Still Life with Tiny Boy and Little Gwinne (II)

(Where was I?  Oh, yes, rambling about the birth...)

II.  A Little Premature

Turns out, despite everyone saying that 37 weeks is full term, 37 weeks isn't exactly full term.  At least not for growth restricted babies.  I wasn't sure what to expect immediately after birth; I was told that if Tiny Boy was okay I'd be able to hold him right away, and that some women even manage to breastfeed in the operating room, but really it all depended on him.  Fortunately, I did get to hold Tiny Boy for a while as the doctor put me back together, but for the entire 2.5 hrs I was in recovery (with M) he was in the nursery (with A), as his breathing was labored and his blood sugar low.  Also, a lot of trouble regulating temperature.  He was checked frequently for these issues in the first twenty-four hours but luckily didn't need to spend any more time in the nursery (much less the NICU).

He's healthy.  And in some ways freakishly strong (he can hold his head up and roll from one side to the other in his crib!).  But he's tiny.  By Tuesday, he'd dropped the usual 6% percent of his body weight, which might be okay for a larger baby but put him at 4 lbs 12 oz.  Much panicking about milk supply and supplementation with formula ensued.  Fortunately (?), by Monday night I was also a hugely engorged cow and started pumping milk, which the nurses or my mother used to cup feed him.  Although he's got a great latch, breastfeeding exhausts him, and he's usually asleep after 5 minutes.  He sleeps much more than I remember LG sleeping, and I need to wake him (both night and day) to nurse.

Generally speaking, newborns freak me out because of their size and fragility.  Tiny Boy is so small that preemie diapers slide off him.*  His ribs are visible, and his hands look like wrinkly old man hands.  This is why he needed to be delivered early; based on my last ultrasound measurements, he was a nearly 38 week baby, with a head circumference of a 36 weeker and an abdomen of only 32.5.  That asymmetrical growth (what they call "head sparing") is, apparently, the major clue that the problem is most likely placental insufficiency and IUGR, not just a normally tiny baby.

By all accounts, at a week old, he's doing great.  He's up to 5 lbs, and hopefully will be back to his birth weight on Monday (inside my body, he gained about 7 ounces in two weeks; outside, he seems to be gaining an ounce per day).  The pediatrician is pleased, but she's also treating him like a preemie.  Minimal visitors, esp. those with children, for 6-8 weeks; keep him out of public places with germs.  She was thrilled that he won't be in a regular daycare setting until probably after 6 months.  LG knows to use hand sanitizer the minute she walks in the house.  My body was failing him, and now I'll do anything I can to protect him.

It's really hard for me to get my head around the fact that he's here, he's (mostly) healthy, and he's mine.

I've got about half an hour before I need to wake him again, so I think I'll stop here.  Next up:  Post-Reproductive Traumatic Stress Discorder; Where is Nurse Patty when you need her?; And being a single mom of two.
 
*If any of you have tricks for diapering 5 lb babies, finding clothes that actually fit, and securing them safely in car seats, please pass them on!