Disco Knitter

I still don’t understand why we only get one day, but now that I have some idea of what it’s all about, I’d like to say thanks to mothers everywhere.

Especially mine.

Happy Mothers Day Mum.

The last 48 hours has been pretty awful.

Inigo gained 180gms from Tuesday to Friday - on top of whatever he gained from his last clinic visit on the 1st of May. Since we’re working with different scales, we won’t know that until we get back to Granville on a Thursday, but I think it’s about 150gms.

Despite his gain (5.470kg on Friday), the doc wants us back in lockup for another week. Of course I will comply, but it’s at great personal cost. I am not a person that takes direction well at the best of times, and when I feel like I am being patronised it’s really difficult for me to play nice.

Of course, I’m being told that we have to get the boy’s weight up as quickly as possible, and if we weren’t able to stay at Tresillian, then we’d probably be in hospital.

I’ve been told to express three times a day to get extra feeds. And if I can’t get enough, to give formula. Last Saturday night, we used up my stock of extra feeds when he stayed with Mum and Dad for the night. And since I’ve been at Tresillian, I have only been expressing enough to give his antibiotics, so my supply has dropped.

And stress affects supply.

And now I’m sick.

I had a bit of a cough on Friday, today I woke up feeling like death, it hurt to swallow. And my supply failed this afternoon.

Apparently illness doesn’t usually decrease supply, so it could just be that he is asking for more, and I need a day or so to catch up. Unfortunately, we don’t have any time to waste, so tonight he had some formula for the first time.

On Thursday he’ll be 24 weeks, or six months old. It was always my goal to breast feed until he was six months old, and beyond that if I could. The rational me is ok about it, and glad that I can feed him any way I can, but of course the emotional me is devastated.

Every bit of formula he gets means he isn’t sucking, and therefore not building supply. So while some might say it’s only a bit of formula, I am aware that the more formula he gets, the less my body will produce, and it may be very hard to continue breastfeeding without a lot of hard work.

So maybe if I had to face this when I was feeling emotionally sound, and physically well, then I’d be able to be a little more analytical, and a little less emotional. But after this week, and after the struggles we had to get it working in the first place, I’m not ready to give up easily.

Apparently, human breastmilk is digested readily, in around 90 minutes. Which is funny, because Inigo can vomit undigested milk up 4 hours after a feed. I’ve told the doctors about this, and of course I get ignored.

But yesterday, Inigo spewed just before a feed, and the vomit was pink - the same colour as his antibiotics, which he had before the previous feed. One of the nurses witnessed this, and now all of a sudden they seem to think that he might have an absorption problem. No shit…

So today I’ve been dealing with the possibility of that, and again today he seemed to be allergic to sleep. And then there’s the spewing.

When he is feeling OK, he seems to be a good sleeper, but the last few days he’s looked like he is in pain, and not been able to sleep through the day. If I lay him down in the cot on these days, he screams until I pick him up, then he takes a little while to settle, then he burps or spews. Once he is calm, I put him down, and the cycle starts again.

This morning Mark and I spent nearly two hours with the social worker, giving a detailed (and very personal) life history of the new Nettle family. Apparently the doctor wants to see a complete picture of us to examine any underlying issues that might be contributing to Inigo’s weight.

Of course I’m thrilled to have a doctor that is so thorough, and I am confident that if anyone can get to the bottom of this, she can - but at the same time I am living under a microscope. Nurses watch every feed, shining a torch at my nipple to examine the shape, colour and texture after a feed. They watch him attach, get right up close and breathe down my neck to examine his sucking reflex. If I had any dignity left after childbirth, it’s all been used up this week. They’ve even weighed his nappy to see how much he peed!

I keep telling myself that it’s worth it, that this scrutiny serves a purpose, and that my privacy is inconsequential in comparison to the health of my child. But it still sucks to be me right now. Which I mention because I am trying to give an accurate record of my days, not because I want sympathy, or pity. I am sure there are a lot of people who can empathise though, especially in that special form of torture that is having a sick child.

So tomorrow we’ll do another urine test, we’ll see the doctor, and we’ll find out if she’s worried about the absorption thing, and if she’s worried about how much he spews, and why he can’t seem to sleep when he is having a spewy day. Does he spew a lot? Is the spewing normal?

Lots more questions, and still no answers. Yet.

Another two days to get through. At least Mark will be here with us.

Christine brought Ella to visit today, and she and Inigo held hands after a long and involved conversation.

We saw Dr McVeagh this afternoon, she seems to think it IS a bladder infection, and that now that he is on antibiotics, he should start to gain some weight. On Thursday we’ll get another urine sample for testing, and on Friday we should have the results. We’ll also weigh him again on Friday to see if he has gained any weight. Today the electronic scales said 5.290kg, which is encouraging.

So if it is a bladder infection, there is a 75% chance that there isn’t a “cause” that we can identify. Which means there is a 25% chance that he has something wrong with his waterworks. We have to have an ultrasound, and another test involving a tiny catheter and some dye.

A few more days to get through before I can have my breakdown.

After his long sleep yesterday, he went to my parents place for the night. We went to Clare’s birthday party (where a wonderful time was had by all), and apparently was a different child to the one they looked after last time.

From when he was picked up at 5.30pm till when he was dropped off at midday today, he hardly cried, but spent a lot of time smiling and giggling. He’s been extremely good today, and if this behaviour continues for another day or so, I’d be prepared to say that perhaps the antibiotics are working a minor miracle.

Inigo discovers two wonderful things. Feet, and testicles.

We have antibiotics. After the first dose, he slept better than he has in months. I had to wake him up for his next feed, which hasn’t happened in months.

Maybe it’s working?

Child is off with my parents, so I can go out and get drunk. Hallelujah.

P.S. 4.97kg again today.

I just bought a little bunny suit for Inigo - will have to do a similar pic when he can sit up on his own
Congratulations on the House Rabbit Society of Singapore for this great ad.

Unlike Hotblack Desiato, who spends a year as a corpse in a tax evasion scam, I am spending a year week five days in Tresillian, in order to prove that I am not an incompetent parent.

There are two groupings of slow weight gain (also called failure to thrive). Organic reasons include metabolism issues, asthma, and an undiagnosed infection, for example, a urinary tract infection.

Non Organic reasons include neglect and abuse. Apparently our Tresillian referral states that the paed is investigating an organic explanation. Thank FSM. But even though we’re looking for an organic cause, non organic causes still need to be ruled out. That’s just common sense.

My darling friend Josephine came to spend the day with me today, to stop me falling into a vat of self pity (they are lying around everywhere), and then Inigo and I went to visit the Auburn Botanic Gardens. We had a chat with a black faced wallaby, saw peacocks (and BABY peacocks, too cute!), and this very regal swan came to greet us as we wandered near the lake.

I was fairly reeking with serenity by the time I got home.

Until the phone rang. The paediatrician rang to tell me the results of the latest urine test. Looks like the sprog has a bladder infection.

There has been some knitting. Nothing complicated, nothing interesting, but I wanted to prove that I do still knit. A little.

Here is Oscar in his pram blankie and beanie set, knitted years ago when I was off work recovering from my collapsed disk. It is knitted in Bendigo Harmony which, sadly, looks like it has been discontinued. I love this stuff, a wool cotton blend with a little lycra, it is lovely and soft to knit with, sproingy, and great against the skin. It always had a pathetic colour range, but it’s been shrinking for the last couple of years, and now seems to be disappearing all together.

And here we have Ella, Inigo’s cousin wearing her new winter hat. It’s based on the Umbilical Cord Hat from Stitch ‘n Bitch, but made a little larger to fit for a little longer. The yarn is bamboo cotton from Spotlight - exactly one ball with about 30cm to spare!

And soon here is Inigo in his new bootees. Cecelia made three pairs of “Christine’s Baby Booties” for Inigo, which have been fantastic. They are the only footwear that reliably stay on his feet, but he is growing out of them, so the time came to make some in a larger size.

The yarn is Stella, 100% bamboo, and has a lovely sheen and drape. I’ve held it double and knit on 4mm needles to make a larger bootie using the same pattern (it calls for a “fingering weight” yarn).

Tresillian will be calling me tomorrow for an admission interview. Apparently they expect me to tell them what I expect to get out of the Tresillian experience. Give me strength.

Yesterday I went to the Inner West mothers group that Miriam goes to. Needed to get out of the house to preserve sanity and escape rising hysteria. Being around so many healthy, normal babies was really hard, and I nearly cracked when one mother said to me, “I’d be really worried if that was my baby”. Apparently it isn’t obvious to the casual observer that I am consumed with fear, bleeding terror from every pore, and only barely managing to breathe through each new day that brings no news.

But on a lighter note…

Yesterday the child exploded. There was such a tidal wave of poo that it gushed out of the nappy, down the trousers, and welled into the top of the new booties. So I gave up on the modern cloth nappies for now, his thighs are too thin to plug the leg holes in the nappies. So it’s cloth terry at home, and huggies newborn for outings. Unless I want to buy a whole lot of newborn sized modern cloth nappies, this will have to do. I do feel like a bit of a failure, but right now I have other battles to fight.

The perfect age for his first visit to the TAB.

After my appointment with the nutritionist yesterday, I met up with Dad and Alex. Dad just happened to be at the TAB, so in we went.

Apparently my diet is pretty good. I was told to always have some juice when I have iron rich plant foods, as the vitamin C helps to metabolise the iron, and to try not to skip breakfast, no matter how difficult the infabeast is.

That’s one more thing to check off the list of possible reasons that my child is so thin.

Have spoken to Tresillian “centralised intake”, am now waiting for a cancellation.

On Monday he weighed 5.11kg, and while we were in the bath before the appointment with Dr McVeagh, INIGO REACHED OUT AND GRABBED THE RUBBER DUCKIE!!!!

I then made him repeat the feat a few times to make sure I wasn’t delusional. It’s the one thing we’ve been worried about with his development, despite the fact that he is a virtuoso of two handed dummy tricks…

Saw the Pead today, she’s booking us in for a residential at Tresillian so they can do a further “examination” of his feeding and sleep routine. They probably want to make sure I am feeding him! So I will call up tomorrow and wait for a cancellation - and then we’ll have to be on standby to go at a moment’s notice. At least this time we’ll be going to Willoughby - not back to Nepean! I hope the food there is a little better, but at least this time it’s only for 24 hours (or so they say now!).

Tomorrow morning we are going to see the nutritionist, and then I have to get a urine sample from the boy to a pathologist. We have already done two urine samples, but both were contaminated, so now we have to do a “clean catch” - which means holding a cup under the bits until he pees! It took Mark and I nearly an hour to do, but we got it - I just hope it’s “clean”!

Basically, it’s about 9 weeks since the boy has put on any real weight. The paed said today that it’s not normal, and we’re continuing investigations….

And yes, I’m worried. It doesn’t mean I have PND. It’s normal to be worried when your child doesn’t gain any weight for over two months. If I wasn’t worried, I’d be notified to DoCS, and if I worry too much I’ll be locked up in a psych ward.

I’m actually looking forward to Tresillian - at least I’ll be able to get some reassurance that I am doing my best. And hopefully we can take the next step towards diagnosis and cure, and my happy little boy will become a happy AND healthy little boy.

Tomorrow he’ll be five months old.

Martha Stewart goes green…

As Emily noted, he did poo yesterday. Little blighter sometimes won’t poo for 10 days at a time (which is apparently perfectly normal for fully breastfed babies), and then does 3 in 24 hours. Since lunchtime yesterday, he’s done 5.

Should have weighed him before lunch.

Today it’s eight weeks since he has put on any significant amount of weight. In eight weeks he’s gone from 4.97kg up to 5.16kg, and now back down to 5.05kg.

In the picture above, he’s wearing a disposable nappy, as I was caught short at the clinic today. It’s a Huggies, newborn size.

The same size that he was put in at the hospital.

The tabs are about an inch further apart than they were, but the fact that it still fits is a little creepy. As are his ribs, and bony spine.

On the advice of the clinic nurse, I rang the paed, and am seeing her again on monday.

In the meantime, we are going up to Pearl Beach for the weekend, and hopefully I can chill out a little.

Yesterday on Monday, I baked.

I did three loads of laundry, tidied the house, made minestrone, went shopping, and made cupcakes.

Which sounds impressive when you know I have a nearly five month old baby. Until I tell you that I had a staff of three.

Yup, one to mind the baby, one to sort out five months of mail (bills, superannuation for two people, and health fund stuff), and one to help me read the recipe and do the baking, since I am so damn sleep deprived.

Mark was home sick, so he was primary baby wrangler, Dad did the paperwork, and then Mum came over after work to help me cook my first ever batch of cupcakes. And thank god she did - apparently sleep deprivation messes with your ability to read and follow simple instructions.

I read “The Mask of Motherhood” before the boy was born, and can see that the “mask” has fallen on me a little too. Which is funny.

I never thought I would be a mother, I never thought I had “it” in me. Which I suppose made it easier for me to quit my job and live off Mark while I was so ill during the pregnancy. I felt ok about not pulling my weight financially because my physical impairment was a shared burden. And Mark absolutely supported me and my needs every single day.

But now I am a Mother. With a capital M. And I don’t feel entitled to anything.

Thank you one and all for your insightful and supportive comments. I am going to do a lot more thinking about this, maybe one day it will make sense to me.

In the meantime, I’m asking for help.

I need it.

Fuck.

The boy cries a lot. Perhaps that is why he refuses to gain weight. Still 5.06kg as at last Thursday (17/04/08).

This does my head in more than I am willing to admit publicly, but his head circumference is increasing, as is his length. Apparently his brain development is going great guns, and breast milk is the best thing for that. Still, you have to have a sense of humour.

The second urine test came back with contamination again, not sure what’s going on there.

On Wednesday, he slept for a whole hour without waking, and I sewed.

Yes, that is a cotton chenille bib with mauve chenille rick rack trim. I even (after a false start with homosexual snaps) installed snaps that work. I am legend.

Mark looked at it and claimed it looked “like a dishrag”. I am considering a divorce.

My mate Michelle in New York got a mention in the SMH!

Michelle is also a bunnyhugger, with an interest in animal rights - she is a public defender
Well done Michelle!

I was able to spend 5 minutes not cuddling the child this morning. Marvellous invention!

P.S. Bumbo’s should never be off the ground - here Inigo is on a dining chair so I could get a decent picture in the light.
P.P.S. Please note hand knit socks - thanks Ailsa!

Still skinny - he is still 5.06kg, which he has been hovering around for the past five weeks, but the tests were pretty much clear.

The urine test showed possible contamination, so we have done a re-test (it was my cleaning Emily!), but she is pretty sure it will be fine. The other thing that we discussed is his iron levels - they should be between ten and thirty. At seventeen, the paed thinks it should be a little higher.

So tomorrow I am off to get another foul tasting liquid to give him twice a day to make up for the reflux meds that he isn’t taking any more (with no noticeable change in behaviour).

And I’m to wake him up for an 11pm feed - hopefully feeding him once more per day will start to make a bit of a difference to his weight.

He grew more than a centimetre in the 10 days since she last saw him, and his head got bigger too. He’s bright and active and alert, and apparently shows early signs of being a challenging toddler.

Hopefully, by the time he’s a toddler he won’t look like a chuppa chup any more.

So, on to me.

This last few weeks has been rough on me. Hearing that my little guy doesn’t have some foul wasting disease has been a huge weight off my shoulders, and also knowing that it’s not my fault is good too. Of course the first thing that you think of with something like this is that you have done something to cause the problem. Rationality is next to impossible.

In the last week I’ve tried feeding him more, feeding him more often, and obsessed about every little thing. Nothing made the slightest bit of difference, except that he spewed more and was grumpier. He is still 5.06kg.

Mum has been worried too. Unfortunately she chose tonight to grill me about my diet, and I wasn’t capable of hearing any criticism tonight. Then Mark had a grump at me when I asked him to put away his laptop and play with his son.

And I realised, with a crashing thud, that I have unrealistic expectations.

I realise that I won’t have a body like Kate Moss six weeks after I had a baby. Especially since I didn’t have one before.

I realise that having a clean house is something that is almost impossible to maintain at a high level once you have a child sharing your space. Especially since I was somewhat of a grot before.

I realise that I won’t always have perfect communication with my partner or my mother, they won’t always understand what I need unless I tell them, and there are some things about them that I will never understand. This one is something I have got better at, but we can all use some work in this area, right?

Now here’s what I don’t really get. I don’t get why a woman of my generation, who is supposed to “have it all”, is still controlled by guilt and fear of exposing a less than perfect underbelly. My mum had help from her mum in raising my brother and myself, and it’s her expectation that I will need help too. She wants to help. She has arranged to take time off from her highly stressful, very well paying job to help me clean up baby vomit. She offers to help all the time.

So why can’t I say yes?

Because women all over the country, and the world - my peers, don’t have help. They work full time, they clean their own toilets, they raise kids and they cook meals. They may be stressed, and they may be medicating their way through each and every day (or they may cope without pharmaceutical help, who knows), but they do it. And I don’t even have a job.

And when I ask Mark to help out with housework, I wish I didn’t feel that it’s unfair of me to ask him to do it after he’s been at work all day. That’s just plain stupid. He works for 8 hours a day, I’m on call for 24. He can have a bad day at work and break some code, if I have a bad day at work the consequences can be much worse.

So though I usually have a pretty healthy self esteem, there is something about this motherhood gig that raises the stakes, it not only makes us care more, it also makes us more vulnerable to self criticism.

My thinking brain knows that Inigo is a lot of work, and that if I don’t get some help I might not be able to cope in the long term, and yet I still feel like I don’t deserve help, that I should be able to welcome Mark home every night to a gourmet meal and a happy smiling baby.

The reality is that even if other women can cope, I can’t. And some help would be great. I just wish I could believe that I deserve it, that accepting it doesn’t make me a failure, and that Inigo will have a much better life if his mother gets a little R&R.

And now I am going off to have a little cry. Tomorrow will be better.

A baby, a cat, and Star Trek Voyager.

I’m taking the pyjama cure.