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.