Okay, we have updates on everyone this time... who do you want to hear
about first? Me, right? Right? Good, here goes;
I got mastitis. AGAIN. For those of you who are going "huh?" mastitis
is a clogged milk duct that gets infected, turning your whole boob
into a swollen, red, painful mass that you then have to continue to
nurse on while taking antibiotics for it to clear up. Fun, right? I
actually already had is when Elliot wasn't even a week old - I got it
about two days after my milk came in. I didn't realize anything as
wrong at first, because starting to nurse is a little painful
anyway... My first clue was when I started having 104 degree
temperatures. This time a noticed that my ducts were getting clogged,
but I didn't have any redness or fever at first, so I thought I could
maybe just unclog my duct and I'd be good. NOPE! Thursday night I
finally developed a fever, so I called a doctor and got an antibiotic
prescription, and Waxor stayed home from work on Friday to take care
of me and help take care of Elliot, since I was a shivering mess.
(Side note, I HATE fevers. You know you're not really cold, but you
feel like you're going to freeze to death. Then, without warning, in
the middle of the night you wake up in a puddle of sweat.) (Side note
number two, I begin to realize that, thus far, this email has been
slightly gross, what with infections, clogged ducts, and sweaty
puddles. Ah well, c'est la vie.) Anyway, today I am totally feeling
better, and in less pain, which is good, although my boob is actually
MORE red than it was two days ago. This worries me slightly, but I'm
gonna keep an eye on it and will see the doctor right away if it
doesn't start getting better soon.
On the brighter side, getting sick seems to have jump started my
weight loss again. I know, I know, it isn't worth getting sick to
lose the baby weight. I'm not claiming it is. I'm just, y'know,
looking for the silver lining.
There's a blank canvas sitting in the corner of my apartment, and I
know just what I'm going to be painting on it. Last time I was that
sure about what I was painting I ended up really liking the result, so
I'm eager to see what happens when I do this one. Tragically, it's
hard to paint when you only have small chunks of time to devote to it.
Recently I decided that maybe Elliot needs paint clothes, too. That
way, when I paint he can wear his paint clothes, and if I need to pick
him up while I have paint on my hands no big deal. :) Then, when he
gets a little older, he can have his own canvas. Ah, mother and son,
creating art together, isn't that a nice daydream? I bet it never
happens. He'll probably end up loving football, or something.
For everyone who suggested it, you will be gratified to know that
Waxor is, indeed, in agreement that we need a dishwasher. We've found
a couple on Craig's list, and while Momma is here with the van we're
gonna buy one and go pick it up. I think we're gonna get a full sized
portable. I look forward to the inevitable "butcher block top"
Due to my nasty illness Waxor has been spending more time on Elliot
care, which thrills me. Of course, he keeps doing things COMPLETELY
differently than the way I would do it, which drives me NUTS (sorry
babe). Not that the way he does things is bad, just different from
me. I feel two conflicting urges - one is to let him do whatever he
wants, because he and Elliot have to find their own way of dealing
with each other, and the earlier the better, right? The other urge is
to run over and instruct him on how I would do it. I try to suppress
this one. Sometimes I do better than others (again, sorry babe).
MIshka is doing both better and worse, simultaneously. She's doing
better in that she's been on a hot dog diet, which makes her happy,
keeps her eating, lets her gain weight, and keeps her energy level up.
She's actually up to 13.8 lbs. That's great. On the other hand,
she's been drinking a lot of water, and we're both pretty sure that
that means the hot dogs are doing a number on her kidneys. Sigh.
That's the worse part, obviously. The vet is amazed that she's still
alive. So, we'll see. At least she isn't in any pain, and seems
pretty happy. We know she loves the hot dogs. :)
Chimbasa, it turns out, also had earlichia. So he's on doxycyclene to
clear that up, but the vet wanted to do a blood draw on him to check
his red blood count pre-treatment. When they ran the blood they found
low red count (which was expected) but also a high white count (which
COULD be related, but not necessarily). When a high white cell count
shows they automatically get a pathologist to take a look at it, and
the pathologists said "oh, look at these odd funky white cells, these
could indicate cancer..."
I told Chimbasa if he has cancer I'm gonna shoot him in the face.
ANyway, when the vet called me to tell me all this she sounded really
worried, and then she said "he's been on the doxy for about two weeks
now, right?" when I told her that no, he had started it the same day
he got the blood draw she sounded REALLY relieved. Apparently it
makes much more sense for his white count to be high and slightly
abnormal if he was as yet untreated. So she wants to do another blood
draw in three weeks. And then we'll see.
Breaking news - Elliot, Waxor, and I just got back from the
pediatrician. We took him there after finding a little blood in his
diaper. Turns out he's got a raw spot (poor little guy) and needs
neosporin and plenty of gentle diaper changes.
Speaking of Elliot (you knew I'd get there eventually, right?) Elliot
has suddenly changed many things. He used to hate to eat (because it
made him sleepy, and he didn't want to sleep.) Now he's eating every
two hours, and if it's 2.5 hours between feedings then you would think
I was starving him. He also used to only eat five minutes at a time,
12 if he was REALLY hungry. Now he'll regularly stay on there for
about 20 minutes, or even longer. He nursed for an hour last night,
and then finally got propped on a shoulder and he gave the biggest
belch. It was comical. Seriously, I've heard champion belchers that
weren't as loud as that kid.
He's also changed his sleeping patterns. He used to go to bed fairly
easily at 6:30 - now he simply isn't interested in bed til around
8:30. Also, he was taking short 20 minute afternoon naps, and now
he's sleeping one to two hours at a time. The other day he went all
day long asleep one hour, awake one hour, and half of the awake time
he'd be nursing.
Two mornings ago, at 5 am, I suddenly awoke. Then ocured the following;
"Aghlabagalabah?"
[No, surely not. He is not awake and talking. He must be talking in
his sleep. Yeah, that's it, I talk in my sleep, maybe it's hereditary
I'll bet he's just...]
"
[He is not asleep]
"Grrrrrrrrrblblblblb"
[This is soooo not fair]
I then got up. Some of you may wonder why, if he was happy and not
fussy, I bothered. Well, you see, there's this little problem with
motherhood - it seems that you are CONSTANTLY attuned to your baby.
Which means that, happy or not, if he's making noise, I can't sleep
through it. Anyway, once I got to Elliot I realized I could hazard a
rough translation of what he might have been saying. It went like
this;
"Mooooooooooooooooom?"
"Mommy, I spit up on myself, and now I can't sleep."
"Okay... I'll just... wait."
Cute, right? Yeah....
NOT AT FIVE AM!!!!
Anyway, I feel a little bit like he's been having a hard time
recently. I can't decide when to put him to bed, or how to put him to
bed, and I'm constantly questioning myself. The pediatrician says
that babies this age are always in flux, and every baby is different,
so I'm trying to just follow my instincts, but sometimes I think "he
must be tired" and he vehemently disagrees. Of course, I've dealt with
children before, I know they don't always tell the truth about their
state of tiredness, but... I feel bad when I try to put him to sleep
and he cries.
I feel like I had more to say, but I've been interrupted so many times
while writing this that I don't remember it anymore. Plus, Waxor's
currently in the baby's room doing god knows what, so I better go.
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