My Yellow Baby

You may recall that my wife and I painted our nursery yellow with some fairly radiant consequences. We eventually repainted the nursery a less-obscene shade of yellow, which is probably for the best: My baby is incredibly jaundiced.

Jaundice is fairly common, especially in babies born via induction or premature. My wife and I were both jaundiced as infants. I spent a few days under the heat lamps, right next to hamburgers and fries, before I was able to go home.

My baby's lucky, she gets to be home. After visiting the pediatrician and lactation consultant yesterday, we were given some strict marching orders: feed her, feed her regularly, and hope she poops. The life of a baby, right?

So now, instead of just enjoying the frustratingly delightful first few days of parenthood, letting our natural intuition and ignorance battle it out, my wife and I have a goal: keep baby home. Little Rebecca's flirting with going back to the hospital to be put under the florescent lights. Our pediatrician recommends a hospital stay (however brief) if a baby's bilirubin number hits 19. Rebecca was 12.5 when she left the hospital, 17.2 yesterday, and 17.7 today. We're hoping that by tomorrow, after a full 36 hours of bi-hourly feedings, her count will fall, her yellow tint will fade, and the jaundice subsides.

In the meantime, we have to feed her every other hour. The process takes about 30-45 minutes. Overnight, from about 11-7 am, we can stretch feedings to every three hours. I hardly know what to do with all that free time.

Rebecca is fairly oblivious to all this, changes in her poops aside. Jaundice has some cyclical effects that are counterproductive. Jaundiced babies can naturally lower their bilirubin count by eating regularly, gaining weight, and excreting regularly. Jaundiced babies are also notoriously lethargic and sleepy. Keeping her awake between feedings is tough, sometimes she's curious, other times she cries, but mostly she sleeps. We have to wake her up to feed her. We should all be so lucky to have such a schedule.

She's sleeping behind me, bathed in sunlight, as I write. She took a few active moments to open her eyes earlier, that doesn't happen too often (at least until around 4 am).

My wife and I closely monitor and track her intake and output. We try to keep her awake during feedings and we try to keep her excited and awake between feedings from time to time. All in an effort to keep Rebecca out of the hospital and in our home. Admitting an infant for jaundice is usually a 24-hour process. A baby enters the hospital, spends most of her time under special lights, parents can come visit, and everyone goes home happy the next day.

Were Rebecca's count to hit 19, that's what would would happen. She'd go into the hospital, mom and dad could only visit and have to spend the night at home, quietly, without a crying child. And we are both actively working to prevent this. We're working to keep our daughter home, where we can watch her, and feed her on the hour of each odd hour; where I can watch her start to squirm and cry as she discovers how to poop, and she can mostly lay silent, asleep in her chair, while her mother and I worry about her health, her personality, and what college she might want to attend.

Ask me last week whether I'd choose the one-night reprieve from baby duty over the 24-hour routine, and you'd get a different answer than now. Don't get me wrong, we want what is best for our daughter. We want her healthy, happy, and a normal hue. But we want to try it ourselves - try to feed her and change her and take care of her - before medical professionals kick in.

We're parents.

Oh, and since I don't really have the time or inclination to write/update as much as I'd like, enjoy this baby photo from earlier today.

Becoming A Parent

Last night, we became parents. Not in a literal sense, so save your cards and gifts. Our baby is still inside my wife, still growing and enjoying herself for the next few weeks. She is, by all accounts, healthy and happy. Though for a few hours last night, we weren't sure.

The facts of last night are simple. My wife realizes she hasn't felt our baby move or kick in an unusually long period of time. We call the doctor, who recommends a hospital visit. We drop everything and sprint to the hospital. After a few anxious moments, mommy and baby are monitored, both heartbeats are strong, and both are fine. A few hours later, we leave and go home.

If only it were as simple as the facts.

I cannot recall a time that I felt as scared and helpless as I did for those few brief minutes between home and the hospital. The clock told me it was about 20 minutes, but it felt like ten times that.

As a future father, you're given shreds of responsibility while your wife is pregnant. As she progresses, you (hopefully) take on more than you have, whether it be cooking, cleaning, assorted chores, or just making sure she has enough water, juice, or space to stretch out. You can fool yourself into thinking that obtaining and constructing furniture gives you a good feeling of being "the provider." But now I think that none of that is really being a parent. It's merely a foundation.

Becoming a parent happens on an emotional level. It happens when everything else in the world ceases to exist or matter except for the child in your care. It happens when all modesty is thrown out the window. It happens when you are overcome with a range of emotions - concern, fear, anxiety, relief, happiness - that hit you with a force you have never felt before. It happens not when you realize that you have to care for someone who cannot care for herself-- it happens when you begin to care for someone who cannot care for herself.

I imagine if you are a parent reading this, you are smiling and nodding your head - even laughing at my breakthrough "discovery." My wife even remarked last night that we went through a parental rite of passage last night - the prenatal scare.

This blog was founded on my musings of becoming a father and for all the thinking, hypothesizing, and typing I've done on the subject, there was no time to ponder last night. Yes, I think my wife and I became parents last night by shear reflex.

All the preparation in the world can go out the window sometimes. I think being a parent has a lot to do with what happens after it does.

So, What is Your Stance on Rectal Thermometers?

I have a big interview today. Not with a reporter or employer, but with a doctor. Actually, with a stable of doctors. We're in the market for a pediatrician, and I'll be attending a new-parent orientation at a practice nearby tonight.

I've never given much thought to my own medical care. Since being responsible for my own health and health insurance, I don't think I've ever gone to the same doctor twice. Between moving and moving jobs, I found myself picking a doctor, going for a physical, and never returning. But now I'm looking for some consistency.

Rarely did I conduct any sort of research to find a doctor. Location was key - the office has to be close to my home or office - but far enough away to justify leaving work early without having to come back. God bless the 3:30 pm doctor's appointment. Sometimes, when I felt frisky, I'd use the different searchable categories provided by my insurer to narrow down the doctor search. For a while, it was very important that my doctor be fluent in Portuguese. Fere quando eu faço este, Doc!

So I've get to interview pediatricians tonight, and I get to do it alone. My Lovely Wife has been taking enough time off work to visit doctors, so this time, it is my turn. Now, I'm looking forward to this, surely I'll be the hero of the neo-maternal set, the dashing expectant father, looking out for his family. But, honestly, this is a recipe for disaster. Where my wife would have the brains to ask about afterhours services, immunizations, and insurance information, my primary concern is whether they have Dum-Dum lollipops or the flat kind that my bank has. (Really, is there any better feeling than getting the Dum-Dum with the question mark wrapper and absolutely nailing the flavor? "The mystery flavor is...cream soda.")

I'm scribbling down some intelligent questions today, mainly dealing with afterhours services, immunizations, and insurance information. My fallback question will be "Yes, how many times do we get to call and ask "Why is my baby crying? What am I doing wrong? Is there something wrong with my baby?" before we are transferred to another practice?