Giggles

After all, what would a parenting memoir be without a couple of birthday-suit shots? I really did hesitate to post this one, dear reader, but I decided I'd share it with you if you promise not to share it with all the guests at the Peanut's wedding.

Deck the Halls

This week, dear reader, marked Peter's first snowfall and the arrival of his first Christmas tree. The snow didn't really seem to phase him, but of the tree he is a BIG FAN. Specifically, touching it, smelling it, gazing at its lights, and crushing its ornaments in his tiny palm (oops ... note to self: Christmas ornaments are not toys). Please enjoy some photos of the Peanut with the wildlife-that-strangely-appeared-indoors-one-day-my-mom-and-dad-are-so-weird:

(Gratuitous shot in which you can't even see the tree ... but doesn't the Peanut look exactly like Daddy in it?)

Plagued.

I have a head cold. My nose is raw from blowing. My hands are raw from washing. My eyes are raw from watching P dizzle for symptoms (none so far, but since I spent the days preceding the onset of symptoms as I do most of my time - giving him kisses and munching on his appendages - my guess is that, sooner or later, his tiny nose will be plugged up too). This is my first cold since Peter was born 8 months ago (today!). Also since I got pregnant. In fact, I haven't had a cold like this since 2005. I remember the year because it was during my clerkship, and, to see that head cold spread through our ranks, you'd think we'd been spending our days engaging in very nerdy orgies, rather than discussing the finer points of constitutional law and watching reruns of Dawson's Creek in the clerks' lounge. I hope it's not RSV. Or, better, I hope it is RSV, and that Peter hasn't shown any symptoms yet because his pharmaceutical-boosted immune system has already destroyed that MoFo. Wish us luck.

Truant!

I'm sorry, dear reader, I really am. I have no excuses. Except that I have recently gotten too carried away with reading this person's blog (and there are soooo many posts to catch up on ...) to post to my own. So here's what's happened since I've been gone:

1. Auntie Esti In Law

Uncle Joe and Auntie Esti are Mr. and Mrs.! Their wedding was magical, beautiful, and all things weddings should be. Moreover, Mark and I were actually able to enjoy the magic and the beauty of it all thanks to Peter's Grannie and Granddad, who flew in from Calgary to care for the weenut so he could enjoy the festivities from the relative safety of the bridal suite. I was a little nervous, since the Pdog had been doing a little bit of the making strange, but he was good as gold for Grannie and had a grand old time. I promise to post more photos when I get more; these are the only ones I have. First, of Dr. Morty looking very much the Father-of-the-Bride:

Next, the very beautiful Esti and her bevy of bridesmaids:

And, of course, the party guest on everyone's mind, the Peanut, looking quite dapper indeed:

And did I mention, dear reader, that another one of Peter's aunts is becoming official (or, as we prefer to say, an honest woman)? That's right, G. Meghan L. is set to earn her Auntie title on August 28th, 2010 ...

2. Peter is a Great Big Show-off

He has a sense of drama, my son. No sooner had he been placed on the assessment table by the physical therapist at his 4-month NICU follow-up appointment (translation: Great Big Test of Peter's Development and Thus Our Parenting Abilities) than he decided it was time to roll over back-to-front for the very first time (I missed it, of course, all-star parent that I am). Long story short, the appointment went very, very well, and we were very, very relieved. Next check is not until March, when the Peanut will be 8 months corrected.

3. The PDA Lives and Breathes, In Miniature

The same week saw Peter (um, with his two favourite chaperones) visiting his cardiologist for the much-anticipated follow-up regarding the small matter of an extra duct in his heart. The bad news is that the PDA is still, stubbornly, there. The good news is that it's gotten a wee bit smaller in absolute terms, which means it's much smaller in relative terms ("relative" to the size of the lad's heart, you see). The better news is that NO PROCEDURES are contemplated in the near term, NO PRECAUTIONS need be taken with respect to Peter's heart, and we have NO FOLLOW-UP for a full year! In more amusing news, Peter was great fun during his echocardiogram, during which he busied himself attempting (with much enthusiasm) to put the ultrasound wand and the technician's hand (ideally, at the same time) in his mouth.

4. Breastmilk Just Isn't the Same

Peter has (with some help) started eating solid foods (so far, rice cereal, oatmeal, bananas and my personal favourite, the sweet potato). So far ... well, I was going to say "so good", but really, it's more like "so far, so you'd think I'd been starving the poor boy up to this point". To say that Peter has been enthusiastic about the eats would be an understatement. It has gone pretty much like this:

ME: Peter, would you like some nummy cereal?

PETER: Finally! Something that's not that god-awful milk you've been making!

ME: The airplane is coming into the hangar ...

PETER: Make with the 'nanas already, b#*ch!

Documentation of Peter's first taste of cereal - note the gaping maw:

We like, we like ...

Ahhhh, nothing like being sated and soiled.

5. The Pump Drags On

Peter has started objecting to my habit of connecting myself every three or so hours to the double electric breast pump. He used to be content to sit in the infant seat whilst I made him his next meal, so long as all the while I sang songs, told stories, made faces, etc. Lately, he has started to quirm and arch his way out of the seat and make loud protest grunts (to which I reply, Yes, Peter, IF ONLY THERE WERE SOME OTHER WAY TO GET THE MILK OUT ...). Perhaps he's merely registering his dissatisfaction with the liquid fare (see update #4 above)?

***

I think that's it for us, dear reader. I will try hard to post sooner next time around (else you'll be reading about Peter's first Noel ...).

The Boob Index

Dear reader, I was going to write you a long, melodramatic epistle about the ongoing saga of my efforts to nourish Master Peter with Mother's Milk, but I decided the tale could best be told with some good old number-crunching. To wit:

7 Number of months since I was introduced to my friend the Double Electric Breast Pump.

12 Number of weeks I tried to breastfeed.

6 Number of weeks during which Peter breastfed exclusively before refusing to go on.

5 Number of lactation consultants with whom I've consulted since Peter's birth.

2.5 Approximate cumulative number of weeks that I have spent connected to the pump.

3.5 Number of daily hours I currently spend so connected.

7.5 Approximate number of daily hours spent feeding and burping Peter, preparing and washing bottles and pump supplies, and pumping and storing milk.

1.1 Average number of daily litres of breastmilk consumed by Peter.

95 Number of bottles of frozen breastmilk recently discarded due to being past its best before date. (See image above. A similar number was tossed in May due to spoilage resulting from a 12-hour blackout, and a slightly lesser quantity will soon expire.)

Add all this up, and what do you get?

1 Mother who feels like a dairy cow, but also ...

1 Well-fed baby ;)

Cold and Flu Blues

In case you were wondering, dear reader, yes, the Peanut was involved in the Great Swine Flu Debacle of 2009 - that is, the thousands-strong lineup that formed outside North York Civic Centre on day 1 of Toronto Public Health's high-priority H1N1 vaccination clinics. Luckily for us, we only had to endure a couple of hours of the mayhem before we got word from Auntie (now officially! more on this later) Esti that Dr. Morty's clinic had just received its shipment of vaccine goodness, and Master Peter could receive his shot from him. So we abandoned the friends we had made so recently while standing out in the cold, and high-tailed it home.

We have made it through the whole of Pedro's seven-month existence so far without so much as a sniffle (except for a couple bouts of allergies that kept us out of the NICU until we realized it was just that dastardly ragweed again), but now that cold and flu season has begun in earnest, we know it's just a matter of time before one of us falls prey to the endless supply of germs in circulation. We just hope the culprit won't be either the dreaded flu or respiratory syncytial virus (RSV). Funny how this RSV biznatch is something you never hear about until you have a baby, and then it becomes the sole purpose of your daily existence to avoid it.

Speaking of RSV, looks like P dizzle will be quite the pin-cushion this winter. After some minor drama, it appears that he does in fact qualify (duh) for the uber-expensive RSV shots provided to high-risk babies. Trouble is, RSV prophylaxis is not a vaccine (where typically a dead virus is introduced so that the immune system can create antibodies against it); rather, the antibodies themselves are introduced to the babe's system. So, unlike a vaccine (which usually only needs to be administered a handful of times, spaced a couple of months apart), RSV shots take place every four weeks for the duration of the season (November-April in these parts). Which is a drag. You see, first off, I'm a total wimp, and it breaks my heart to hear that needle cry. Second, the Peanut seems to be one of those babies who "react" to shots - meaning he becomes a royal pain in the ass for a couple of days afterwards. Don't get me wrong: I'm not an anti-vaccine type (I fall more on the anti-Polio side of that particular debate). I just dread the look of total betrayal on the P dog's face when he realizes he's been "stuck", and wish that somebody else could deal with the aftermath.

Lord of the Dance

Update on our Hand-some Guy

Hello, dear reader, bet you thought I had disappeared. Not the case. I've just been busy feeding, entertaining, changing, bathing, and otherwise caring for Peter ... and occasionally finding time to spend with the other people who occupied me pre-Peanut. But I've found a few minutes to give you a quick update on how we've been keeping.

Those of you who had discussions with me a month or so ago about Peter's development (your favourite topic, I'm sure) will know that I was pretty much obsessed with his hands. In particular, with Peter becoming able to bring his hands - both of them - to the middle of his body and use them to do primitive stuff like bat at objects and "self-soothe" (child development-speak for putting one's hands in one's mouth). At that time this seemed an impossible feat, in the way that all things that aren't yet possible seem impossible, and Mark and I spent an embarassing amount of time standing in front of the Peanut sloooowly saying "Hands ... Together" while sloooowly bringing our own hands to midline, as the young man grinned at us and looked puzzled. All of which is an overly lengthy introduction to the following photo, which I'm calling, "How'd ya like 'dem hands?!?":

Yes, that's right, it gives me great joy to announce that Peter can put his hands in his mouth (what can I say - I'm a simple girl).

In other news (parents of Problem Sleepers, read on at your peril), Peter sleeps. And sleeps. Like a champ, in fact. Yes, despite a particularly rocky start to the nocturnal facts of home life, our little former night owl now sleeps like, well, a baby (in the "sleeps like a baby" sense, not in the way that most babies actually sleep). He sleeps through the night, sometimes for as many as ten hours in a row. Who knew? So I feel a little sheepish about tugging on your heartstrings with my whole "boo hoo, I've been subsisting on two hour-and-a-half-naps a day for six weeks" routine. My bad.

That's about it from our end. Peter is now a little more than three months corrected age, which means he's a little more than six months actual age, and as of last week weighed in at 5.02 kg (or just over 11 lbs for those who refuse to accept the obvious superiority of the metric system). And I promise to get better at posting, and to take some uber-cute pictures in the near future.

Out in the cold and on the grid

Oh, dear reader, what a day! We awoke this morning to a very cold house. Those of you who reside in or around the T dot will know that it has suddenly become unseasonably chilly out there. Turns out that this counts as a problem if your furnace isn't working. Also turns out that our furnace isn't working. It further turns out that when it's suddenly unseasonably chilly out there, lots of people look to heat contractors to come and service their furnaces. So it's still cold in here. Thank goodness for fire; Peter and I spent the better part of the day cuddling in front of ours. The bright side was that he got to look ravishing in a still-too-large hat with ears (courtesy of Auntie Megg) and a cosy sleeper.

In other news, the provincial government has finally, finally acknowledged Peter's existence! (No such luck with the federal government so far, but I'm hoping there'll be a ripple effect.) You see, for the last nearly six months, I have been trying to secure some proof of the young lad's identity, the better to get him a valid OHIP number and pay those pesky hospital tabs he's been running. I have finally succeeded, and Peter is the proud owner of (1) a statement of live birth, (2) a birth certificate, and (3) a (temporary) health card. Hooray! Now I don't have to dodge daily phone calls from "patient accounts" at five different institutions!

In other other news, I think that Peter laughed this morning. You see, he smiles and full-body-wiggles at us all the time, but so far no real laugh noises. Until I stood with him in front of a full-length mirror and, ahem, shook my tail feather, whilst saying "Shake your tail feather." This, apparently, is a joke so hilariously irresistible that Peter responded with a big smile and an audible "ha". I'm hoping I can recreate the magic with some of my other dance moves.

Peter's Favourite Things

In case you were wondering, dear reader, the following is the Peanut's must-have list for the season (he's going head-to-head with Oprah, except that he won't give you any free stuff).

The Swing 'n Rocker

We bought this 3-in-1 swing-infant seat-toddler rocker by Fisher Price when Peter had already been home for many weeks, but I wish we'd had it from the get-go. It is a motorized swing, the seat for which is easily removable and is the same as the basic Fisher Price Infant-to-Toddler-Rocker, which, in turn, is a little rocking chair for an older baby that has a kick stand-type thing that converts it to an infant seat for a younger babe. When Peter's feeling full of fun, he sits in the infant seat and makes faces at us, puts his hands in his mouth or watches the world go by. When he's a little more precarious, the swing will calm him down and keep him satisfied while we, say, eat dinner. If I had my life to live over, it is one of a very few baby gear items I would purchase.

Here is Peter chillin' in the swing 'n rocker with all his stuff:

The Playard Bassinet

This is the only place (besides the swing 'n rocker ... or somebody's armpit, naturally) the Peanut deigns to sleep. Or play, as the case may be. Bizarrely, although he is nearly impossible to settle down at any other time of day, in the evening all it takes is the Sleep Sheep (set to ocean waves, our favourite white noise selection and thus Peter's), a lullaby, and a kiss goodnight and Master Peter proceeds to send himself to la la land in this bedside bassinet.

The Mobile

Oh, the mobile. It is Peter's best friend, I think. Mark and I do our very best to make Peter smile and talk with our songs, stories, tickles and kisses, but the truth is that nothing gets a reaction from him like his beloved mobile. The particular mobile is the Infant Stim-Mobile by Manhattan Toy. It is a very basic plastic contraption with little cards with simple pictures ranging from black-and-white (for a newborn) to brightly coloured (there are some transitional pictures that are high-contrast with some colour). The idea is that you switch up the cards as your baby gets older. Put Peter under the mobile, and if he's fed and rested he will amuse himself for a half hour or so by running through a "skills drill" of smiling, cooing, eating his hands and kicking his legs vigorously. It is truly magical.

The Tottenham Hotspurs

Thanks to his Gram and Gramps, Peter has all the gear necessary to cheer on the Spurs with his dear Dad ... if only we would let him watch television ...

Dark, Blurry Photos

Sorry, dear reader, I don't know what's wrong with me ... next time I promise to get some better shots (for the record, the swing 'n rocker pic and the first Spurs photo above were both taken by Mark, who, unlike his adoring wife, can apparently operate a camera).

More Aunties and Uncles!

I am getting closer to completing the collection. Uncle Nick is going to be a tough one, stranded as he is in Calgary, but I will persist.

Auntie Esti

Peter's relaxed pose with his Auntie Esti is part milk drunk, part gratitude for his first formal invitation (to Uncle Joe and Auntie Esti's wedding! So exciting!).

Uncle Chris

Peter has a front-row seat to his favourite show, courtesy of his Uncle Chris.

Auntie G. Meghan L.

This is not how Peter really feels about his Auntie Meghan. Thanks to her, he is the grateful recipient of an adorable piggie quilt that she made, as well as several onesies with dinosaurs (um, or dragons, if you don't believe in that sort of thing).

Turning Tricks

This actually caused me and Mark no end of worry when the Peanut first did it; those of you who have read a stack of books on child development will know that rolling prior to 3 months (Peter's corrected age is about 2 months) is a red flag (specifically, a possible sign of cerebral palsy). However, after consulting Dr. Morty and the follow-up clinic, we are now less concerned - it seems the young lad probably just has strong back muscles from all his out-of-womb exercising (and a rigorous Tummy Time schedule ...). The video isn't the best example of a roll, since it starts with the dear fellow already a bit off-balance. But you get the idea.

Hands!

Today, dear reader, was an eventful one. First, a visit to Dr. Morty confirmed that Peter has quadrupled his birth weight - he now weighs in at a hefty 9 lbs 10 oz. Second, Peter "found" his thumb (turns out it was right where he left it). The below photos were preceded by a good ten minutes of near misses, and Mom and I had a laugh at the Peanut's expense as he jabbed himself in the nose, forehead and eyes. The giggles continued as Master Peter enjoyed a leisurely suck, during which he accidentally gagged himself in his enthusiasm no less than three times.

There's No Place Like Home

As of this morning, Peter has spent more days at home than he did in the NICU. For his part, the Peanut celebrated by drooling, pooping on my hand and trying to put his whole fist in his mouth (lucky you, dear reader - I decided not to include a photo of the pooping part).

Daddy and Peter Share Tummy Time

I kind of think Mark is showing off.

Uncle Joe

As promised, dear reader, more in the Aunties and Uncles department. Here is Peter spending some quality time with his Uncle Joe (who is way, way too well-dressed for the occasion):

Putting Peter Down (Redux)

I thought, dear reader, that I would update you on the status of Operation Parental Sleep, lest you remain concerned about my health and that of dear husband. The bottom line is this: Peter now sleeps pretty much as I imagine all babies his (corrected ...) age do. That is, we do in fact put him down, in a bassinet (which resides in the play yard on loan from Auntie Amber - thank you!), and he does in fact drift off to sleep for a few hours at a time before waking up hungry. On a good night, he goes to bed just before we do (in the 9:30 - 10 p.m. range), wakes up once in the wee hours, and is fed up with being by himself by 6 or 7 a.m. (at which point he demands to be cuddled). On a bad night, of course, he wakes more frequently, and I will usually try to guilt Mark into getting up with him once or, if I'm feeling particularly lazy, twice (you see, dear reader, there's a very involved process that goes into feeding Peter these days, incorporating bottle-feeding and some quality time with ye olde double electric breast pump, but that is a matter for another post). Suffice to say that we are now in normal-new-parent territory, and out of holding-our-child-around-the-clock land (a place to which we hope never to return, cuddly as it may be). Weird thing is, though Peter seems perfectly content to sleep in his bassinet at night now, he staunchly refuses to nap there during the day. He prefers to do so in his infant seat (in other news, Peter seems genuinely to love sitting in the infant seat while awake, which is also a welcome development), which is all well and good but for the fact that, infant seats not being exactly SIDS-proof sleep locales, the arrangement requires my constant vigil. Here is Peter napping in his preferred venue:

Aunties and Uncles

In addition to the wide array of individuals to whom I refer as "Auntie This" and "Uncle That", Peter has an extensive selection of actual aunties and uncles with whom to spend his time. Here are just a few: Auntie Megg

Peter tells his Auntie Megg a story during a recent visit from Calgary.

Uncle Scott

Peter and his Uncle Scott do "Blue Steel".

Auntie Liane

Peter making eyes at his Auntie Liane. Liane is all set to go back to med school after spending a couple of weeks with us. We will miss her lots.

***

That's it for now, dear reader. Stay tuned for future posts, in which I will introduce you to Peter's Uncles Chris, Nick and Joe and his Aunties Esti and Meghan L ...

Windows

Better than television.

Face Time

When we met with Peter's developmental follow-up team at Sunnybrook, they gave us two homework assignments. One was Tummy Time, to which you've been introduced, dear reader, in another post. The second mission was what we call Face Time, which consists of making sustained eye contact with the Peanut. According to the follow-up team, eye contact is a critical skill that is essential to parent-infant attachment and forms the basis for social development and learning. The trick to Face Time is catching Peter during one of his Magic Baby Moments, during which he is suddenly calm, alert, bright, beautiful, and generally a pleasant little guy. During these moments, Peter will now look at us like we're people, and sometimes grace us with great big smiles, like this one:

Dr. Morty

I wanted to introduce you, dear reader, to Peter's wonderful Paediatrician (a.k.a. the Peteratrician), Dr. Morty. In addition to being an excellent Paediatrician (see his all-star ratings on ratemds.com), Dr. Morty is Esti's dad. You'll remember Esti, dear reader, as brother Joe's lovely and charming fiancee, to whom I introduced you in a previous post. Dr. Morty has been a lifesaver since Peter's discharge from the NICU by allowing us to bring him in for frequent weigh-ins, referring us to a wonderful lactation consultant, making adjustments to Peter's meds (sometimes late at night or on the weekend ...), and generally providing reassurance and top-quality health care. Additionally, Dr. Morty is lots of fun. He and his lovely and charming wife Elaine (a.k.a. Esti's mom) came to visit us at home a couple of weekends ago. To my delight, Peter was on his best behaviour. He sat in his chair and made eyes at everyone, then performed an all-star tummy session, ate, and promptly went to sleep. Also to my delight, Dr. Morty and Elaine brought Peter a Bumbo seat, which is on the list of recommended gear provided by the developmental follow-up team (not to be used until Peter is a little older and wiser, of course). Lest you tire of so much text sans illustration, dear reader, here are Dr. Morty and Esti (Peter is just off to the right, out of the frame):

The Other Other Shoe

As the parent of an extremely premature infant (or, I imagine, of any baby who's had a particularly rough start to life), you spend a lot of time waiting for the other shoe to drop. In my case, when I'm feeling particularly sorry for myself about the run of bad luck I've had in the childbearing department, I think of it as the "other other shoe". The other other shoe reared its ugly head on Friday, when Mark and I brought Peter to his follow-up appointment with his cardiologist, Dr. Ra Han, at St. Mike's. You see, dear reader, when Peter was in the NICU, he was identified as having a small patent ductus arteriosus (PDA). The ductus arteriosus is an artery involved in fetal blood circulation. Because a baby in the womb gets oxygenated blood from its mom, it doesn't need to oxygenate blood through its lungs (i.e., breathe). So, in fetal circulation, the ductus arteriosus diverts blood away from the lungs to the rest of the body. Once a baby is born, the ductus arteriosus begins to close. However, in some babies, and especially in premature babes, it remains open or partially open, called a "patent" ductus arteriosus, or PDA. Here is what a PDA looks like, compared to a normal heart (diagram is from the U.S. National Institutes of Health): The problem with a PDA is that some oxygenated blood gets mixed in with the deoxygenated blood in the pulmonary artery, where it is pumped to the lungs and, essentially, reoxygenated, rather than being pumped out to the rest of the body. In other words, to the extent of the diverted blood flow, the heart is doing double the work. This can put strain on the heart and lead to congestive heart failure. So, dear reader, as I was saying, when Peter was in the NICU, he was identified as having a small (about a mm) PDA. Since his PDA seemed to be asymptomatic (i.e., he had no signs of congestive heart failure), and since he did not respond to the use of drugs to help it close, Dr. Han decided that the best course of action was to do nothing and wait for it to close on its own (which it usually does). She scheduled a follow-up for three months from the time Peter was discharged from Sunnybrook to level 2 care, which then seemed a lifetime away. Until now, we had been hopeful that Peter's PDA had indeed closed on its own, and all of his doctors at St. Joe's had assured us that they thought it had. In fact, Dr. Han also assumed that was the case when she examined him on Friday, but performed an echocardiogram (which is an ultrasound picture of the heart) to be sure. As it turns out, the PDA is still there. This means that, for now, Peter still needs to be monitored. If he starts to show any signs of congestive heart failure (e.g., he has trouble eating or gaining weight), or if the duct doesn't close on its own in the next six months or so, then he will need to have a procedure to close it. The good news is that, now that Peter's a little bigger, that would not mean surgery. Rather, the PDA can be closed through a non-invasive procedure whereby a catheter is inserted up through the groin into the heart, as explained here, on the Sick Kids website. All of which is to say, dear reader, that it looks like this is not the other other shoe just yet. It's just that it stinks just a little bit to know that you have to watch your son for signs of something as scary-sounding as congestive heart failure. It also stinks to know that Peter's little heart is, to some extent, working twice as hard as it needs to. As if he didn't have enough to worry about.

The Ground Shifts (or, He Sleeps)

So, dear reader, you may be one of those who has expressed concern over young Peter's poor sleeping, or perhaps you've ventured a suggestion or two. Let me give you an update; so much has happened in the putting-Peter-down department that it's hard to know where to start.

Actually, that's not true: it all started a week ago Saturday. I was rocking a very fussy Peter in the nursery, covered in spit-up, as is my habit. Mark was taking longer than expected picking up some tiles for our bathroom reno, and we were late for a barbecue at my parents' place. To cut a long story short, dear reader, I was fed up. I decided to apply the classic, time-tested advice for such situations, and put Peter down in his crib for a moment whether he liked it or not, so that I could change my shirt, pee, and take a deep breath or three. Moments later, I found myself rushing back in to the nursery, certain that something was wrong: Peter had stopped crying. When I came in, I found him lying on his back, gazing contentedly at the black-and-white mobile that Mark and I had been sure was a complete dud, such was Peter's lack of interest in it. Mesmerized, Peter held that posture for the next twenty minutes or so, until Mark finally returned.

Then something else happened. Mark and I packed Master Peter into his car seat for the trip over to Mom and Dad's. Peter fell asleep during the trip over, as he is wont to do. As he is not wont to do, however, he stayed asleep for the next hour or so, while Mark and I had our dinner. Together. Without Peter in our arms. Here is the proof:

And here are Uncle Joe and Auntie Esti's reactions to Peter's behaviour (Esti, Joe's lovely and charming fiancee, is impressed but Joe, being a skeptic, is suspicious):

It didn't stop there. For one thing, Mark continued to be able to put Peter down in the Amby Bed for one 2-hour stretch or so at night (my strategy of using CBC talk radio podcasts as white noise was less successful, despite being scientifically justifiable). For another, last Monday, I was able to sit Peter down in the vibrating chair for an hour-long nap, with a bonus half-hour of contented quiet time:

And then, dear reader, something truly magical happened. Last Tuesday night, Peter slept in the Amby Bed, in our room, for 4.5 hours. In a row. I have never felt so refreshed (actually, I was initially mostly terrified, so sure was I that the young lad had stopped breathing, and I continued to feel a bit rattled for the rest of the night). I was full of hope that our sleep problems had been solved. Until, that is, the doom-and-gloom team at the developmental follow-up clinic stepped in. Not only did they pronounce the Amby Bed to be unsafe for a preemie (this, an interesting development, given that I had encountered the hammock in Dr. Sears's The Premature Baby Book, in which he specifically endorses it for such a babe), but they also made us feel like pretty much The Worst Parents In The World for not having gotten Peter into a Healthy Sleep Pattern. For those who are wondering, a Healthy Sleep Pattern involves placing your still-awake infant, unswaddled, flat on his back in a crib, with no blankets, pillows, or sleep positioners of any kind, in which position said infant, if properly parented, will promptly soothe himself to sleep (actual parents, or actual human beings who have ever tried to get yourselves to sleep, you can stop laughing now).

Since then, with hopes dashed and egos crushed, we have been doggedly trying to put Peter down to sleep at night in a play yard bassinet next to our bed. We have realized a couple of things. First, Peter doesn't actually have to be sleeping when we put him down, so long as he is sleepy. With his beloved pacifier in mouth (a rather high-maintenance prop, since he isn't awesome at keeping it there for prolonged periods), he very often does doze off on his own under the right circumstances. Second, the lad seems to be getting a little more comfortable in his own skin, and doesn't flail about and lose his mind when placed on his back in quite the same way as he did when we first brought him home. All of which is to say, Peter has in fact been sleeping, though sporadically, in his own bed for the last several days. Last night, he even managed to do so for a 3.5 hour stretch ... no, not quite continuously (I had to reach over and replace the pacifier a few times), but it's a good start.

Great Grandma and Poppa Visit

Some photos from Peter's first visit with his Great Grandma and Great Poppa, my paternal grandparents. Peter was initially on his best behaviour, even throwing my Grandma a couple of perhaps-smiles (Dr. Morty, whom you'll meet in another post, dear reader, assures us that we are not to expect smiles until 6-8 weeks corrected age, so we're probably imagining things):

Then, naturally, this happened:

Hilariously, my Poppa had Peter in his arms for all of 1.5 seconds before getting jittery and passing him back to Grandma:

And finally, my Grandma and Poppa with their first grandchild and first great-grandchild:

Play Date with Michelle and Jocelyn

While I'm catching up on posting, here are a couple of photos from Peter and my very first play date, with his Auntie Michelle and the very adorable Jocelyn (who is the prototypical Beautiful Baby). Michelle had a whole bag of toys for Jocelyn to play with but, to my amusement, she preferred the paper Wendy's bag and the plastic sterile pee bottle (Toys 'r Us, take note).