Seal Park

It was 60 degrees yesterday, so Roan and I hit the swings...

Grandpas

Grandpa Lyons and Roan (4 months)

Grandpas have it good. They hold the baby, and when the baby gets fussy, they hand it off to someone else. They supervise diaper changes, pretending to help. And when they get tired or bored, they let their heads fall back and snore. Since they nod off quite suddenly, sometimes you don't realize that a Grandpa is asleep, and you'll ask him a question or make some passing remark. He'll wake up 10 minutes later, answer your question or defend himself, as the case may be, and swear up and down he was never asleep.

Grandpa Mac and Roan (5 months)

Last week Grandpa Mac came to visit. He got in late, so the first time he saw Roan was when I passed him off around 3AM after a feeding.

"Just bounce him for a while," I told Grandpa Mac, "and he'll eventually go to sleep."

"He doesn't look sleepy," said Grandpa Mac.

"He is. He just doesn't know it. You have to convince him." And I went to bed.

I wake up half an hour later because Roan is making noises... is he laughing? Yes. Grandpa Mac is playing Super Baby. A game where you fly the baby around the room and exclaim in a loud voice: "Super Baby!" Except Grandpa Mac was whispering, so we wouldn't wake up and bust him.

"Dad," I say, and my voice is full of frustration and disappointment. "It's the middle of the night. What the hell?" It's funny because 15 years ago my father was asking me this same question, with this same tone. But sleep deprivation tends to rob you of your sense of humor. I am pissed.

"He didn't want to sleep. He wanted to play," Grandpa Mac says in his defense.

And this is how Grandpas get out of Night Duty.

Stool Sample

We decided to have Roan's poop tested. Because it's super nasty. I promise not to describe it, or post photos, because I understand that some people don't have babies, and don't spend their free time thinking about poop. Ah, I remember those days (insert nostalgic sigh).

Collecting a stool sample should be simple. At least that's what Jay thought when he showed up at the lab with one of Roan's dirty diapers.

"Ha ha ha," said the lab. "As if! Please fill these three test tubes until they are overflowing with poop. And don't spill the preservative. And please, get that dirty diaper out of here."

So, later that night Roan pooped. And we attempted to transfer the poop from his diaper to the tubes. The lid of each tube is equipped with the most miniscule spoon you've ever seen. Seriously, if we were use this tiny spoon to scoop the poop, we might have had the stool sample ready by Roan's tenth birthday. So we found alternate methods. One tube was nearly full when Jay knocked it over, spilling poo, and the preservative.

The next day, Jay returned to the lab with the two tubes.

"Not nearly enough," said the lab. "And here's this really enormous jar we forgot to give you the first time. Fill it up."

The lab wouldn't even take the two tubes that were ready, so we had to bring them back home. Is there an appropriate place to put two tubes of poop? The bathroom seemed wrong, but the kitchen and the bedroom were even worse.

We waited. And waited. A day passed, and no poop. Another half day passed. Roan seemed to sense how desperately we needed him to go, and clammed right up. In the meantime, two tubes of poop sat mockingly on our windowsill, behind a family photo.

Robot explains that he is on poo strike until his demands are met:

Finally: more poop. Just enough to fill the third test tube. I didn't worry about the jar; that had to be a joke - something we hallucinated in the haze of sleep deprivation. I went to the lab with confidence and the relief that comes from a hard job finally complete.

Grandpa Mac, Robot, and Robot poo accompany me to The Lab, full of hope:

Of course, when we got to the lab, it wasn't enough, and they sent us back home with another Big Jar.

"Your husband was really confused," the lab receptionist said. "Did you know he tried to give me a dirty diaper?" I just smile and beg her to take the three tubes of poo it has taken all week for us to collect. "Okay," she finally says, "I'll just keep these here until you come back with the jar."

A small success, but to me it felt huge. I walked away with a lighter step, and empty pockets.

Examination

Roan got some vaccinations today: DTap, Polio, Hib, Pneumococcus, and Rotavirus. After he reacted so badly to the first round of these vaccines, we were well prepared with Baby Tylenol.

He is five months old today, weighs 16 pounds 4 ounces, and is 26 inches tall. This medical examination must have inspired him to indulge in a bit of self examination at home:

New Toy II

To change it up, we put the new toy on the windowsill. 7 more stages:

1. Engaged

2. Distracted

3. In the mouth

4. On the move

5. Studious

6. The Pundit / Lets Make a Deal

7. Chunk Cheeks


At this point Roan became more interested in my camera than the toy.

New Toy I

We got Roan a new toy. It's a complicated toy, and needed thorough examination. Their relationship progressed along the following 7 stages:

1. Disbelief / Gratitude. Like seriously guys, you got this for me?

2. Introductions. Ro talks to the toy.

3. Mistrust. Why isn't the toy responding?

4. Ro views the toy from a new angle.

5. Ro pushes the toy. This is exciting. Things are looking up. Accompanying happy sounds.

6. Another perspective.

7. Abandonment of interest. The floor is better.

More Recovering

Day 5 (aka Sunday)

Here is Roan having Naked Play, which is something that Jay and I made up to pass the time between getting the Robot naked, and getting his shower/bath ready.  Because all babies should spend some time sans diaper.  He's only gets modest like this when the camera's around.

Day 6

Day 7 (today)

Recovery

Day 3:Day 4:

On the third day after surgery, Roan still looked like he'd joined Baby Fight Club. But today, the fourth day, the swelling is almost gone, and the bruising is starting to fade. His eyes look almost symmetrical in this photo.

Throughout this whole process Roan has been a champion baby. Once he got over the anaesthesia, he's been just as happy and as playful as ever. He doesn't seem to bothered or traumatized. Jay and I, however, are traumatized. We're giving him an oral antibiotic three times a day, which is pretty nasty despite the cherry flavoring, and Baby Tylenol for soreness and pain. We are icing his eye each time we feed him, and applying a topical antibiotic cream afterward. We are attempting to keep socks on his hands. The hardest part is keeping him from rubbing and scratching his eye - he can tell something is different about it, and wants desperately to check it out / poke it out. Because of this, everything was initially a two person job - someone to do whatever needed doing (diaper change, burping, giving medicine, whatever), and someone to make sure Ro didn't put his fist in his eye. He also seemed to be bent on jamming all his toys into his eye. Once, I even saw him try to kick himself in the eye. Guess he doesn't want to lose his street cred.

My mom flew in the day before the surgery, and we leaned hard on her. Having a third person to split baby time and share the night shifts made it bearable. She also made chicken salad sandwiches when we were starving and too tired to order delivery, and did a breathtaking amount of laundry. Even now, as a grown woman and a mother myself, my mom has the power to swoop into my life, like a magic fairy or something, and make everything okay. I'm not sure what that says about the kind of person I am, that I still need this kind of fix - maybe nothing. But it says a lot about the kind of person my mom is.

Jay's parents flew in a day later, and having three grandparents around has been heavenly. My mom's now flown home, so they've taken the weekend shift. Jay and I stepped out for a beer the other night, to congratulate ourselves on what a badass our son is, and maybe, just for a fleeting second, pretend that we were just another childless couple getting our drink on at 4PM.

Family Photos

As promised, here are some more photos from our trip to San Antonio:

Surgery

On Wednesday Roan had surgery to remove a dermoid cyst above his right eye (you can see it clearly in this photo). Dermoid cysts are made up of hair, nail and teeth cells, and sometimes pockets of blood, fat, bone, and cartilage. All this stuff was on it's way to wherever it was supposed to go, and just got stuck by Ro's right eye instead, probably when he was in utero. We could have left it alone, but it was getting bigger, and the danger is that it will rupture, spreading these cells all over his face. Then he'd have to be on antibiotics for the rest of his life, to suppress infection, and to suppress the teeth, nails, and hair trying to grow on his forehead, cheeks, chin, etc. So yeah, we opted for the surgery.

Since he went under general anaesthesia, Roan couldn't eat for four hours before surgery. Only one parent could accompany him into the O.R., and we decided it would be Jay. They gave him this astronaut suit to put on, complete with shoe covers and shower cap, and I couldn't help but notice that of the half dozen other couples in the waiting room, he was the only dad going in. Was I really the only mom who didn't want to watch? When we took Ro down to the O.R., the nurses seemed surprised that Jay was wearing the astronaut suit instead of me - they started to tell me I couldn't go any further, but instead grabbed an extra suit for me. This made me feel even worse: like I was the only mom in the history of the hospital not to accompany her child into surgery. I'm glad I went, because the surgeon ended up being 45 minutes late, and it took a lot of effort to keep Roan from realizing how hungry he was. We passed the time by admiring the other Robot in the room - a 1.6 million dollar robot used for urinary procedures.

It was awful watching Roan go under. They put a mask over his mouth and nose, and he fought and fought and little by little the fight just died out in him, and the light went out of his eyes. I couldn't help it - I really wanted him to win this fight. I had a brief daydream where he knocked the mask out of the nurse's grip, rolled over into my arms, and we burst through the doors and escaped into the sun. Then I had another daydream where the nurse said, "I'm sorry, but your son is just too strong for anaesthesia. You can go home now." In reality, I gave him a kiss goodbye and started crying.

An hour and a half later they wheeled him into recovery, and I've never been so happy to see my baby crying inconsolably. He was so upset and confused that despite his hunger it took him three tries to latch on and start sucking. They monitored him for half an hour, then sent us home.

Here he is on Day 1:

Day 2:

What a shiner. The swelling should continue for one more day, and then we should start to see improvement. He's already scratched off his bandages, as if to emphasize the point that he is not a baby you'd want to meet in a dark alley. More recovery photos to come...

Goodnight Moon

Mirror, Mirror

Thanks to Anna for taking this adorable photo with her Blackberry!

Mother's Little Helper

1. Cheese
2. Butter
3. Ice Cream
4. Margaritas
5. Chocolate
6. Chocolate Eclairs
7. Tuna
8. Lasagna
9. Yogurt
10. Frozen Yogurt
11. Nachos
12. The Reason You Order The Salad (for the cheese)
13. Pizza

14. Mac n' Cheese
15. Corn Bread
16. Muffins That You Want To Eat
17. Chocolate Chip Cookies
18. Nutella

19. Edamame
20. Risotto

A sampling of things I can not partake of while breastfeeding my milk and soy intolerant son.

Even so, something is still bothering him, so we went back to the pediatric G.I.  

G.I. - "Do you eat any unusual foods in high volume?"

Me - "Um, no, nothing unusual, but I eat a lot of burritos.  And rice and beans.  I eat rice and beans all the time.  That's my favorite food."  

Subtext: if you tell me to stop eating them, my life will no longer be worth living.

G.I. - "Do you make them yourself?  From scratch?"

What a question.  It's obvious this man is not a working mother.

Me - "No."

G.I. - "Then how do you know there is no dairy in your beans?"

Me - "I eat black beans.  From Chipotle.  They are dairy free.  I've asked."

I've never asked such a stupid question, but I lie to reassure him, because I really don't like where this conversation is headed.

G.I. - "No more Chipotle.  I wouldn't trust them.  Normal people should not eat Chipotle, much less nursing mothers."

I almost burst into tears.  But then Roan actually does burst into tears, so I get a hold of myself, and leave the doctors office with something that looks like dignity.  But I am dying on the inside, oh pediatric G.I.!  

Signs of Intelligence

1. On Monday we got a foot of snow. I decided to walk to the grocery store with Ro in his stroller. I spent the trip there and back cursing in frustration / basking in the imaginary fortune I'd make from the invention of snap-n-go snow tires.

2. On Tuesday Melinda and her 9-month-old daughter Willa stopped by. They live in our building, and I've asked Melinda for advice many times, and sought refuge in her apartment when the apartment directly above us gutted their bathroom, one tile at a time. She said: when a baby puts their foot in their mouth, that's a sign of intelligence. This is exciting news for us, since Roan has been attempting to eat his own feet for days now. Striving for intelligence, clearly.

Roan and Willa: Intelligentsia / Part Time Baby Models 

Swingers

Last weekend we took Roan on his first plane ride to San Antonio, for a Lyons family reunion. He met his cousins Cassie and Julia for the first time, and they hit the swings (Auntie Leesha pushed)...

Then he swung with me:

Other activities included feeding the fish in the coy pond, a sweaty and demoralizing walk in the stroller (demoralizing because my mother-in-law kicked my ass, and Robot didn't even come close to falling asleep), lots of playing on the floor, watching Cassie climb trees, putting his feet in the pool, and his first taste of rice cereal.  More photos to come.

On the plane, Jay and I had our hands full keeping the Robot happy and staving off an over friendly passenger named Gill, who repeatedly offered to take Roan and do some magical baby calming technique that he refused to explain.  Here's a tip Gill: if you want anyone to let you hold their baby, don't make such a state secret out of what you plan to do once you get your hands on the baby, and don't wink so damn much.  Also: it's fairly normal and expected for me to sing to my baby, but it's kind of creepy when you do it from across the aisle.  Astoundingly, Gill was also on the return flight.  That's 8 hours of Gill.  When he saw us the second time he made some stalker joke that was way too close to home to be funny.