor! competent office! amazing thoroughness and insight!) did a good job of assuring me that yes, it's miserable, but no, there is nothing we can give a baby so small. Hoover the crap out of his nose with that bulb boogie sucker thing. Use saline drops if necessary. If his fever spikes, call. If he's still exactly this miserable or worse in two weeks, call. If he starts vomiting profusely, call (she seemed perplexed when I started laughing though).

We had a brief aside to discuss the reflux, and she enlightened me a bit. It seems that any medicine given to infants with reflux is only there to diminish the presence of acid in the reflux, but not to diminish the output in any way. We shouldn't be expecting the medicine to do anything but make him more comfortable. Well, more internally comfortable. More "hey, my esophageal lining is still in-tact," comfortable, less "my damp-ass shirt is giving me a rash, still" comfortable.

She also pointed out that this time in his life should be the worst of it, as far as reflux goes. He's learning to roll over more efficiently (and more frequently, god help us), and he's learning to sit up, and all those muscles moving and working really hard just irritate an already irritated pylorus (spot where stomach meets small intestine). Apparently, once he masters these tasks, he'll be tirelessly upright so much that the reflux should abate drastically. I shall withhold judgement till proof becomes available.

Hindsight is happening now, and I'm left wondering: why didn't old practice tell me all of this? Why was the whole thing left to be this terrifying mystery? We have watched for months as he continued to vomit, fretting that the medicine wasn't working, that something much more grave and sinister was happening. Why weren't we made aware of what our expectations should be?

I have spent so much time worrying that reflux wasn't the issue at all, and that the next obvious cause, pyloric stenosis, was a genuine concern. Don't think this is just me being a hysterical worrier; the issue had been discussed multiple times with the old doctors, but they couldn't readily see any evidence, so they kept up with their usual rhetoric of "well, it doesn't seem like pyloric stenosis, but we've never actually encountered the situation, so...(insert shoulder shrug here)." They were always full of this noncommittal speech. People, the solution to pyloric stenosis is SURGERY. I spent months worrying if my baby needed surgery.

Then one conversation calmed all my fears. Just like that. Poof. I can't believe how long I put off changing doctors.

In other news: A tooth has emerged. Five months, nine days. Clock it.

Don't Panic!

I'm playing with the blog template. Things might get a little shifty around here for a bit.

Kashmir says, "chillax, everything is rad."

30

FBK drops in 30 days. The Ministry of Obvious has this to say for itself:

30. Days. 30 DAYS! WHAT?

It's too late to change your mind

You don't get to arrive all round and heartburney at 40 weeks and go, "know what guys? I maybe was just kidding. I think that adoption is an excellent route for our family, and here let me just... wiggle this thing here, and toggle this doo-dad, and er....yep! Just magicked THAT reality into existence."

You don't sell your house, buy a new one, then settle in the new place and say, "I think I liked the old neighborhood better, let's just go ahead and move back now."

You don't name a brand new human, then try it on for size and decide a few months later that Bob-Ellen is really a much more appropriate name. I mean, hopefully nobody thinks that's ever an appropriate name, but that's not the point.

I am certainly not saying that I don't want to be pregnant right now. We want another child now and I love this baby. And so far (even with the 3-month hangover minus the fun drunky times the day before) this pregnancy has been much easier to deal with than the last. I guess I'm just feeling rather fatalistic these days. I just sort of got on this train and now I don't really know who is in charge, but it is most definitely not me. That's fine. It's a little scary, but perhaps it's best to identify the situation then just let it go. I'm going with the flow. I'm zen. I suck at zen, btw.

And we are thinking about selling/buying house these days. And we are struggling to come up with a name for this kid. And somehow I can't lay on my stomach anymore because there is a beefsteak tomato sized person in there, and he really doesn't like it when you lay on him.

I feel like suddenly one day I'll be in a new house that I don't think is very cute, next to crazy zealot right-wing neighbors, while Iris again completely ignores my warnings about loving small creatures too hard and squashes baby Englebert in a breath-stealing crunch. That is, she will do so after she decorates him with butt cream and explains the pitfalls of eating markers and peeing on the couch.

I can't have a baby named Englebert, people!

Official Birthday Invite: Do It.

To: You Guys
From: The Whiz
Where: Our house. Don't know how to get there? Means we probably don't know you, but e-mail me just in case and we'll make sure you're a stranger before I completely blow you off. :)

When: Saturday, February 27th, 2:00 p.m. - 6:00 p.m. (just so you know, Iris will be near to crashing by the end of that time, so you might want to peace out of there before the big ugly sleepy crying begins. We won't kick you out necessarily, but it isn't going to be pretty. You were warned.)

I sent out a Facebook invitation, but I know you aren't all on FB, and I thought I'd go ahead and throw something up here too just in case I missed anyone. This isn't really going to be a huge shindig (at least I don't think it is - do let me know if you plan to attend though. I hear these things sometimes require a keg, and I wouldn't want to disappoint). I'm joking! (mostly!) Anyway, I'll probably make some snacks and a cake. As always, your thoughtfulness is appreciated in anything you choose to do, but please know that presents are not necessary at ALL, and also I will really totally cry myself to sleep forever if one more singing monstrosity of plastic baby crap shows up at my house.

(I have had a song stuck in my head that's been there for WEEKS. Allow me to regale you with a small sampling of the lyrics: "Me and my friend, (at this point, all music stops, followed by a lengthy pause, after which a stiff voice says "Iris," aaaaand, resume music) "like to do everything together! We jump up and down! Jump! Jump! Jump! We wag our tails! Wiggle! Waggle! Waggle!" That fine specimen comes from a small purple thing that happens to know Iris' name, favorite animal, favorite food and favorite color. I think the purple thing is a spy, but I'm not sure. Do not discuss sensitive issues near the purple thing. Do not get the purple thing wet, and for the love of God, do not look directly at the purple thing. Save yourselves.)

Moral of the story: Come to the party. It will be awesome. Bring yourselves and your children and your party pants. Avoid the purple thing.

Thanks guys! See you at the party!

P.S. Iris' shirt says "When I grow up, I want to be an evil genius." Thank you, Uncle Craig.

It's not you, it's me.

*This post was saved from late yesterday. The internet is still being fickle and it decided that this is the number of photos I get to post, and that's final. Fine then. I still can't tell if it's my connection or Blogger or what. So just replace every instance of "today" with "yesterday" and it will remain a fairly accurate post.*

Oh Friends, Iris Luella had a sad day today. She really wanted to be cheerful; she certainly wanted to be distracted as much as possible. To put it mildly, she is very uncomfortable right now. Her shot yesterday left her today with a very mild fever and no appetite. Plus, her gums seem to hurt her so badly that she is almost frantic in her attempts to keep her hand or just something in her mouth at all times. She slept on and off all day, mostly alternating one hour asleep to an hour an a half awake since 7:30 this morning.

We were going to take her to a local baseball game, then to see her friend Gus's Dad play some tunes at Cooper's Landing. Once we realized that following those original plans would result in a well-cooked baby and very little time at home, we revised a bit. I sorted through all of the baby clothes in our house (it's ridiculous), and Iris napped at will. I managed to sort of document the most convivial moments of her day. Mind you, there wasn't much good humor available to Iris today, so you'll have to be impressed that she is not actively scowling in the following pictures.

The rest of the photos did actually make it to Picasa, so that's nice. Iris is still on some sort of hunger/happiness strike. It's pitiful. There is a massive storm going on outside, so we couldn't take her anywhere even if she was being cooperative. Sadness all around. Boo. I feel like there were other things I wanted to tell you, but the encompassing sound of baby misery has overthrown my thought process to the point of complete distraction. It is remarkable how pervasive that sound is. Must be some sort of biological caveman thing. I'm off.

squeaky

This is just to say:

The Baby took a bath.

It was delicious.

Pictures to follow.*

*(but not of the actual event, they're more of the post-towel-wrap era, because you know she's not so good at the breathing underwater, and I didn't trust her not to try it while I attempted to capture cute squeaky/splashy baby moments.)

Do Not Look Directly At The Child

As I'm sure you all have noticed, I'm not really the type to post more frequently than once or twice a decade, or half past the last time one of you threatens my life for lack of (preshus baybee!) photos, but I had to tell you about what happened last night. Iris went to bed at 5:30. That's in the PM, people. Five. Thirty. It was weird. She woke up at like 10:30 when Kyle and I went to bed, but I think she was rather put out by it, and immediately went back to sleep. She was still sleeping this morning at 7:00. I felt like the mother of a teenager, dragging her out of bed and slapping some clean clothes on her. Well, I imagine a teenager could probably dress herself, but there were some days that I wasn't too far from needing assistance in that area when I was a wee teen. Good thing I never had to actually choose an outfit - MAN I miss that uniform! I digress.

So. Wouldn't it be cool if this was standard procedure now? AHahahahahaha! Ya. I do not think so. Don't get me wrong, I'd love it if she did this every day, but if there's anything I've learned it's not to expect any sort of patterns/predictability from Iris and everything will be just fine. Anyway all the free time was weird and I didn't know what to do with myself. At one point my nervous energy got the best of me and I realized that I was sort of following Kyle around the house chattering at him incessantly while he desperately tried to do Important House-Fixey Stuff, occasionally throwing me an enthusiastic "uh-huh!" It would probably be for the best if she just went back to her usual baby routine and spent those hours between 6pm and 10pm awake, like a normal Iris should. I kinda missed her...like I said, it was weird.

The Cute and The Very, Very Sad.

For starters, the cute! The picture below documents what Iris is doing right at this very moment ohmyjeebus. This whole "nap" thing is totally foreign to Iris, so the fact that she has now been doing it for OVER AN HOUR is remarkable and noteworthy and I think someone should give me a cookie. You know, since the kid doesn't have teeth yet, and someone should really get a prize here. She is asleep on her little miracle foam wedge thingie (Auntie Sarah saves the day on that one. Perhaps SHE should get a cookie?), which is the only place she will sleep that is not on my body somewhere. I guess sometimes she sleeps on Kyle, but only if she falls asleep on me and is then passed off to him, so that when she wakes up and realizes there are no boobs in sight there is much rage and woe. The wedge actually produces a happy baby who wakes up and calmly looks around for boobs, but doesn't like, need it, just would like it please, if you've got it? But speaking of woe...

(The Cute)

It is the Sorrowful Bathtub of Gloom and Despair. This is the only picture from the dreadful event because it was so horrible that we had to bathe at turbo-jet speed and get her out of there before she permanently ruined her vocal chords. I think you can sort of see over the top of her head the squinched-up, red, screamy face she was making. I had all manner of warmed up wash cloths draped over her so she wouldn't get too cold, but it didn't really help much. I figured she'd hate the bath no matter what, and our decision to bathe her at that moment was based on the fact that she was already in sort of a screamy mood, so we wouldn't be ruining happy baby time by throwing her in the tub.

(The V. V. Sad)

Anyway, I'm prepared to wait till she's at least 10 to attempt bathing her again, but that's just how I feel about it today. I suppose if we wait till she's like 30 to reintroduce her to bath time, she's unlikely to get a date so that could knock out two birds with the one stone there, huh...I'll run that one by Kyle first but I'm thinking he'll be behind me all the way.

P.S. Iris is one month old today! Yay!

Blowing her little tiny mind

omg you guys.  my chair is VIBRATING.

BAD Baby

Remember last week when I said that it felt like the baby flipped over & turned breech?  And how I said that Dr. G palpated around and told us everything was fine and that The Whiz was still head-down?  Anyone know where I'm going with this?  

Yeah.  This kid is so grounded.

Ultrasound revealed today that the large round thing wedged under my ribcage is indeed the head and the reason it has felt like I was getting kicked in the bladder for the last two weeks is that I've been getting kicked in the bladder for the last two weeks.  At least now I can say that I officially know exactly what it feels like when a 38-week fetus decides to do a somersault.  

Dr. G explained that although it is sometimes possible to turn a breech baby, the odds are pretty slim that it would work for us.  Apparently The Whiz is measuring in at "well over eight pounds" and the amniotic fluid is looking pretty low.  So it just wouldn't be safe to attempt an external version without putting the baby at risk for some type of cardiac distress or membrane rupture or uterine rupture or placental abruption or something equally unsavory.  Seeing as my main goal here is to have a live, happy baby (not a live, happy vaginally birthed baby), I'm pretty OK with this turn of events.  I am sort of bummed that I won't get to experience labor this time, but it doesn't mean I won't ever experience it, and from what I hear it mainly just hurts and takes a really long time and disfigures your hoo-ha.  I am nothing if not an optimist. :)  

Kyle and I are less freaked-out by the c-section than we are about the fact that we now know the exact time and date that we will become parents.  We spent some time this afternoon commenting to one another how odd it is that they will be letting us leave the hospital with the baby and that they don't expect us to bring it back at any point or ANYTHING.  Upon further reflection we decided that it might be a good idea to go ahead and hide under the furniture and hold each other and maybe cry a little while we were down there.  It felt intuitively like the right thing to do, and parenting is really just one big exercise in trusting your instincts, so I think we're off to a good start. 

Surgery scheduled for tomorrow: February 26th, 2009, 5 pm central time.