Day seven

(This post brought to you courtesy of Noah who had a good sleep at night, nursed for an hour and a half, and went back down painlessly, and his dad, who set him up for the good sleep playing with him and holding him between 11 and 1 am.)

It's a week now since I went into labour at 4:30 am and already I can hardly remember being pregnant. My body feels sore still, and tired, and I'm still bleeding enough that if it isn't slowing more by Monday I'll have to go in again - sigh. There are still funky hormones around, prolactin (the milk maker) being an especially cool one - after a feed I can actually feel a bit giddy, if I'm not exhausted. The difference in labours is amazing, especially considering that they were both vaginal. Last time I felt like someone had ripped up my insides and this time I feel - light and also whole.

All of that is still dwarfed by Noah. I live mostly in ten minute increments, which seem to stretch on forever, and then suddenly it's Friday. I haven't made any phone calls or done any of the social things I Ought To Do because I find it hard to stop staring at Noah, holding Noah, checking that Noah is breathing, or eating/drinking/sleeping mostly so as to keep Noah supplied with breast milk. Yesterday I set a goal though of making two calls (done!) and today it is two calls and a walk... somewhere, probably just to the bluffs down the street. Possibly to Toys R Us.

Noah himself is thriving. If parents get the children they can handle, apparently Carl and I can't handle very much. He eats at 2-3 hour intervals, but last night he made it between a feed that ended at 1:45 to 6 am this morning, with one wake-up - I held him on my chest until he settled back down and then boom, it was 6 am. I feel drunk on sleep, since that's the longest bout I've had in a week. I try to sleep when the baby sleeps and remind myself that it's a marathon, not a sprint, but as usual I find sleeping in the day almost impossible.

He cries some, but so far only for a reason - hiccups are scary, the diaper is wet, the belly is empty. I know that the screaming for no reason bouts will come, but so far we're still in the newborn honeymoon period. He's been called a fairy baby for more than one reason, except his farts decidedly do not smell like roses.

The obsession with diapers is full-on, since it's about the only way besides a general impression that one can tell that Noah's ok. We had a bit of a panic Thursday - between the meconium and the breast milk stools there was about a 36 hour gap, and the hospital had said if he went 24 without a soiled diaper there was a problem. We went down to the lactation clinic but they were fully booked with appointments (we'd called, too, but they hadn't called back fast enough for me).

Carl and I had that moment where the medical system dropped out from under us at that point - it was nearly 4 pm, my doctor's on holiday with only a walk-in clinic backing her up (effectively; there is another doctor in her practice but I have a 25 year history of conflict with him), and we weren't sure whether we should take him in there or what to do next. We have so little faith now in any doctor we don't know - something to think about if we decide to move to a pediatrician (if we can find any taking patients).

I was having a breakdown in the car - the night before of course Noah had cluster fed all night so I was on one hour's sleep - when I decided to call Telehealth Ontario. That's what they're for after all - help you decide if you need to go into an emerg or a clinic or whatever. They were really good on the phone, although of course they depended on my powers of observation, and the answer came back that he would be okay for another 12 hours and *then* panic.

When we got home the lactation consultant had called and said the same.

And then a few hours later he had a poo. I am sure no parent was more proud.

I'm not sure I like medicine by call centre, but Telehealth's number is now at the top of my speed dial.

Noah's also developing by leaps and bounds. He keeps his eyes open longer now and really seems to be looking at things, although in an unfocused way. He likes to suck on his fingers, even if his hands seem to flail completely beyond his control. It's funny to watch him chasing them down. He seems to be gaining weight; his cheeks have filled out a bit more and his belly is getting that rounded look. He has a long neck for a baby, but it still has those folds.

He lifts his head a lot and works his legs and arms whenever he can. He turns his head towards sounds he likes, like my voice or Carl's. Sometimes he gets fussy from looking, and then if I put him on the breast for a comfort suck he sucks and looks around some more as if suddenly safe with it.

For me parenthood has taken over so completely that I sometimes feel like I'm falling. It's a pleasant fall, but I am not always sure how to access my old self, the one that wasn't obsessed with poo. Part of that too may be that Lyria is so much more around, enjoying baby time. Magdalynn contributes parenting tricks which often, oddly enough, turn out to be right (and if that's not the weirdest turn around in a system person ever, I'm not sure what would be). The kids are happy, but sometimes hushed like they're scared to hurt the baby. Lynn plays music, which I take to be a good sign, and everyone else seems to just take a turn.

Now he's fussy so I'll go get him and enter the ten-minute world again.

Shandra