bath time

Tim’s first bath last week was a success. He made some noise at first but calmed down quickly. The real crying came when we took him out and started to dry him. He also doesn’t like getting dressed and undressed. We have a safety seat for him and a portable tub, so it’s easier and less stressful for us. For his second bath, Paul took him out of the seat and lowered him further into the water, which he liked. We’ve now got a towel with a hood and a neck clip so that he can make it into a cape in about a year when he’s running around after his bath.

walks in parks

wimbledon park

We have two great parks within walking distance to the flat. One, Wimbledon Park is like a city park in the States with community tennis courts, a children’s playground with a water feature for the summer, sports fields and a lake with ducks, geese and swans. It’s full of mother/nannies and prams and about ½ kilometer from our door. The other park, Wimbledon Common, is a wilderness area with mud/gravel paths, horseback riders, and people with their dogs.

We’ve taken Timothy for three walks so far. The first was to the lake in Wimbledon Park. For this outing, we used the sling that Mom bought us. He snuggled down into it and slept through the whole walk. We stopped at Café du Park, about five doors down from us and said hello to the owner, who made a fuss that filled us with pride.

snow suit from Mom

On Saturday, two friends of mine from work, Mark and Gabe, came for a visit. They brought clothes for Tim for when he is 18 months old. It’s hard to imagine him big enough to fit into such things. They include his first pair of jeans. We put Tim in his snow suit and put him in his pram for this long walk through Wimbledon Park to the edge of Wimbledon Common and into one of our favorite pubs, The Crooked Billet. Now that there’s no smoking in public places, pubs are great places to enjoy an afternoon, have a pint, and watch people. Tim made friends with two children ages 7 and 5 who were fascinated with his tiny size. He slept through almost all of it. I nursed him there and was comfortable with that which means I’ll be able to get out more. The pub allows dogs, and Mark and Gabe are dog fans. They want to come again and bring their own precious pooch, Coby.

walking through the common
Today, we went for another walk through Wimbledon Park and up the hill to the Common. We walked through one corner of the common, bouncing over the gravel paths. Tim slept through it all. My body is complaining a bit this evening about the exercise reminding me that I did just give birth.

sneeze

Before Tim was born, Paul and I spoke about when he’d be a newborn and how we expected that he’d be rather boring: an eating, sleeping lump. Quite to the contrary, we find him fascinating and spend a lot of time just looking at him. It’s true, he’s little more than an eating sleeping lump, but he’s our lump. When he does something other than eat or sleep, we call each other into the room, laugh and smile, and talk about it like he’d won an award. Sneezing and yawning are two activities that garner such a response. Others are passing gas, crying, and wiggling for no apparent reason.

trauma

A week ago, I woke at 03:30 and shuffled from the ward I was in to the neo-natal unit where our son was hopefully recovering from a procedure to drain air and fluid from around his right lung. (The doctors believe that this was caused when he aspirated meconium (poo) at birth. He cried almost as soon as his head came out, but his breathing was labored. Paul was allowed to cut the cord, but instead of immediately putting him on my chest, he was vigorously cleaned and then moved to a table and surrounded by doctors who introduced themselves to us and explained what they were doing as they worked. As I walked the quiet hall and took the elevator down, I thought about the times I’d made hospital visits to friends and family in the past, always with a dread at being in a hospital, obligation to the person in the hospital, and eager to get the visit over with so I could leave. None of those feelings went with me on that walk to Tim. I was relieved to be just a few floors away from him and willing to stay in the hospital every minute of every day until he went home with me. Obligation did not cause me to wake and walk, only genuine concern. I think that’s when I began to know that I was a mother, that I’d feel that way if Tim was in the hospital, or jail, or lost, or anywhere conceivable. Despite my fear and anxiety over his condition, I was bathed in a joy that has no words, a love beyond measure.

Dad and Timothy with just his feeding tube

Looking back on the experience now, Paul and I have talked of how we never feared for his life, only that he’d have a health condition that would go with him through life. The care that Tim received was so solid, so tangible, that we didn’t doubt recovery. And that care extended to us through nurses and doctors who asked about our well-being, eagerly gave us information, and encouraged us to call, visit, and ask questions. We didn’t get to hold or touch him until Sunday, and that was hard. I saw him Saturday night just before they did the procedure on his lung. He’d been given morphine and a drug that paralyzed him. He often sleeps in the position he was in at that moment, and I will forever be reminded of him in the incubator with a ventilator in his mouth, a feeding tube coming out of his nose, a drip attached to his hand, and a monitoring device on his foot. The next time I saw him at 03:30, he was sleeping on his left side, blankets supporting his legs and back, the drain in his side a rude addition to the other tubes. The problem was gone and now we just had to wait for him to heal.

When Paul arrived after doctor’s rounds Friday morning, we asked about how long he’d be in the hospital. The answer was hard to take, ‘probably not two months, but maybe two weeks.' This uncertainty was unnerving, but we were allowed to put our hands into his incubator and touch him. The warmth of his body, the affirmation that this precious vision before us was a physical reality erased the trepidation that came with that uncertain news and helped us focus on the steps he had to take to recover: another chest x-ray to confirm that the lung was clear, close the drain with no change, remove the drain, breath unassisted, no infection. These milestones could have taken days and weeks, but passed in just 24 hours. We were given good news every time we saw him that day. The neo-natal unit has four nursury’s numbered 1-4. One and two are intensive care. Four is for babies on their way home. He was moved on Saturday from nursery one to nursery four, and elation flooded our bodies like a transfusion. I was taught how to express milk in preparation for the removal of his feeding tube. Sunday, they offered us a room on the ward, en-suite with a TV even. We got expert advice on everything from diaper changes to breastfeeding. The nurses kept a watchful eye on us but also gave us space and time to learn. They were cheerleaders and gurus.
Mom and Timothy in our room at the hospital

The decision to send us home came quickly after his tube was removed and he and I proved that we knew how to breastfeed. His ears were tested, we were given a short course in baby CPR, and our car seat was checked and approved. The NHS isn’t perfect, but it was for us this time, and that means something. Since I’ve been home, I’ve been visited by midwifes, a neo-natal nurse and a community health care advisor who will make home visits for the first five years of Tim’s life. The midwifes will come every day for the first ten days of Tim’s life if it’s necessary. Because he’s feeding so well, they are only coming four times, but I can call and request a visit any time until next week.

Mom, Dad and Timothy at one week old

delivery

15 minutes old

I warned you that this would be a page of TMI. This is your last chance, back away from the blog.

That said, I’m not going to go into the gory details about the delivery. Enough of you have asked that I’ll give an account that covers your questions.

After carrying him for 42 weeks, I went in to be induced at 21:00 on Wednesday night the 16th. They inserted one tablet on my cervix to cause it to soften. Contractions started at about 01:00 on Thursday. Extreme pain by 04:30. I was alone in hospital with only a TENS machine and paracetamol: no bath, no comfort. Pethidine helped but only for about an hour. Because I was in a room alone, they let me call Paul at home and he came. The minute he arrived, I started to deal with the pain better. 3cm dilated by 06:00, so I didn't have to have a drip. Admitted to delivery and given an epidural and I became a human being again, praise modern medicine, at 7:30. Dr. Robert A. Hingson, Dr. Waldo B. Edwards, and Dr. James L. Southworth are credited with developing the technique, and if I had known their names then, I would have tried to persuade Paul to change his name from Timothy James to Robert Waldo James. Began hard labour at 17:00 and delivered at 18:16. No episiotomy. What a rush of relief when his head finally came through.