...have been rough. I want to chronicle things here for reference later on, but mostly because I think it is therapeutic to write out the emotional toughies.
I have to say the biggest emotional hurdle for me is my guilt.
Guilt that they talked me into an induction. Because I was fearful of a terrible labor on pitocin, I opted for an epidural for the first time in 20 years. As I reached the transitional phase of labor, Peter began to be distressed. His heart rate plummeted and there was a great commotion to try and help him. Luckily, we got him here quickly and safely, but I immediately felt guilty for having chosen this path.
When we came home two days later, Peter had lost half a pound. Not unusual for a breast-fed baby, but as my milk became more abundant, Peter was not plumping up like I expected. It took him forever to feed and was still hungry. At a weight check on Saturday morning, he had not gained any weight. He had not lost any more, but neither had he gained. I decided to call the lactation consultant the hospital had available for us to ask her advice. I got no response for two days. Finally on Tuesday, she returned my call and we planned to meet the next day.
However, right before she called, I was laying Peter down after a feeding. I am pretty sure I witnessed him have a 7-10 second seizure. This was around 5 in the afternoon. I knew we had an appointment for another weight check in the morning and I could wait until then or I could take him into the ER. After discussing it over with Tony, the lactation consultant and my sister who is a pediatric nurse, we decided it would be best to take him on in that evening to be safe. Cue the guilt.
Guilt because they put him through so much only to send us home to wait for our morning appointment. They kept trying to draw blood and they kept failing. Peter cried and cried. I cried and cried. Tears of fear, tears of frustration, so many tears. It was horrible for both of us and I was exhausted by this point.
The next morning, the lactation consultant worked with me for two hours. She determined that Peter was tongue-tied and put in a referral to the ENT to have his tongue and his upper phrenulum clipped. We did that on Friday. Tony was with me this time for emotional support. I decided to let the nurses hold him for the procedure so he would not associate what was happening to him with me in any way. Of course he cried again. But I was not prepared to see how much they actually clipped his tongue. It frightened me to look at it. And then, we got home. And he could not nurse at all. He couldn't figure it out. He just rooted and rooted and could not latch on. My heart broke all over again and the tears flowed for my sweet, sweet boy who was enduring so much. Finally, Friday evening he figured out how to use his tongue and drank his fill. He even got so much in a mouthful that he choked. Sweet relief for the mama, I tell you. Some of my guilt subsided. Some.
All I want is to batten down the hatches and stay at home with my new baby and enjoy every single second of this precious newborn age. We are far from done with the doctor visits though. Monday we go back to see if his weight is improving. Thursday, we head to the neurologist for an EEG. I am so thankful that Tony has this time off and can help me. Olivia went back to school this past Monday and Sophie leaves for Franciscan this weekend.
The kids all love Peter whole-heartedly, even Therese, who I was slightly worried about. She leans over the basket he sleeps in and kisses him (maybe that's why he doesn't sleep for very long), saying "My Peter". As soon as he awakens, they beg to hold him. They are going slightly stir-crazy though and I am thinking of trying to do some partial school days next week to help us ease into the school year.
That is about all for now. I expect he will awake very soon, and I want to lay down for a few minutes before he does.