Charlie is home today and not living it up in the toddler version of Lord of the Flies because he has some, ahem, lower GI problems that I suspect are related to teething, if the accompanying drool-covered fist and more whiny than usual disposition are any indication. Saturday night/Sunday morning (I have no idea which) he threw up in his bed and was awake for nearly an hour while we cleaned him up, changed his sheets, and then carefully hand washed Phent and ran him through the drier. Charlie's room was littered with rejected Phent proxies. We really need to find another Phent FAST.
Sunday afternoon we took a tour of the maternity section of the hospital where Bravo will be delivered. The first part of the tour was a brief overview held in a conference room stocked with crayons and paper for the kiddos (we kept Charlie with us so he wouldn't infect anyone else if he did turn out to have a bug instead of a teeth problem). The nurse talked about when you are supposed to go to the hospital and what to expect once you arrive. I was largely tuned out because we'd done this less than two years ago and Charlie was studiously removing items from my purse one by one and I was trying to keep things under control.
However I was listening REAL GOOD when he said "...sick babies who need oxygen or IV antibiotics will stay in the Special Care Nursery but healthy babies stay with their parents the whole time. We don't have a nursery here. That way you can feed on demand and bond with your baby."
Ryan and I looked at eachother, panic-stricken. I hissed "That's not what the brochure said!" as Ryan mouthed "I thought you said there was a nursery here!" "I thought there was!" "This is the whole reason we're not going to the hospital by our house!"
Keep in mind this was a small conference room with three other families who all seemed very on board with the hippy South ideal of the quick-like-a-bandaid approach to bonding with your newborn whereas I have no qualms with handing my squalling newborn (cough, Charlie, cough, who nursed for two hours straight and still wouldn't settle down for me but who was sleeping like a little angel within twenty minutes of being taken to the nursery) off to a trained professional so we can all get some rest, baby included. The other couples nodded agreement and some even smiled, even the couple who was there with their FOUR OTHER CHILDREN.
We were interruped from our "discussion" when Charlie stood up wearing a diaper as a hat. The nurse whistled appraisingly and one of the other kids called out "Diaper head!" Charlie revelled in the attention and offered several repeat performances before it was time to go on the tour.
The tour was uneventful except for me having to stop myself from blurting out "This kid you all find so adorable (and rightly so)? Diaper head? He breastfed for THIRTEEN MONTHS! He weighed TWENTY-FOUR POUNDS by six months AND he came home from the hospital nursing every three hours during the day and every four at night because those nursery nurses KNOW WHAT THEY ARE DOING!" [insert Howard Dean scream]
At lunch afterwards we discussed the feasability of renting a small apartment in The Old Town where I could live until the baby is born at the same hospital where Charlie was born. That way, I could defend up to a week before my due date at the end of September, go to a few My University football games, and send Bravo to the nursery at night so I could come home rested enough to care for two small children. Everybody wins! Except Ryan who would have to live by himself for three months.
Guess I better "sleep while I still can" HAR HAR HAR!