The Accidental Pixie

The kids have been gearing up for today all week: a costume-halloween party at a friend's house. Everyone was dressing up, adults included. My kids have had their costumes figured out for a week (iBean for much longer) and leave it to me to be making mine at the last minute the morning of the party.
But it's not my fault. I am not good at dressing up for anything, and I saw this cute idea online of how to make a Paper Bag Princess costume. So I was busy cutting away paper this morning and putting it together in the living room, making a total mess of the place. The kids were pretty happy with that and iBean was colouring on the scraps of leftover paper, Keesadilla was colouring and cutting and glueing. All very good crafty wholesome stuff.
Once my costume was done, albeit too wide for my shoulders, but whatevs, I hopped into the shower and began making myself look like I had just had my castle blown  up by a dragon. Which was not hard, since my entire living room had been blown up by a last-minute DIY costume attempt.
As I was teasing my hair and back-combing and hairspraying and rubbing mascara on my face to look like soot, I heard Sashimi yell: MOMMY! SOMETHING BAD IS HAPPENING!
I'm thinking, oh no, another creeper on Minecraft which I don't understand and what the hell is a creeper anyway.
Then: MOMMY! KEESADILLA AND IBEAN ARE CUTTING THEIR HAIR!
I run into the living room. iBean is sitting on a stool. Clumps of her ice-white lockson the table, alongside some darker chunks of brownish blond.
Audible gasp. LOUD GASP. Hands to mouth, almost choke on my fist from all the vacuum-style inhaling and OHHHHing.

Woe is me and my poor barely-grown hair

Everything was quiet. But my loud gasping and sighing and near-moaning. Then I asked the obvious question: Who cut iBean's hair?
Keesadilla: I did. Are you mad, Mommy?

Me: Well...WHY did you cut her hair?

Keesadilla: I think it looks better this way.

Me: Noooooooooo, it doesn't. And we have family pictures on Monday!

Keesadilla: Don't worry Mommy, hair always grows back.

Me: It won't grow back by Mondaaaaaaaaay!

Keesadilla: When is Monday?

Me: in two daaaaaaaays!!!!!!!!!1

Keesadilla: Oooooohhhhhhhh. 

Then I look. The hair chunks are glued to a piece of paper. There was motive behind this. I don't know if I understand it, but there was some sort of reasoning. For a split second, I actually pictured myself madly gluing all those white locks back onto her head. OH THE DEVASTATION! THE TRAGEDY!

Then I look. iBean says: Mommy, Kees is cutting my hairs. My hairs is short now!

And she smiles.

Obviously not bothered. At. All.

Punk-chic by Brother

She just sat there. She smiled. I tried to smile, but all I wanted to do was continue breathing into the paperbag costume. I know hair grows back. But not in 2 days. 

I texted my hairdresser the picture of the hairpocalypse. She texted me back right away and said she could fix as best she could f I took her right away.

Keesadilla was looking really concerned. I told him we would NOT miss the costume party, so not to worry. But that's not what he was worried about.

"Are you gonna take me to the police?"

"WHAT? No. I am not going to take you to the police. But can you just promise me that you will NEVER EVER cut hair again??"

Keesadilla looked at me, hesitant. I know he was really thinking about it.

"Yeah, Ok, fine."

Then I grabbed iBean and ran to the salon. Wait, did I mention that I was half decked out like a paperbag princess whose castle just got blown up?

Like this?

Who needs a hair cut NOW??

With mascara all over my cheeks and leggings and a top meant to go under the paperbag ,and backcombed to high heaven, we went to the salon.

The stylist said it was bad. Not the worst she's seen, but there would definitely be cowlicks she just couldn't fix.

When all was said and done, iBean came out like this:

Add a bunch of hoops in her ear and she could be me circa 1999

She had a sucker, she was happy.

Then mad dash home to go dress up for the party:

My sweet little Punk-Chic-Pixie Scooby Doo.

Good thing she's so cute!

My Daughter's Cabbage Patch is bottle fed.

Last Christmas, we bought a teenie preemie-sized Cabbage Patch doll for iBean.  I knew that she wasa little young for it, but I thought there would come a time when she would be all about playing with dolls, dressing them, changing them, propping them up to teach them school and assign them homework.  Telling them to be quiet and do their work. You know, regular girlie dolly stuff.
Wait.  You didn't put your dolls in little desks and make them do assignments in their teeny notebooks?  You mean that was just me?  Hmm.  Wait...I think I did that to my sisters...

Where was I?  Oh yeah.  iBean and dolls.

She is now 21 months old and starting to realize that babies are EVERYWHERE.  The first time she met her new cousin Lily, she was not impressed.  She gave that little flower child the stink eye and then moped around for a couple of days.  WAH!  Someone is smaller than me and more cuddly and her farts smell like roses!  WAH! I want MY toots to smell like roses again!  Why do I eat solid food?  WAHHHHH!

Then, iBean discovered her Cabbage Patch doll.  She has always been in her room, in her crib, sitting there, waiting to be played with.  iBean finally decided that if she couldn't beat the baby craze, she may as well join it and have one of her own.  She dug out a little knit blanket and wanted me to wrap up her dolly like Lily.  She wanted to rock her dolly and sing to her.  She wanted to feed her. With a BOTTLE.

My daughter, who just stopped nursing a scant two months ago, picked up a play bottle and started feeding her baby dolly while making slurping sounds.

SHUT THE FRONT DOOR.

She has never been exposed to bottle feeding in our house, my friends all breastfeed their babies.  So where did this come from?  Her brother.  Sashimi, in his infinite loving wisdom showed her how to feed her baby, with a bottle.  In his defense, there is no physical way he could actually nurse a baby.  Not possible, not happening.  But that one moment of Bottle-ganda was enough to convert her.  That Cabbage Patch doll is bottle fed.

So I hid the bottle.  I wanted to show her how mommies feed their babies from their breasts.  I didn't get all wonky and actually try to nurse the doll.  I just held it to my chest (over my clothes) and made drinking sounds.  iBean looked at me like I was from another dimension.  I put the dolly on her chest and made drinking sounds.  She lifted her baby up, looked at her, then grabbed the bottle and kept feeding.

ACK.

I'm not mental or anything.  I think it's crazy cute that she wants to take care of her baby doll and rock it and sing to it.  But I just want to convince her NOW that breastfeeding is the way mommies are meant to feed their babies.  And show her that it's normal and ok.  And I want to melt that damn yellow bottle into the bottom of a pan.  And then maybe mail it to the Cabbage Patch company and make some internet video that goes viral while I chant DOWN WITH BOTTLES! MORE BOOBS PLEASE!  Well, maybe not in those exact words.  Although if the man in charge of Cabbage Patch is, indeed, a man, I am sure he would agree with the boobs part of that chant.

I'm going to continue being my daughter's lactation consultant, but if she persists with the cutesie bottle, I may just have to convince myself that iBean adopted the dolly and that my daughter never produced any milk to begin with and that's why she thinks I am crazy for trying to get her to breastfeed.

Maybe I'll find some imaginary breastmilk from the imaginary breastmilk bank and slip that into the bottle.
HA!
Take that!

Eff.  I am crazy.

Defining Moment

There are several moments that define your life: first kiss, first love, wedding day, coming out of the closet day, you know, stuff like that.  Some of these moments are truly momentous for everyone involved, like the day a child is born.  Or the day you come out.  Other moments, well, they may not be as astounding, but they build character.  Or merely highlight a quality of your character you didn't know you had.

I was watching the kids take a bath after an excruciatingly hot day.  I was sitting in my bra and shorts.  Tony was walking around in his boxers, Sashimi still in his swimming trunks, playing with Lego.  iBean tried to climb out of the tub, so I helped her out, dried her off a bit, then let her run off.  The air-drying time would bring her some relief in the heat.  I looked over at her bending over the lego bin, watching her brother.  Then I saw something.  I reached out my hand and caught it.    I walked over to the bathroom, put the half-footer log into the toilet and flushed.  Then I realized what I had just done.

I caught a shit in my HAND.  My bare hand!  ON PURPOSE!  And for what?  So I wouldn't have to clean shit off the carpet.  Because I apparently would rather have to clean poop off my hands (which I use to EAT WITH) than off the carpet, which we walk on. With our dirty feet. But wait!  After the log, iBean made a sequel and it was all mushy, so when Tony tried to pick it up off the carpet, he smushed it in.  SMUSHED SHIT INTO THE CARPET!  So my log-catching was all for naught.  Because not only did I gently cradle my daughter's feces in my hand, catching it like delivering a fragile baby, I also get to scrub it out of my bedroom carpet.

And you know what the worst part is?  The whole thing didn't phase me. At. All.  It was like business as usual in the frickin Gross McDisgusterson house, where people apparently poop in the tub, on the floor, and now in my hand.  You know how some people potty train their kids?  Not me.  My kids are totally hand-trained.  They squat, I catch.  It's easy, you all can do it, too.  You just let your kids run around naked and wait for the catch.  In the middle of making dinner?  No worry! Don't have to run to the bathroom, just catch and dump.  Or is it dump and catch?  Or they dump then you catch and you dump?  Either way, you always get poop on your hands.  And then you use your hands for EVERYTHING ELSE in your day.

Seriously, what have I become that I can see a turtle head poking out and my first reaction is to stick my HAND there?!  Why would I not find a cloth to catch it in, or pick her up and put her over the toilet?  Or just let her poop on the floor and make Tony clean it up? Because apparently I am a shit-catcher.  Some people catch a break.   Some people catch colds.  I catch shit. 

And that has been my character-defining moment of the day year. 

The Poopsmith

Poopsmith /ˈpo͞opˌsmiTH/
(noun)
1. the science and art of making, defeating, and concealing poop
2. my daughter

iBean is a prolific pooper. Not only that, she is now at the age of poop awareness.  Seriously, I think the poop awareness ribbon is brown with flecks of green and yellow, designed by iBean herself.  Just to create awareness out there that YES!  SHE CAN POOP! AND SHE LOVES IT!

She hides behind doors or crouches beside tables when she does her business, and when I look at her and ask her if she just went caca (French for poop), she looks at me with pure pleasure and repeats "TCHA TCHA!"  She even poops in the tub. On a regular basis.  I think it's one of her favourite places to poop.  Maybe it's like giving birth in a pool: less pressure and it just slides right out.  Not that I have ever given birth in a pool.  Or pooped in a pool.  Or bath. So maybe it's not like giving birth at all. Meh.  Just scratch all that.

This morning after breakfast, I lift iBean out of her highchair, only to discover that her diaper had leaked pee through her pajamas.  Her bum, and now my shirt from her bum being pressed against me, are soaking wet.  So I instantly strip her down to her naked-diva-self as I grab a new diaper, clean clothes for Beanerson, and a new shirt for myself.  As much as I like walking around looking like I am permanently lactating, I think I'll go for a fresher look today.

I put on a new NOW-URINE-FREE shirt and go get iBean from the kitchen, where she is wandering around playing with clean dishes in the dishwasher, rearranging my cupboards, being über-helpful in a way only a 15-month-old can.  I bring her to the bedroom and put a new diaper on.  Hmmm.  That's wierd.  There's a bit of poopsmear around her bum hole.  Wow, must be dried on from yesterday, I guess.  Wierdo presto strange-o. Oh well.

iBean gets dressed and races back to the living room to cause general confusion and delay while Tony is trying to get Sashimi dressed for school and I work on convincing Keesadilla that playschool is not full of BAD GUYS and that his friends are not all BAD and STINKY, and YES, Mommy will stay with him for five minutes to play.
Speaking of stinky, Keesadilla pipes up: Mommy, what's that stinky smell?
Me: TONY did you fart?
Tony: No...*look of disbelief crosses everyone's face*...Seriously, I didn't.  I think it's iBean.
Me, checking her bum: Nothing in her diaper, I just changed her.
Keesadilla: Mommy, YOU stink!
Me: No I don't.  I don't smell anything, Keesadilla.
I walk into the kitchen to make myself some breakfast, start slicing up fruit to make a smoothie.  I go to the fridge to get yogurt and see it: 
A PILE OF POOP NUGGETS AND LOGS LEFT AS AN OFFERING IN FRONT OF THE FRIDGE.  As if to say: LOOK MOMMY!  BE PROUD OF ME!  I POOPED ON THE FLOOR SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO WASH ANOTHER DIAPER!

I shout out: OH MANNNNN!  IBEAN!!  You pooped on the floor!!
And our live studio audience bursts out into maniacal laughter, followed by the Poopsmith herself, heaving with red cheeks and flailing her arms about from the sheer hilarity of it: "TCHA TCHA!!!!"

Well, it's not so funny when you have to CLEAN THAT SH*T UP!

Nice try Beanerson.  I'll be more impressed when you TELL me you pooped on the floor.  Wait.  Scratch that.  I'll be more impressed when you tell me you have to poop BEFORE you poop on the floor.  That's better.

Oh well.  I guess that's one less sh*tty diaper I have to wash.  Wait, did I just say that?  Damn.  Well played, Poopsmith.  Well played.

Party On!

iBean is not like our boys. When they go to sleep at night, they know it's night time, and night time is for sleeping, not partying. iBean has this silly habit of every so often, once in a while, waking up around 10:30 or 11 pm, after being asleep for hours, and being a goof. The level of goofiness varies, but she has been doing this since she was about 6 or 7 months old. Usually, rather than fight her inner-night-diva-ness, we just bring her into our bed, sit her between us while we read or watch some TV show that we in no way illegally ripped off of the internetz (*cough*GAMEOFTHRONES*cough*) and put her to sleep an hour or so later, depending on how quickly she tires of our boring night lives. This was last night's shenanigans. What a silly girl.

In her shoes

My little girl is now walking. She took her first unassisted steps back in mid-December, 13 days before her first birthday.  Even though she took practice steps everyday, she spent most of her time clutching my finger and dragging me around, up and down the hallway, in circles around the living room, all while holding that death grip around my right index finger.

Today, for the first time, she let go of that finger and stoof on her own. After contemplating that for a while, she took some steps: cautiously at first, but solidly and well-balanced. She could turn herself around, she could get herself back up if she fell forward, and when she realized exactly what she was doing, she smiled the biggest grin and clapped her hands together.

So what did iBean do with this new found freedom?  The freedom to go wherever she wished without having some nagging parent attached to her?

She went for the shoes:

SHOES!! Which ones, which ones...

I think I'll take these white and pink ones to match my tights.

Just need to support myself on one leg here...

Ok, one foot in.  Now for foot #2

And pivot and balance and face the audience...

Ta-da!  I'm outta here!

And so it begins.

Wordless Weds: Reflections

Reflections

One year ago I was eagerly waiting for iBean to master breastfeeding. Now, with mixed emotions, I await a pre-op appointment for a tubal ligation.
I don't really want to be done having babies.  I would love to give iBean a little sister to play with.  Heck, even a little brother to call "her baby" and force Barbie-time on him. Or tea party. But not Bratz or Monster High.  WTF are those anyway?  So wierd.
But my body really cannot handle another pregnancy.  And so we have to call it quits.
On the one terrified hand, I have been living in fear of getting pregnant for the past year.  Because of my continued hypertension, I cannot go on birth control pills.  I was given the option of an IUD, but that does not appeal to me what.so.ever.  I still have not had a period since iBean's birth, so it's not like I can even avoid sexy parties on certain ovulatory days. So we have been playing Russian Roulette with condoms.  So far, so good.
On the other weepy hand, I sort of wished that I had fallen pregnant by accident. I could have tried to have another baby without all of the questions of "ARE YOU CRAZY?  YOU COULD DIE!" and retorted: "WELL, WE USED CONDOMS' BUT THEY'RE ONLY, LIKE 98% EFFECTIVE." And then Ross screeches "THEY SHOULD PUT THAT ON THE BOX!"
See? No guilt there.  I could say we tried to avoid it, but God obviously had other plans for us.  Not our fault.
But they do put that on the box.  And when used correctly, condoms work.  Of course, being married to a health care professional means he ensures they work.  Every. Time.
So when I went to get a renewal on my blood pressure medication last week, I asked the resident if I could be referred to a surgeon to get my tubes tied.  I can't live in fear of pregnancy anymore, and I know that a pregnancy could very well kill me, my baby, or give me a stroke and leave me disabled, or give my baby a stroke and leave her disabled, or what the heck, all of the above.  And, since iBean was born at 32 weeks, my chance of having another premature baby is high, and I could definitely live without another NICU experience.  Not the the NICU was bad, in fact, the nurses were pretty awesome. It was just a very high-stress time for our whole family, even with iBean being a medical marvel.
There is the small chance that it could all go smilingly well and I could have a very uneventful pregnancy and a nice 7 1/2 lb baby like Keesadilla. 
But the odds are not in my favour, particularly since my body never fully recovered from what happened with iBean, despite the specialists telling me that there was no reason that they could see that I wouldn't go back to being a normal 29-year old that doesn't need to be on blood pressure medication.
So I am going against my Catholic roots and having a medical procedure performed to prevent procreation.  I've had a hard time with this one, but I have to believe that God would rather my children have their Mommy with them than be motherless with one more sibling.

All is forgiven

It's no secret that iBean is not a good sleeper. She has her moments, but she still wakes two or three (four or five) times a night.

Last night, she went six hours before waking, which is quite good for her.  I went in and nursed her, then she went back to sleep.

Three hours later, iBean woke up again.  I went in, nursed her, fell asleep in the chair while nursing, then upon waking half an hour later, put her back in her crib.  Only she was not tired.  She was WIDE awake.  At 4:30 am.  Not being one to put up with such shenanigans as waking up at 4:30 am for the day, I left her to squak and talk in her crib while I tried to catch some more z's.

After 30 minutes of quacking, I reluctantly went in when she progressed to full-on crying. I walked into her room, picked her up, and she said "Mama!" for the very first time.

I cuddled and nursed her (again) and smiled in my state of groggy bliss, forgeting all about the fact that she was just being a turd.

Wordless Weds: Lady Chubbington

[caption id="attachment_687" align="aligncenter" width="584" caption="Mommy doesn't feed me fast enough. I do it myself."][/caption]

Hypertension - the sequel, or rather, the continuing story

iBean will be 6 months next week and my blood pressure has still not returned to normal.  At its peak in the hospital is was 182/133.  Every medical professional I tell that to is simply amazed that neither iBean or I stroked out.  It was a pure miracle that she came out as well as she did and that despite my high blood pressure, no lasting physical damage to my body or organs.

But I am still living with the hypertension. I slowly weaned down from my 17 (!!) daily blood pressure pills to the last one, and went off that last medication 15 days ago.  My blood pressure has not spiked back up, but it is slightly higher than it was on the meds. My diastolic pressure is borderline hypertensive, depending on the time (and day) I take it.  I was originally told in the hospital by the myriad of specialists that if my blood pressure had not resolved within 12 weeks postpartum, that I would most likely have chronic hypertension for the rest of my life.  I guess that is what I have to now face.  I was really hoping that once I was off all of the meds (and when you are on 17 pills a day, it takes a LONG time to titrate down!) my bp would normalize.

I was also told that I was at a substantial risk for this whole preeclampsia thing to recur should I decide to get pregnant again.  The specialists kept using the words conception planning appointments, high risk, specialist appointments, bedrest, hospitalization, premature delivery, possible organ damage, fetal death, maternal death should I decide to get pregnant again, particularly if my blood pressure did not resolve itself.

Or maybe not. I could get pregnant and everything would be peachy, just like my pregnancy with K-Man.

But 3 of my 4 pregnancies have had blood pressure issues.  Not full-on wars like this last one, but chances are, the next one would just make that number 4 out of 5.

Giving me the benefit of the doubt, my doctor (the man is a saint) is putting a requisition for another halter blood pressure monitor and giving me some more time to see if my body will bring itself back to normal.  There are things I can do: exercise (WTF is that?!), eat less salt (moment of silence as I say goodbye to soya sauce) and eat more beets (there are only so many beets I can consume in a day without wanting to yarf).

Tonight, I went for a walk.  I was farking tired, but while Ivy napped and Tony was home, K-Man hopped in the jogging stroller and we went for a brisk walk, about 3 km. The first real exercise I have done in almost a year. The goal to bring my diastolic blood pressure down is to do 20-30 minutes of "exercise" 4 times a week.  Not just running around after kids and up and down the stairs doing laundry.  I'm talking above and beyond that.  It would be WAY easier if I had an iPod that could actually hold all my dance/trance/upbeat music. Right now it is mostly consumed by stuff to listen to in the car while chauffeuring the kids around (Glee features prominantly).

High blood pressure is supposed to be for old people.  Not 29-year old size-4-wearing mothers.

It's a good thing iBean was worth it.

iBean at her maximum level of medical interventions, about an hour after her birth.

 

iBean at 5 months - we're hitting the beach, ladies!

It's been awhile

Reading a friend of mine post about her current battle with cancer rekindled my desire to journal (blog).

Not sure where this will lead me, but for now, let's just say that I am temporarily back in the house.

I have decided to post all of the updates that I had written while Ivy and I were in the hospital when she was born. If you subscribe to me in a reader, you may notice all these posts from January showing up...I retro-dated them to the time that I had originally written them.

Home Sweet Home

After 18 days in the NICU, Ivy was finally discharged on January 21. She had originally taken her carseat test on the 19th, but to our dismay, she did not pass. Part of that was because the carseat we had, although it is an infant carrier, does not have adjustments small enough for a 4 lb baby. She was swimming in it!
So Tony and I decided to go out and buy a new carseat, and to our great elation, she passed her second carseat test with flying colours. I called Tony at work and told him the good news, and he jumped into his car and drove to Grande Prairie to pick us up. We would surprise the boys when we got home.
The trip home was a bit of a muck up, not because of Ivy, but the roads were altogether NOT cooperative. Ivy slept the whole way, only starting to root around when we were about 10 minutes from home.
We walked in the door and Sacha and Kees were ecstatic! Kees ran around, dancing, wanting to show me Ivy's room all set up. He wanted to show me all of the trains (Thomas trains) that a friend of Sacha's had passed down to him. Sacha kept hugging me and telling me how much he loved me and how glad he was that we were home. It was one of the most amazing feelings I have ever felt, finally being reunited as a family.
Ivy had a good first night at home. She wakes up about every 3-4 hours to eat, then falls quickly back to sleep. Preemies need a lot of sleep for their development, and she seems to know that. She also seems to know how to let off some good burps and poops to make room for all the milk she consumes!

I will post more details in the next few days. Thank you all for your prayers and concern in this time.

The Milk Machine Returns

So after yesterday's bump in the road with nursing, Ivy has made a full comeback. Immediately after I posted on here, her feeding went back to normal. In fact, this morning has been exceedingly good. In the last 3 feeds, she has taken in 50 mL, 45 mL and 30 mL. Oh, and did I mention that she is waking herself for her feeda and not even waiting the "prescribed" 3 hours between feeds, only waiting 2 hours between these good meals!
Ivy also gained another ounce yesterday, putting her at 3 lbs 15 oz. I think the nurses were being overly cautious yesterday, which is their job, I guess. But I am just going to leave that NG tube in for now! Don't want to jinx ourselves! And we just learned that Ivy has graduated to the next level of breastfeeding supremacy. She is doing so well that she doesn't need to be pre- and post-feed weighed any more! Yay! Crossing our fingers for a weekend discharge.

Stellar...whoops!

Little Miss Ivy has become a stellar nurser. Unfortunately, she and I may have gotten a little ahead of ourselves. After over 24 hours of exclusively breastfeeding with no gavage feeds, Ivy pulled out her own NG tube. Since she had been nursing so well, the nurses did not put one back in. Then at her next feed, she decided that she only wanted a little milk, after which she pursed her little lips together and did not want anymore! Well, in a NICU, people get panicky when a preemie baby decides not to eat as much as the doctor says she should, so in went a new NG tube. Ivy was livid, so much so that when I tried to nurse her at her next feed, she started to drink a bit and then she came off and screamed. That was the first time for that sort of reaction. I am pretty sure the NG tube was bothering her, which is not good. But as she was not wanting to nurse, the nurses got some of my pumped milk and gave her a gavage feed. It was discouraging
after such a great day and 2 nights of feeds.

Jersey Girl

Ivy is nearly 2 weeks old now. She is 3 lbs 14 oz and in the last 12 hours has really shown that she is a superstar nurser: she breastfed full feeds 4 times of the last 5, taking in even more than what the dr considers for her to be a "full feed." This improvement means she is one step closer to getting her NG tube removed. Usually oncer the tube is out, you are looking at a carseat test within 24 to 48 hours and then, if all goes well, discharge! Ivy is not on any medications, her vitals have been stable since she was extubated shortly after birth, and she is gaining weight each day. She was moved out of her incubator and into a big-girl bed (ha!) 2 days ago, since she is now able to regulate her own body temperature. I am hopeful that we can go home in a week or so.
On a crappier note, my camera and 2 lenses were stolen from my hospital room when I was upstairs with Ivy on Thursday. The camera had all the newborn pics and videos of Ivy. What a horrible thing for ssomeone to do!

Settling in

We are now settled in at the QE II hospital in GP. Ivy continues to gain weight and exceed the nurses' expectations, particularly when it comes to feeding. Ivy nurses on alternate feeds, getting every other feed from her NG tube. When she does nurse. She usually takes in 10mL from me, and then they top her up with the remaining 20 mL through her tube. I was a little discouraged that she only takes 10 mL until the nurse told me that for her gestational age, she would really only expecct her to nurse once for every 2-3 gavage (ng tube) feeds, and the fact that she takes in 10 mL each time is even better. So that reassured me quite a bit.
I am being fed hospital food for free while I am here in a boarding room. It is a new thing they are trying out for mothers who are nursing their babies in the NICU. It may not be great food, but I don't have to cook!

Waiting

We are still waiting for a plane, so I am going to go rest at Talia's until we get the call. Ivy is being transfered because the NICU here is full and she is a good candidate for transfer because she is doing so well.
She gained weight again today: she is now 3 lbs 11 oz. She is also starting to regulate her body temperature better, which is one step closer to being out of the incubator (isolette). Yea!

Transfered

I was discharged today and Ivy is being transfered to the QE II hospital in Grande Prairie. The staff had previously told me that she would NOT be transfered, but this morning, the doctor told me that they were going to transfer her to the Grey Nuns Hospital in Edmonton. I then said if they were going to transfer her at ALL, could it be GP, simply because then Tony and the boys could come and see us on his days off.
So as it stands right now, we are waiting for an airplane to take us to GP.

General NICU FAQ

I have had a few people ask questions about our stay at the Royal Alexandra Hospital, so I thought I would address those here:

Although Ivy is under 24-hour care, I am allowed to visit her and be with her whenever I like and as often as I like. I spent 3 hours cuddling with her and doing Kangaroo care this morning (and nursing), then I was back there two more times, both in time for her feeds.

I am still an inpatient at the hospital because of my blood pressure, but I am hoping to be discharged tomorrow. My blood pressure is more stable now, although I am still on 2 different medications for that. At its peak, I was on a total of 17 blood pressure pills per day. That's right, 17. 3 different prescriptions, but the total number of pills was 17. Now I am down to 11. The doctors are trying to rework my medication to put me on a dosing and scheduling that will be more manageable once I am discharged. To be honest, there is one medication that I really do not think I need in the dose they are giving me, but we shall see what they decide tomorrow.

Once I am discharged, I will be staying in a boarding room at the hospital. There are 14 boarding rooms specifically for moms who have babies in the NICU who are from out of town and/or who are nursing. My name was already put on the list for a room upon discharge. While I stay there, I am responsible for my own meals and such. I am hoping they have a little fridge so I can get groceries, because I do not want to eat out 3 meals a day for the next 2 weeks, or however long Ivy needs to be here.

While in the boarding room, the NICU will call me whenever Ivy needs (wants) to eat, and I make my way to the NICU to feed her. They said if I want to, I can give them permission to take a bottle at night so I can sleep. I am not keen on that, since the goal is to get her exclusively nursing and I think a bottle will mess that up.

The criteria for Ivy's discharge are these: she must be taking all her feeds orally, either by breast of bottle, she must be gaining weight, she must have no "events" in 24 hours, and she has to pass the carseat test. Events mean instances of bradycardia and/or apnea. Ivy has had only 2 of these since being admitted on Monday, both of which she spontaneously recovered and no interventions were necessary. The carseat test is that she has to be able to sit in a carseat for 90 minutes without having any apneas or losing oxygen saturation in her blood.

So far, Ivy's nursing is going well. She gets better every time. In fact, the last time I nursed her, I thought she was finished, and when I took the breast away, she got mad and had her mouth wide open looking for it!

Ivy is going to have a bath tonight. That should be fun!

Sarah