The Blog Formerly Known As "The Bunty and Buck Belly Blog"

I'll Be Back

For my regular (six) readers, I'll be back soon.  Who would have thought that a newborn could be so much work?

In the mean time, if you haven't already seen Greg's (of Daddy Types fame) stroller piece in Slate, check it out.

Congrats!

Congratulations to fellow SF daddy blogger, Peldi, and his wife Mariah, on the birth of their first child, Guido Jack.

Disengaged

The final remnants of Liam's actual physical connection to M. are gone - his umbilical "nub" dropped off yesterday.

I've placed it under a few dictionaries in an effort to flatten it out for his baby book.

In One, Out The Other

Here's one they don't tell you at Birth U. - a baby in the act of feeding is very likely to produce massive poop and gas explosions at the same time.  Yes, folks, there's something about a kid chugging milk/formula that relaxes him to the point where he let's it all go.  A-L-L go.

Funnily enough, the whole affair kindles in me a strange sense of pride.  After all, a ten second, eight octave blast isn't something that you hear every day.  Unless, of course, you have a two-week old baby or happen to live with those girls from Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle.

Unfortunately, the mood is always spoiled and it all ends badly.  My poor, milk-drunk and totally relaxed son needs his diaper to be changed.  And, unfortunately, he doesn't enjoy that very much.

Sunday Update

Everyone's doing brilliantly.  Liam's back up past his birth weight and M. is feeling better and better every day.  Also, much to her delight, she's already fitting into some of her pre-pregnancy clothes.  Unbelievable! She gave birth ELEVEN DAYS AGO!  And her belly?  You wouldn't even have known that she was pregnant.  Seriously.  I'm trying to convince her to let me take one more picture of her tummy to show you what I'm talking about. She looks great.

Bottles, Breasts, And Dirty Looks - It's What Feeding Is Made Of!

During our hospital stay we meet with a lactation consultant.  The woman, who is also a nurse, warns us not to put anything, ANYTHING, into Liam's mouth that isn't M.'s breasts.  Period.  No pacifiers, no bottles, no fingers, no exceptions.  After all, we wouldn't want to create dreaded nipple confusion, now would we?

Later that day, in walks our new pediatrician.  And what's the first thing this man does?  He quiets a fussy Liam by sticking his finger into his mouth!  Holy areola perplexity, Batman!  What's going on here?

Fast forward to our first day home.  A nurse comes by to check on everyone.  Well, except me, of course - no one gives a crap about how dad's doing.  But I digress.

Anyway, she gives M. the once over and checks out Liam.  With M., she's concerned about what may be the beginnings of an infection of her episiotomy.  Yikes!  Also, she thinks that M.'s not producing enough milk because Liam's lost 8% of his birth weight.  Being first-timers, we're panicked.

As soon as the door closes behind Nurse Badnews we whip up a big bottle of formula for Liam.  Nipple confusion be damned!  I can't have the kid starve for God's sake.

Next, M. places a call to her obstetrician but she's not in.  However, M.'s put through to one of the doctor's colleagues.  A discussion ensues wherein M. describes what the the nurse said.  After a few questions the doctor says that everything going on is normal and to be expected - an infection is highly unlikely.  Hmm...

M. and I decide not to take any chances on the breast milk issue - after all, the kid pounded the bottle I give him like a meathead on spring break - and we schedule an appointment in a few days time with a lactation consultant at DayOne.  During the interim, I continue to give Liam a bottle once a day to keep him from starving to death and M. dutifully keeps trying to get milk from her stones.

We head over to DayOne to meet with the Executive Director who also happens to be the lactation consultant.  While we're waiting M. strikes up a conversation with some women hanging out there with their little ones.  She relates our plight and admits that we've introduced the bottle in light of the concerns aroused by our visiting nurse.  One woman gives her a look like we just told her that we've been feeding the kid raw beef.  "A bottle?  You cretins!"

Pardon my French, but WTF, lady?  I'm all for breast-feeding, being a lactivist, and all that stuff, but who the hell do you think you are?  Hello?  We're concerned that the kid is starving.  Luckily, M. doesn't tell me about the exchange until after the fact.  Had I witnessed it firsthand I might have snapped and used the nearest bottle to give that woman a special episiotomy of my own.  But I digress.

We finally meet with the lactation lady.  We tell her our concerns and fess up about the bottles.  To my surprise and relief she doesn't have us immediately drawn and quartered.  She proceeds to ask M. a few questions.  She weighs Liam and then observes M. feed him.  After about a minute she looks at us and declares that if there were some kind of platinum star award for breast-feeding, M. and Liam would get it.  Huh?  What the?

Liam is fine.  His weight is fine.  His latching is fine.  He finishes feeding quickly because M.'s got fast flow equipment and the kid can suck it back like a sailor on leave.  The visiting nurse didn't know what she was talking about, plain and simple.  And the bottle?  We're told it's much ado about nothing.  Apparently about 20% of infants experience some form of nipple confusion and much of the hullabaloo on the topic stems from this group of losers, err, I mean, babies.  (Just jokes, people.  Just jokes.)  Liam, we're assured, is quite obviously not a twenty percenter.  Bottle, nipple, whatever.  The kid is fine.

Because of this whole experience I've decided to take future baby-related advice with big grains of salt.  That being said, I do believe that our pediatrician and the ED from DayOne know what they're talking about.

One thing's for sure, though.  I intend to starting listing much more intently to the person who really knows what the score is on all this stuff - my son.

Blog Love

Thanks to Greg at Daddy Types and Sarah at Blogging Baby for spreading the word of Liam Buckley's arrival.  Like all new fathers, in addition to competing with mom's breasts for baby's attention, pride compels me to believe that my kid rocks more than any other kid has rocked before.  All assistance in spreading the word is appreciated.

Seriously, thanks for the kind words, folks.

And for those of you who just can't get enough birthing in your lives, head over to Patata Monkey - Mariah is gonna pop any time now.  Good luck Peldi!

Possible Career

Judging by the precision and accuracy of his peeing whenever daddy or mommy's forgotten to cover his little Elvis during diaper changes, I think Liam could have a future as professional assassin.

We'd been warned about this phenomenon but never did I think it would be this consistent.  He's basically 85% now.  If you forget to cover him, you're a goner.

Time Line

For those interested, here's a time line of how things went down last Wednesday AM.

12:10 am - I arrive home following a work-related dinner.  I'm half in the bag.  I obviously didn't pay attention to my grandmother who, the week prior, told me to "stay sober".  I found the remark odd at the time.  Perhaps Granny knows something I don't?

2:20 am - M. wakes and informs me that her water has broken.  She says that it may be 12-24 hours before any real action begins.  Very calm and cool on her part, I must say.  Regardless, I awake and begin to pull it together.

3:00 am - M. showers and I set up email auto-notifications and change my work vmail.  I shower.

4:20 am - M.'s contractions are pretty close together and getting more intense.  She's also acting a bit more goofy than usual which tells me that it's time to head to the hospital.  We grab the pre-packed bag and go.

4:40 am - Check in.

5:00 am - Set up camp in the labor and deliver room.

5:20 am - Epidural administered.  M.'s pain goes away and we both rest.  They have a cot for me!

For the next several hours, nurses come and go.  M.'s doctor stops by.  We sleep, watch TV, talk, goof around, etc.  All this time she's 3 cm dilated.  I can tell by the chart that the contractions are getting stronger and closer together but M. can't feel a thing.  Praise be for modern medicine.

10:30 am - All of a sudden, M.'s 8 cm dilated.  Holy crap!  This baby is coming soon.

11:30 am - The doctor sets up shop and tells M. to begin pushing.  I coach as best I can but feel like a weight trainer for a college football team.  "C'mon, push!  You can do it!  Harder!  Focus!"  (Apparently I wasn't too bad as I got kudos from the nurse later.)

11:40 am - Baby's heart rate is dropping.  He's under stress and having a hard time getting out.  Time for drastic measures.  The "vacuum" shows up.  So does some kind of cardiac nurse team.  I begin to feel slightly alarmed but keep my focus on coaching M.

11:45 am - Uh oh.  I see the doctor grab a scalpel.  The dreaded episiotomy!  The vacuum is sucking and the doctor is yanking like she's bending metal.  This is rough stuff.  Later we find out that poor Liam's left collar bone is broken during the process.  (Not uncommon, actually.  Plus, remember that he was almost 8 lbs and M. isn't exactly a big girl.)

11:50 am - Baby arrives.  He is eerily limp and silent.  Doctor immediately cuts the chord and hands baby off to the special nurse team who take him under a heat lamp device and begin massaging him all over.  M. is asking if he's okay and the doctor is saying he is.  I want to believe the doctor and comfort M. but I'm a bit freaked myself.  What seems like an eternity goes by.  M. continues to ask if he's okay.  No sound from the baby.  M.'s getting upset.  Everyone is saying things are fine.

11:53 am - Liam lets out his first cries.  M. and I breathe a huge sigh of relief.  The nurses let me ritualistically cut the end of the chord and Liam is brought to his mother.

11:55 am - M. and I profess our love for one another and maybe even shed a tear or two.  Damn, what a good looking kid.

Lots more follows in our two nights at the hospital but that's pretty much the birth story/time line from my perspective.

Much thanks to Dr. Massa and Nurse Nancy (missed the last name) for everything.  Very professional but very personal at the same time.  It was great working with you.

Oh, and thanks to the striking workers who woke us in the mornings and put us to bed at nights with their "peaceful" protests.  One question: How much of your union dues went toward that enormous motor home/band tour bus that was parked outside the hospital?

Thanks!

Just a quick post to say 'thanks' to everyone for their well-wishes.  I'll follow up again soon with a complete version of the big day and what's been going on since.  In the mean time, know that M. and Liam are doing well and enjoy the pics.

Our family gang sign or M. flashing that she's eight centimeters dilated?  It's the latter, of course, but now I'm wondering what the hell we were thinking.  Excited, I guess.  What can I say?

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Mom and Liam's first picture together.

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The view from above when you're cradling him in your arms.

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Who likes Geno's better than Pat's?  That's my boy!

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As you can see, Liam was really pumped for his first car ride.

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Check out those baby blues.