The countdown is over. Quinn, the three dogs, two cats, house and garden are all in tact -- not counting my mental acumen.
For the last seven days, Quinn had to tolerate being held, fed, burped, changed, and talked to by none other than me. By the end of it, I'm certain she was questioning my sanity as I babbled and blathered on and on.
If ever there was a time for a recession, this is as good as it could get for my family's business. Normally, my folks are on the road 45+ weeks a year, but as with most industries, ours too is limping through this anemic economy. The upside, and I'm just thankful there is one, is that the one year I'm back in my parents' nest, with grandchild in tow, is also the one time they happen to be home more often than not.
This past week though, was one of work in the Rockies for my folks. While there, they also spent a few extra days with their other grandchildren, Ben and Bridget.
At first it felt like if not Quinn, I would surely go into shock from having a house full of people (with Tom and Jill in town), to no one else to pass the kid off to just so I could shower, or do something more productive -- like get the cat stoned on catnip.
But by the second day, Quinn and I had found our groove. By week's end, it wouldn't be the stress of caring for her alone that would overwhelm me, but the desire to draw out the time so I could horde her to myself a little longer.
The intensity of an infant's stare, or the grip of such miniature hands didn't mean much to me before I went through the portal of parenthood. Now, when she's unfurls her first long enough to reach out to me, or loosens the suction on her pacifier so her whole face can beam a smile in my direction, she cements a new degree of happiness into my heart.
That's an awesome feeling, but what parenthood has done for my cerebrum and coherence is still in question.
Just the other night, I had a dream I was at the firehouse and we had a call, but I couldn't find my radio. When I did find it, I became obsessed with keeping it in hand.
Invariably since leaving my job as a firefighter, my dreams have such themes, and this one seemed rather innocuous.
That is, until near dawn I sauntered into the bathroom, and while trying to avert becoming fully awake, did my thing, then reached for some toilet-paper, only to find it gone!
Not empty. Not dislodged and on the floor. It was gone.
My bleary eyes bolted open and searched the room. The toilet-paper was nowhere in sight. Adios. Bye Bye. Quite literally, I was S.O.L.
Not sure how one can be embarrassed or humiliated in complete isolation, but I managed to verify it is indeed possible. Let's just leave the remaining details as an unfortunate burden on my own memory, rather than share the pain.
What's more curious though is that two days later, I found the roll of toilet-paper. . . in my clothing closet. I hardly grab anything out of there when I'm awake; so what I was doing in there amidst a slumber remains a real mystery.
Apparently, four months of intermittent "sleep" is catching up with me, with frightening effects.
Yesterday, after searching the house, I found my cell phone. . . when a filing cabinet drawer started to ring.
Last week, before anyone even left town, I woke up just after rolling over to shut off the alarm clock. That's when it dawned on me -- I hadn't set one.
It wasn't the alarm clock I had just shut off, it was the baby monitor!
Thank goodness I realized what I had done or Quinn would have had to holler her head off before I would have risen from my wishful coma.
This little hiatus of help has made me conclude that living with others is probably less imperative for sharing the weight of watching Quinn, than it is to ensure I have even a modicum of sanity before I'm even allowed to operate the TV remote!
All the best from the cuckoo's nest,
J & Miss Q
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The Nutrients of Regret
The last time I saw Jack's best friend, Tom, was last January when we were skiing in Park City, Utah... Back then, I was a much smaller person, in a much bigger body.
Today, I'm still plenty plump, yet am utterly ruled by the most petite person I know. Not only does she dominate my day, this little girl is challenging me to grow into a much bigger person than I've ever been.
It was an absolute treat having Tom and (his wife, my godsend) Jill here for a few days, and to watch them get (re)acquainted with Quinn. Mesmerized within minutes, Quinn doled out all her attention on Jill. Maybe she has a way with babies, or perhaps it is something unique to Quinn, but Jill made an indisputable impression on her little "niece."
Although not as impressionable as an infant, I couldn't help but notice that spending time with them left its mark on me too. Being around them was a reminder of what extraordinary people I have known, still know, and so many yet to know.
More than that though, it also felt like a metric for the kind of person I have yet to become. Yet, sometimes regret edges out an awareness for what potential I still hold. . .
How useless and paralyzing the past proves to be when only redolent of regret. The veracity of which I stumbled upon in the most unexpected of places as Tom and Jill observed a beach full of harbor seals with their infant young.
Watching as their mothers plunged below the water's surface for food, and then how they bellied up onto the craggy rocks, the baby seals mimicked their mothers as best they could, often failing first many times over.
Sounds silly, but it was a reminder to me that I don't need to chastise myself endlessly for my foolish feats of the past. Rather, to gather up the knowledge from those experiences, map out what pitfalls I can help Quinn avert, and leave the rest to be learned by molding myself into the person I strive to be, and modeling that for her.
There is much I have learned about what in life, work, love, and friendships is nourishing; and what might look like good fodder, but is hardly filling, and far from sustaining.
Of course, she will be sure to make her own blunders; and more than anything will likely crave that I just be present for her as she heals from her falls.
But as I learn to be a bigger version of myself, I hope to have shown her all that is nourishing, as well as how to forgive herself for the time spent diving after those things that weren't. As life appears to be at least as much about discerning the two, as it is about ultimately getting it right.
Murphys Under Metamorphosis
Today, I'm still plenty plump, yet am utterly ruled by the most petite person I know. Not only does she dominate my day, this little girl is challenging me to grow into a much bigger person than I've ever been.
It was an absolute treat having Tom and (his wife, my godsend) Jill here for a few days, and to watch them get (re)acquainted with Quinn. Mesmerized within minutes, Quinn doled out all her attention on Jill. Maybe she has a way with babies, or perhaps it is something unique to Quinn, but Jill made an indisputable impression on her little "niece."
Although not as impressionable as an infant, I couldn't help but notice that spending time with them left its mark on me too. Being around them was a reminder of what extraordinary people I have known, still know, and so many yet to know.
More than that though, it also felt like a metric for the kind of person I have yet to become. Yet, sometimes regret edges out an awareness for what potential I still hold. . .
How useless and paralyzing the past proves to be when only redolent of regret. The veracity of which I stumbled upon in the most unexpected of places as Tom and Jill observed a beach full of harbor seals with their infant young.
Watching as their mothers plunged below the water's surface for food, and then how they bellied up onto the craggy rocks, the baby seals mimicked their mothers as best they could, often failing first many times over.
Sounds silly, but it was a reminder to me that I don't need to chastise myself endlessly for my foolish feats of the past. Rather, to gather up the knowledge from those experiences, map out what pitfalls I can help Quinn avert, and leave the rest to be learned by molding myself into the person I strive to be, and modeling that for her.
There is much I have learned about what in life, work, love, and friendships is nourishing; and what might look like good fodder, but is hardly filling, and far from sustaining.
Of course, she will be sure to make her own blunders; and more than anything will likely crave that I just be present for her as she heals from her falls.
But as I learn to be a bigger version of myself, I hope to have shown her all that is nourishing, as well as how to forgive herself for the time spent diving after those things that weren't. As life appears to be at least as much about discerning the two, as it is about ultimately getting it right.
Murphys Under Metamorphosis
Friday, May 22, 2009
Our Good Fortune
Saturday evening, Quinn will be reunited with the woman to whom we owe all our health and sanity.
It all started with Jack's best friend Tom, who had the perspicacity (and sheer luck!) to marry Jill, an incredibly smart and good-natured woman.
Auspiciously, Jill is the friend I was cross-country skiing with in Utah when I went in premature labor. A former labor and delivery nurse, now a nurse anesthetist (the first cut in that profession is just being able to pronounce it!), Jill was writing down my twinges of discomfort when I was confident I wasn't in labor.
It is entirely to her credit that I made it to the hospital in time to deliver, rather than being my usual dumbass-self by heading to go the gym to "sweat out" whatever discomfort I was having.
Not only did Jill coax me to take a shuttle, if not ambulance, on the 20 minute drive to Salt Lake City, she had Tom (back in Kansas) on the phone emailing my blackberry directions to the hospital (and thank Baby Jesus she did because the driver didn't have a clue where she was going, but was thrilled by the idea that she might have a kid born in her van. . . to the extent I swear she was delaying things when I tried to pay her as we were running into the ER).
By the time it was confirmed my water breaking was no aberation, my heroine Jill had already changed her ticket back to Kansas, rented a car, talked to Jack's commander's wife to get word to him, and was ready to crash on a cot until the kid made her debut.
With all my joking, crying, and intensifying groans, there wasn't much sleep to be had by the time Quinn was born. Nonetheless, Jill sprung into action videotaping the whole thing for Jack (who appears to be too squeamish to watch it), cutting the umbilical cord, and then helping me get collected and moved to yet another room.
Within a couple of hours, Jill scurried back to Park City to pack up the rest of our things, check out of the hotel, bring our other friend Dar to the airport, and then returned to save my sanity as I started to come unglued from the shock of all that had unfolded.
What's really remarkable is that about four days before Quinn was born, I had a dream that I had given birth and someone who was a sister to me, but not my actual sister, stood next to me to lend her support. In the dream, the delivery was such a breeze it made it hard to fully comprehend what had just transpired.
The morning after that dream, I mentioned it to Jill and Dar over breakfast. That dream is still so clear in my mind, as was the thought I had afterward "Yeah, if only a delivery could be so fast and relatively painless! And that other woman's presence was so serene, the whole event was rather calm and peaceful. . . " And then, as if following a script, that's just how it went in reality.
Even after seven months of pregnancy, that was only the second dream I had about the baby. The first one was startling because in it I was unaware I had given birth, and instead of seeing a screaming, gooey, puffy-faced kid, I saw one clothed and bundled and lying on a bed away from me.
Obviously, after those two dreams I've just canceled my subscription to dreams all together. That's just too freaky. Although, having Jill come to my rescue -- in both a dream and reality -- lends me the fortitude to face the prospect of both my sleeping and waking reality.
Wishing you only the sweetest of dreams,
Mama Murphy & MQ
It all started with Jack's best friend Tom, who had the perspicacity (and sheer luck!) to marry Jill, an incredibly smart and good-natured woman.
Auspiciously, Jill is the friend I was cross-country skiing with in Utah when I went in premature labor. A former labor and delivery nurse, now a nurse anesthetist (the first cut in that profession is just being able to pronounce it!), Jill was writing down my twinges of discomfort when I was confident I wasn't in labor.
It is entirely to her credit that I made it to the hospital in time to deliver, rather than being my usual dumbass-self by heading to go the gym to "sweat out" whatever discomfort I was having.
Not only did Jill coax me to take a shuttle, if not ambulance, on the 20 minute drive to Salt Lake City, she had Tom (back in Kansas) on the phone emailing my blackberry directions to the hospital (and thank Baby Jesus she did because the driver didn't have a clue where she was going, but was thrilled by the idea that she might have a kid born in her van. . . to the extent I swear she was delaying things when I tried to pay her as we were running into the ER).
By the time it was confirmed my water breaking was no aberation, my heroine Jill had already changed her ticket back to Kansas, rented a car, talked to Jack's commander's wife to get word to him, and was ready to crash on a cot until the kid made her debut.
With all my joking, crying, and intensifying groans, there wasn't much sleep to be had by the time Quinn was born. Nonetheless, Jill sprung into action videotaping the whole thing for Jack (who appears to be too squeamish to watch it), cutting the umbilical cord, and then helping me get collected and moved to yet another room.
Within a couple of hours, Jill scurried back to Park City to pack up the rest of our things, check out of the hotel, bring our other friend Dar to the airport, and then returned to save my sanity as I started to come unglued from the shock of all that had unfolded.
What's really remarkable is that about four days before Quinn was born, I had a dream that I had given birth and someone who was a sister to me, but not my actual sister, stood next to me to lend her support. In the dream, the delivery was such a breeze it made it hard to fully comprehend what had just transpired.
The morning after that dream, I mentioned it to Jill and Dar over breakfast. That dream is still so clear in my mind, as was the thought I had afterward "Yeah, if only a delivery could be so fast and relatively painless! And that other woman's presence was so serene, the whole event was rather calm and peaceful. . . " And then, as if following a script, that's just how it went in reality.
Even after seven months of pregnancy, that was only the second dream I had about the baby. The first one was startling because in it I was unaware I had given birth, and instead of seeing a screaming, gooey, puffy-faced kid, I saw one clothed and bundled and lying on a bed away from me.
Obviously, after those two dreams I've just canceled my subscription to dreams all together. That's just too freaky. Although, having Jill come to my rescue -- in both a dream and reality -- lends me the fortitude to face the prospect of both my sleeping and waking reality.
Wishing you only the sweetest of dreams,
Mama Murphy & MQ
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Making a Four-Chambered Heart
Hard to believe in just a few days it's only been (and at the same time, already been) four months since Quinn was born.
We went to her doctor today for the customary stuff. For some reason, I constantly catch myself saying that I took Quinn to the "vet" rather than the pediatrician.
Granted, she did get a round of shots, and the doctor made all sorts of sounds that definitely weren't part of the vernacular, and she is shedding her head of hair about as rapidly as any distressed cat . . . so I guess there is some room for confusion in my head.
Perhaps I can't help but feel I'm taking her to the vet rather than a human doctor because she is such a different and ever-evolving creature than us plain and mundane adults (although I barely qualify as a "real" adult with so much growing up yet to do).
Being the life-long learner (aka pathological dork) that he is, my Dad has been spending what free time he can scratch up to master the anatomy and functions of the heart. It's been some time since I used those synapses, so it's been stimulating to hear an aspect revisited now and then.
What was never taught in any biology class I had was that prior to birth, a fetus' heart shares blood between the chambers of the heart. Within moments of birth (premie or full-term), the separation of the left and right ventricles has to be intact. Not only that, but an axillary valve that in utero recycled blood into the heart (rather than to the lungs), has to be disengaged.
And that's just the heart! It's nothing short of miraculous what the human body can perform, let alone a body that was virtually just conceived.
As it looks today, this little human is progressing just fine. Quinn was just under the double digits, weighing in at 9lbs 13oz, but she had gained some good length to make up for the slightly slow weight gain. Her smiles and giggles, and attempts to mimic me sticking out my tongue, are all healthy meters for her measured growth.
Having nothing to fret about, it was a rather pleasant visit, until -- of course -- she got another round of shots. Once we got home, she settled down on her Grandpa's chest, where she eventually fell asleep listening to his heart beat out a cadence for her own to eventually follow.
A heartfelt hello to everyone from,
JMama & the Maturing Madeline Quinn
We went to her doctor today for the customary stuff. For some reason, I constantly catch myself saying that I took Quinn to the "vet" rather than the pediatrician.
Granted, she did get a round of shots, and the doctor made all sorts of sounds that definitely weren't part of the vernacular, and she is shedding her head of hair about as rapidly as any distressed cat . . . so I guess there is some room for confusion in my head.
Perhaps I can't help but feel I'm taking her to the vet rather than a human doctor because she is such a different and ever-evolving creature than us plain and mundane adults (although I barely qualify as a "real" adult with so much growing up yet to do).
Being the life-long learner (aka pathological dork) that he is, my Dad has been spending what free time he can scratch up to master the anatomy and functions of the heart. It's been some time since I used those synapses, so it's been stimulating to hear an aspect revisited now and then.
What was never taught in any biology class I had was that prior to birth, a fetus' heart shares blood between the chambers of the heart. Within moments of birth (premie or full-term), the separation of the left and right ventricles has to be intact. Not only that, but an axillary valve that in utero recycled blood into the heart (rather than to the lungs), has to be disengaged.
And that's just the heart! It's nothing short of miraculous what the human body can perform, let alone a body that was virtually just conceived.
As it looks today, this little human is progressing just fine. Quinn was just under the double digits, weighing in at 9lbs 13oz, but she had gained some good length to make up for the slightly slow weight gain. Her smiles and giggles, and attempts to mimic me sticking out my tongue, are all healthy meters for her measured growth.
Having nothing to fret about, it was a rather pleasant visit, until -- of course -- she got another round of shots. Once we got home, she settled down on her Grandpa's chest, where she eventually fell asleep listening to his heart beat out a cadence for her own to eventually follow.
A heartfelt hello to everyone from,
JMama & the Maturing Madeline Quinn
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Playful Posse
Granted she's a bit young, but Quinn is off to a good start with establishing her posse of friends.
Borrowing from my meager stash of local high school friends, Quinn had her first play date with the ever giggling and inquiring Theo -- a friend's seven month old munchkin who has more charm than most seventy year olds.
A bundle of giggles and inquiry, Theo didn't wait to be entertained -- he discovered his own objects of interest. Meanwhile, Quinn sat nearby, curious but not eager to engage with him. Quietly she assessed and observed Theo, who must have looked like a kid on 'roids to her because he looked like a toddler to me.
Being that his hostess wasn't particularly intriguing, Theo discovered something far more captivating: a healthy stockpile of magazines (to gnaw on, of course).
It appears the world takes on a totally different nidus and flavor when your gums are continually being punctured by incoming teeth, and magazines are a delectable treat!
Overall, Quinn's first play date was a real success.
No one bit or was bitten, there wasn't a spelling bee-like competition of swear words (that will come), and no one took a crap in the cat box (yet another reason to hope Jack's genes prevail). A grand time I'm looking forward to repeating again!
To the good times ahead,
Mama Murphy & Quizzical Quinn
Borrowing from my meager stash of local high school friends, Quinn had her first play date with the ever giggling and inquiring Theo -- a friend's seven month old munchkin who has more charm than most seventy year olds.
A bundle of giggles and inquiry, Theo didn't wait to be entertained -- he discovered his own objects of interest. Meanwhile, Quinn sat nearby, curious but not eager to engage with him. Quietly she assessed and observed Theo, who must have looked like a kid on 'roids to her because he looked like a toddler to me.
Being that his hostess wasn't particularly intriguing, Theo discovered something far more captivating: a healthy stockpile of magazines (to gnaw on, of course).
It appears the world takes on a totally different nidus and flavor when your gums are continually being punctured by incoming teeth, and magazines are a delectable treat!
Overall, Quinn's first play date was a real success.
No one bit or was bitten, there wasn't a spelling bee-like competition of swear words (that will come), and no one took a crap in the cat box (yet another reason to hope Jack's genes prevail). A grand time I'm looking forward to repeating again!
To the good times ahead,
Mama Murphy & Quizzical Quinn
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The Squirt Has Soul
My apologies for being such a sloth of a blogger. It seems unlikely anyone could really care to read this, and then I get emails and phone calls that folks actually do . . . If anyone is really interested in reading my blather more regularly, I'm happy to oblige. And should that interest quickly turn to disgust, well then at least Quinn will have something to reflect upon as yet another way how not to be like me.
Thankfully, it's already in the cards, Quinn isn't the slacker her mom is.
Within a week the kid has completely kicked her puking tendencies; heck, she doesn't even gag any more. And now, she is gobbling down both formula and breastmilk, or whatever gets within reach of her lips (frequently, that would be my shoulder or neck while I'm trying to burp her).
At times, Quinn still has fits of screaming and yowling at what I can only presume to be a severe belly ache from eating too quickly, her gut being still a bit undeveloped, or from the ubiquitous lactose. Later this week she'll have a weigh-in; unless my biceps are deadbeats too, I suspect the reason they burn when holding her lately is because the girl has been doing some good working on her girth.
Now that Miss Quinn has obtained her brown belt in the the banal functions of swallowing and digesting, she has moved on to activities that may not be quite as attention-getting as projectile vomiting, but far more fun.
One morning last week, as soon as my face greeted hers, Quinn blessed me with the biggest grin. Now she is like a genie: she will bestow numerous smiles on anyone that grants her one first.
Perhaps more profound than these smiling sessions is that she also bellowed out her first real laugh.
According to Aristotle, a baby lacks a soul until she has her first laugh. By his measure, this "human ensouling" is to occur around the child's 40th day (after birth). Well, for Quinn, that day has long come and gone . . . Like the President, she just passed her 100th day -- on terra firma.
However, it was the 36th day since her due date that she had her first laugh; so if there's any validity to Aristotle's curious theory, at least this kid is on schedule (unlike her ever-tardy mom)!
This whole parenthood thing feels as miraculous as the human soul is mystical. A smile from this little being fills me with such delight, and certainly the first of many gifts of parenthood. It's an awe-some experience I can hardly wait to share with him when Jack is back, and with friends as they too pass through that threshold.
(And for those who decide not to become parents in some capacity, I'll just torture them with endless pictures of our kid, and subject them to the various smells and stories that will only reinforce their insight into why they were smarter than to play the breeding game.)
All the best from,
the Mystified Mama and Quinn with Official Quintessence
Thankfully, it's already in the cards, Quinn isn't the slacker her mom is.
Within a week the kid has completely kicked her puking tendencies; heck, she doesn't even gag any more. And now, she is gobbling down both formula and breastmilk, or whatever gets within reach of her lips (frequently, that would be my shoulder or neck while I'm trying to burp her).
At times, Quinn still has fits of screaming and yowling at what I can only presume to be a severe belly ache from eating too quickly, her gut being still a bit undeveloped, or from the ubiquitous lactose. Later this week she'll have a weigh-in; unless my biceps are deadbeats too, I suspect the reason they burn when holding her lately is because the girl has been doing some good working on her girth.
Now that Miss Quinn has obtained her brown belt in the the banal functions of swallowing and digesting, she has moved on to activities that may not be quite as attention-getting as projectile vomiting, but far more fun.
One morning last week, as soon as my face greeted hers, Quinn blessed me with the biggest grin. Now she is like a genie: she will bestow numerous smiles on anyone that grants her one first.
Perhaps more profound than these smiling sessions is that she also bellowed out her first real laugh.
According to Aristotle, a baby lacks a soul until she has her first laugh. By his measure, this "human ensouling" is to occur around the child's 40th day (after birth). Well, for Quinn, that day has long come and gone . . . Like the President, she just passed her 100th day -- on terra firma.
However, it was the 36th day since her due date that she had her first laugh; so if there's any validity to Aristotle's curious theory, at least this kid is on schedule (unlike her ever-tardy mom)!
This whole parenthood thing feels as miraculous as the human soul is mystical. A smile from this little being fills me with such delight, and certainly the first of many gifts of parenthood. It's an awe-some experience I can hardly wait to share with him when Jack is back, and with friends as they too pass through that threshold.
(And for those who decide not to become parents in some capacity, I'll just torture them with endless pictures of our kid, and subject them to the various smells and stories that will only reinforce their insight into why they were smarter than to play the breeding game.)
All the best from,
the Mystified Mama and Quinn with Official Quintessence
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Mommy Drinks Because You Cry
If only I had time to breathe, or I wasn't raised to be so square, or there was room for anything in the fridge other than frigging breastmilk, maybe then I would drink.
This week, I probably should be drinking, and not just because it's Mother's Day and Moms should get plastered and do every sinful thing they've had a hankering to do all year but abstained while try (or feigning) to be better than themselves as the next generation's role models.
No, I should drink because Quinn has done so little all week, and has filled her belly with cries instead of food. A theme we all are growing a little tired of. (Yes, I did just end a sentence with a preposition -- let the sinning begin!)
It started with a visit to her doctor for a weight check after all those digestive diagnostics, and a pneumonia vaccine. The vomiting was the issue up until that point; she would eat a mere two ounces at best and then hurl at least half of it back up. Having worked in a pediatric malnutrition clinic in Boston, I was terrified she was going to starve and fail to grow.
So I cheated. A lottabit.
To cram the calories into what food she was digesting, I made my own recipe of mother's milk and formula. What little she did digest, had to help her thrive. And thrive she did! In the three weeks since the doctor last seen her, Quinn's weight skyrocketed from 8.5lbs to over 9.5! That's phenomenal and, really, unnatural growth.
Without an explanation, it looked like she'd been hanging with Manny Ramirez and taking baby 'roids.
Once I confessed about my concoction, the doctor explained how unhealthy that would be over the long-term for her kidneys. Great, I just broke the kid again. He wasn't too worried -- yet -- but I promised not to continue fattening her up like veal.
Oddly enough, since that appointment, Quinn she hasn't vomited even once! Which, don't get me wrong, I am thrilled about. However, she replaced the vomiting with something akin to baby anorexia as she'll only take a few sips of milk (or formula) before hollering her head off for the next twenty minutes.
Mix in some constipation (who thought I'd miss her target practice with explosive diarrhea?!), and stepping in some dog vomit at crack of dark this morning and you have the makings of a perfect Mother's Day cocktail.
Cheers!
Mimosa Mama & the Butterball
This week, I probably should be drinking, and not just because it's Mother's Day and Moms should get plastered and do every sinful thing they've had a hankering to do all year but abstained while try (or feigning) to be better than themselves as the next generation's role models.
No, I should drink because Quinn has done so little all week, and has filled her belly with cries instead of food. A theme we all are growing a little tired of. (Yes, I did just end a sentence with a preposition -- let the sinning begin!)
It started with a visit to her doctor for a weight check after all those digestive diagnostics, and a pneumonia vaccine. The vomiting was the issue up until that point; she would eat a mere two ounces at best and then hurl at least half of it back up. Having worked in a pediatric malnutrition clinic in Boston, I was terrified she was going to starve and fail to grow.
So I cheated. A lottabit.
To cram the calories into what food she was digesting, I made my own recipe of mother's milk and formula. What little she did digest, had to help her thrive. And thrive she did! In the three weeks since the doctor last seen her, Quinn's weight skyrocketed from 8.5lbs to over 9.5! That's phenomenal and, really, unnatural growth.
Without an explanation, it looked like she'd been hanging with Manny Ramirez and taking baby 'roids.
Once I confessed about my concoction, the doctor explained how unhealthy that would be over the long-term for her kidneys. Great, I just broke the kid again. He wasn't too worried -- yet -- but I promised not to continue fattening her up like veal.
Oddly enough, since that appointment, Quinn she hasn't vomited even once! Which, don't get me wrong, I am thrilled about. However, she replaced the vomiting with something akin to baby anorexia as she'll only take a few sips of milk (or formula) before hollering her head off for the next twenty minutes.
Mix in some constipation (who thought I'd miss her target practice with explosive diarrhea?!), and stepping in some dog vomit at crack of dark this morning and you have the makings of a perfect Mother's Day cocktail.
Cheers!
Mimosa Mama & the Butterball
Friday, May 1, 2009
A Panoramic View
My apologies for being so delinquent in keeping this blog current. Sometimes I make the mistake of thinking it takes more than a matter of minutes to give a glimpse of what is happening here.
Thankfully, Quinn's diagnostic tests came back without any indication that she has an abnormality, aortic block, or another obvious problem. Believe it or not, she is perfectly healthy! It didn't register what a stress the notion that she might need surgery or anything invasive was until I heard that good news. If the hospital had a bar, I would have ordered drinks for everyone... maybe a few!
Of course, the flip side of that delightful news is that neither I, nor the doctor, have any idea why she can eat a third of what she was when we left the NICU, and half of the time she vomits that mere amount back up. Until Quinn grows out of it I will be knocking myself out trying to discover the perfect formula of formula, mother's milk, amount and frequency to keep her growing like seaweed.
Today, her full-cheeks and chubby legs weigh in at 8.5lbs... Amazing growth over the three months since her birth-weight of 3lbs 14oz. People comment that she must be a newborn, but to my untrained eye she looks like a moose.
The ink black hair Quinn got from her Dad has turned a nutty reddish brown. Her eyes remain that indistinct grey that babies are said to have; at times I see streaks and shadows of brown, but at other times a rich blue looks back at me.
Every morning my parents kindly ask how much sleep I got during the night. More often than not, I am still in my robe, looking utterly discombobulated, without much recall from the night before. Sleep is a sweet memory, but I can't say I miss it all that much. Quinn gets all the rest she wants, and is quite peaceful -- at least when she isn't puking.
In all honesty, it doesn't matter in the least how much or little sleep I may be getting. The light of my day comes from Quinn's chirps and chortles, and the long gazes she bestows upon me as if I am worthy to be watched. And the gravity that keeps my feet planted to the floor is the call or email from Jack assuring me that he is alive and well.
Some insight into a "bad" day for Jack and other soldiers in combat zones brings my gripes to a quick halt and leaves my tongue lax. A "rough" day for them reverberates to the other side of the globe into a rippling wave of devastation for family and friends. This panorama of pain puts it all in perspective, and I chide myself for ever momentarily forgetting that.
Sending our love and my appreciation to those near and far,
Mama Murphy & Miss Q
Thankfully, Quinn's diagnostic tests came back without any indication that she has an abnormality, aortic block, or another obvious problem. Believe it or not, she is perfectly healthy! It didn't register what a stress the notion that she might need surgery or anything invasive was until I heard that good news. If the hospital had a bar, I would have ordered drinks for everyone... maybe a few!
Of course, the flip side of that delightful news is that neither I, nor the doctor, have any idea why she can eat a third of what she was when we left the NICU, and half of the time she vomits that mere amount back up. Until Quinn grows out of it I will be knocking myself out trying to discover the perfect formula of formula, mother's milk, amount and frequency to keep her growing like seaweed.
Today, her full-cheeks and chubby legs weigh in at 8.5lbs... Amazing growth over the three months since her birth-weight of 3lbs 14oz. People comment that she must be a newborn, but to my untrained eye she looks like a moose.
The ink black hair Quinn got from her Dad has turned a nutty reddish brown. Her eyes remain that indistinct grey that babies are said to have; at times I see streaks and shadows of brown, but at other times a rich blue looks back at me.
Every morning my parents kindly ask how much sleep I got during the night. More often than not, I am still in my robe, looking utterly discombobulated, without much recall from the night before. Sleep is a sweet memory, but I can't say I miss it all that much. Quinn gets all the rest she wants, and is quite peaceful -- at least when she isn't puking.
In all honesty, it doesn't matter in the least how much or little sleep I may be getting. The light of my day comes from Quinn's chirps and chortles, and the long gazes she bestows upon me as if I am worthy to be watched. And the gravity that keeps my feet planted to the floor is the call or email from Jack assuring me that he is alive and well.
Some insight into a "bad" day for Jack and other soldiers in combat zones brings my gripes to a quick halt and leaves my tongue lax. A "rough" day for them reverberates to the other side of the globe into a rippling wave of devastation for family and friends. This panorama of pain puts it all in perspective, and I chide myself for ever momentarily forgetting that.
Sending our love and my appreciation to those near and far,
Mama Murphy & Miss Q
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