Poor little guy had a total of five shots today. It's a good thing he's got some chunky thighs to withstand the needles (see blue Peanuts Gang band-aids above). The new pediatrician was okay -- gave us a little more attention than the previous doc and wasn't quite as demeaning.
The stats: 24 lbs. 11 oz., 30 1/4 in. tall, 47 cm head. 70th percentile on all. Since I asked about the possibility of allergies (rubbing nose, sneezing, fingers in ears, coughing) they sent us off to the lab for bloodwork. I was expecting a little poke in the finger, but no -- in the arm vein with a little catheter.
I remember the days (not long ago) when I'd literally get nauseous, weak, pass out or barf at the very mention of my arm vein. Then, after being pregnant, and becoming a pin cushion at almost every prenatal visit as well as during labor and my preeclampsia when they were drawing blood every two hours to monitor my kidney function, I became a pro at the arm vein thing. But when your wriggly, very angry, baby is sitting in your lap and three nurses are helping to hold him down FOR AN ALLERGY TEST, it really makes you think that it kind of sucks.
And did she have to wrap the extra sticky tape around his little arm twice?! That was really fun taking off tonight (see white packing tape around his arm above).
Once we got home and administered a little Tylenol, Enzo drifted off to sleep. And so did I. I really wasn't feeling well today. After about an hour, I jolted awake thinking that I hadn't pulled up the side rail of the crib. I grabbed the baby monitor and noticed I was right. I'm not exactly sure what happened next, but I intended to jump out of bed and pull it up. Apparently, I wasn't fully awake and closed my eyes for what seemed like 10 seconds. THUMP. Silence. SCREEEEEEAAAM.
Enzo fell out of his crib. And I fell out of mine. Running to his room, I see he's crawling toward the door, probably looking for the idiot who didn't ensure his safety. Good, arms and legs work. Not broken. I desperately inspect his body for what, I'm not sure. After several minutes of apologies and hugging and kissing and rocking him, he fell back asleep. I'm thinking, is that okay? Concussion? Jesus!
The rest of the afternoon, I monitored him carefully. His behavior wasn't altered; in fact, he was quite happy despite the traumatic events of the day.
Not the best day for him. Or me.
The best part? Jeff coming home an hour early to hug us both.
The stats: 24 lbs. 11 oz., 30 1/4 in. tall, 47 cm head. 70th percentile on all. Since I asked about the possibility of allergies (rubbing nose, sneezing, fingers in ears, coughing) they sent us off to the lab for bloodwork. I was expecting a little poke in the finger, but no -- in the arm vein with a little catheter.
I remember the days (not long ago) when I'd literally get nauseous, weak, pass out or barf at the very mention of my arm vein. Then, after being pregnant, and becoming a pin cushion at almost every prenatal visit as well as during labor and my preeclampsia when they were drawing blood every two hours to monitor my kidney function, I became a pro at the arm vein thing. But when your wriggly, very angry, baby is sitting in your lap and three nurses are helping to hold him down FOR AN ALLERGY TEST, it really makes you think that it kind of sucks.
And did she have to wrap the extra sticky tape around his little arm twice?! That was really fun taking off tonight (see white packing tape around his arm above).
Once we got home and administered a little Tylenol, Enzo drifted off to sleep. And so did I. I really wasn't feeling well today. After about an hour, I jolted awake thinking that I hadn't pulled up the side rail of the crib. I grabbed the baby monitor and noticed I was right. I'm not exactly sure what happened next, but I intended to jump out of bed and pull it up. Apparently, I wasn't fully awake and closed my eyes for what seemed like 10 seconds. THUMP. Silence. SCREEEEEEAAAM.
Enzo fell out of his crib. And I fell out of mine. Running to his room, I see he's crawling toward the door, probably looking for the idiot who didn't ensure his safety. Good, arms and legs work. Not broken. I desperately inspect his body for what, I'm not sure. After several minutes of apologies and hugging and kissing and rocking him, he fell back asleep. I'm thinking, is that okay? Concussion? Jesus!
The rest of the afternoon, I monitored him carefully. His behavior wasn't altered; in fact, he was quite happy despite the traumatic events of the day.
Not the best day for him. Or me.
The best part? Jeff coming home an hour early to hug us both.
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