My poor baby. She had her one year well-visit today and received FIVE shots. Three in one tiny leg, and two in the other. I'm not going to go down the vaccination debate path (we've chosen to follow the prescribed schedule as reccomended by our doctors) but it does seem cruel to give such a tiny person so many shots all at once.
She really handled the whole experience like a pro. Actually, I think I cried before she did. I had an embarassing Michele-breaks-down-in-public-after-VERY-little-provocation moment. I undressed E for the customary weigh in and measurement and (very understandably in my mind) she began to cry as I lay her on the exam table. It's a scary thing to be stripped naked and laid under florescent lights on crinkle paper! I don't blame her in the least for losing her cool, but the tech/nurse guy (whatever) looks over his shoulder and says to me, "She doesn't spend much time away from you, does she?" with a (perhaps imagined) hint of judgement in his voice.
"Why do you say that?" I shot back.
"Oh, just because she reacts that way." he replied.
And then I was all upset. When will I stop being so sensitive about the offhand comments of complete strangers? So what if I'm her primary care giver? So what if she finds comfort in me? It's a perfectly normal and natural phase that children go through at this time in their lives to be clingy (hello, separation anxiety?). And of course then it doesn't help that he takes her measurements and after going to record them on the chart looks concerned then comes back with the tape measure to measure her head circumference once more.
"It's nothing to be worried about," he says, looking worried. "I just wanted to double check I had it right." In addition to having an apparently big head (above 95th percentile), E weighs in the 15th percentile and measures in the 25th.
When we saw our doctor, I kept it together until he asked me if I had any concerns. I started welling up a bit (HOW embarassing--go ahead, try looking not hysterical and obsessive as you cry while complaining about being made out to be overbearing and hyperprotective) as I explained the tactlessness of the nurse-man. Our doctor was very comforting and said that the nurses aren't pediactric nurses, so any observations they make are based on their own personal opinions. He went on to say that Evie's big head, in his opinion, indicates high intelligence, and that her measurements and weight are well within healthy range and that he much prefers to see children on the low end rather than the high, as is so often the case in America these days. He said she's looking fantastic and was amused (and a bit disgusted) by the carrot-baby story at the Krankenhaus. (One of the first things he said to me upon examining her was, "This orangish coloration is perfectly normal and comes from carrots. Do not worry about it.")
After the exam and FIVE shots, we also needed to go have her finger pricked so that routine bloodwork could be done. Evie was fine through all of this, although she wanted to be carried rather than put in her stroller. (All the while I'm thinking sarcastically in my head, "She doesn't spend much time away from you, does she?") After this we headed back to the car. By this point Evelyn has already ripped off the bandaid on her recently punctured finger, and after I got her settled in her carseat began work removing the FIVE bandaids on her little legs. I pulled over in the parking lot (I had already begun making for the exit) to take the bandaids from her so she wouldn't eat them. When I twisted back around in my seat, however, I discovered that my ID card (required to gain entrance on post) had fallen from where I had lodged it in my lapbelt and was nowhere to be found. Great. As I looked for it, Evie fell asleep in the back almost instantly and my anxiety increased as I imagined having to wake the baby to go through some ridiculous rigamarole in order to get on post if I couldn't find the darn ID.
It took me five minutes of crawling around on the floor board and looking in every possible crevice (of course I chose to wear a skirt today...) before I finally found it. Whew.
Evie woke when I carried her inside, but fell asleep almost instantly. She woke again when the phone rang, but again fell immediately back to sleep. She's still zonked (an hour an a half now...). Poor B.
a girl, a guy, a tomato, a bean, and a bear
Monday, July 13, 2009
New and (hopefully!) Improved!
Things are happenin' around here and I've had this rehaul in the works for quite some time. It's been slow going on the blog lately, but I hope to begin posting more regularly once again. I am a re-arranger at heart, and I suppose revamping my blog is just another way of moving the furniture around.
To any of you guys who'd followed on the google follower link--I can't seem to get it reinstalled properly. If you'd still like to be a follower (that sounds weird to me...) please sign up using the networked blogs link instead! I think it's available for others outside of facebook too...
I have other updates and items I hope to include in the coming days, but for now, I'm just happy to have the new look operational. I hope you like it as much as I do!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
It is nice to be needed. Now go to bed.
The past few days Evie's been adjusting her schedule once again. She's been taking frequent but short naps during the day--maybe three, each only about 30 minutes long. She wakes from them still tired, but wanting to get up. Her appetite has increased and she's exploring new ways of climbing on things; just today she discovered how to step up backwards onto an 6 inch elevated surface while holding the side of her toy basket for balance support. She is so pleased with herself, I'm torn between sharing in her joy and wanting to bang my head against a door in frustration at the increasing number of ways she's finding to fall off of things.
For months now I've been enjoying a very privileged existence where Evie will nurse herself to sleep and then I simply lower her into the crib where she stretches out like a little lamb and is out like a light without another peep (please, don't hate me). I know how lucky this is. I am thankful for it EVERY NIGHT. The past few nights, however, she's nursed to sleep, but woken immediately upon meeting the surface of the mattress. She startles awake as if I've just thrown ice water on her, and is horrified at the fact that she's no longer in my arms. When she was a newborn if this sort of thing happened, you were, well...pretty much screwed. Now however, I've found that as long as I keep her lying down (sometimes easier said than done these days), I've got a chance at getting her to sleep.
As I stood there in the dark the other night, bent over double to reach her over the side of the crib, gently stroking her back and humming softly, it came to me that I've finally and fully arrived at a phase of motherhood which I have long been awaiting. Before I became a mother, I had this notion that the baby would immediately be calmed by the sight of me, by my sheer presence or the sound of my voice. I was in for a rude shock when Evie first arrived and my beautiful squalling little worm-baby could not be consoled by anything but a mouthful of boob. Now, many months ago Evie left behind her no-eye-contact, inconsolable phase and has gradually come to count on me for comfort in all the ways I had once imagined. For some reason, though, it hit home the other night as it had never done before.
There she was, sleepy, but not asleep, aware of my presence--needing my presence to feel safe and warm and fall asleep. I stroked her back and she lazily plopped her foot over and over again into the mattress. I quietly sang to her and she grasped my finger in her still tiny hand. After ten minutes of this, I (maybe more accurately my back) was painfully aware that she's not the only one getting older in the coming week, yet I also had a warm fuzzy feeling that came from the knowledge that I was able to be for her exactly what she needed me to be. She's getting older and won't always need me to help her fall asleep, but in the meantime, I'm here.
For months now I've been enjoying a very privileged existence where Evie will nurse herself to sleep and then I simply lower her into the crib where she stretches out like a little lamb and is out like a light without another peep (please, don't hate me). I know how lucky this is. I am thankful for it EVERY NIGHT. The past few nights, however, she's nursed to sleep, but woken immediately upon meeting the surface of the mattress. She startles awake as if I've just thrown ice water on her, and is horrified at the fact that she's no longer in my arms. When she was a newborn if this sort of thing happened, you were, well...pretty much screwed. Now however, I've found that as long as I keep her lying down (sometimes easier said than done these days), I've got a chance at getting her to sleep.
As I stood there in the dark the other night, bent over double to reach her over the side of the crib, gently stroking her back and humming softly, it came to me that I've finally and fully arrived at a phase of motherhood which I have long been awaiting. Before I became a mother, I had this notion that the baby would immediately be calmed by the sight of me, by my sheer presence or the sound of my voice. I was in for a rude shock when Evie first arrived and my beautiful squalling little worm-baby could not be consoled by anything but a mouthful of boob. Now, many months ago Evie left behind her no-eye-contact, inconsolable phase and has gradually come to count on me for comfort in all the ways I had once imagined. For some reason, though, it hit home the other night as it had never done before.
There she was, sleepy, but not asleep, aware of my presence--needing my presence to feel safe and warm and fall asleep. I stroked her back and she lazily plopped her foot over and over again into the mattress. I quietly sang to her and she grasped my finger in her still tiny hand. After ten minutes of this, I (maybe more accurately my back) was painfully aware that she's not the only one getting older in the coming week, yet I also had a warm fuzzy feeling that came from the knowledge that I was able to be for her exactly what she needed me to be. She's getting older and won't always need me to help her fall asleep, but in the meantime, I'm here.
