Scary firsts

I've been wanting to write about this, but also not wanting to because it was super scary.

Hamburglar had his first fever 4th of July weekend. Well, the third of July. He wasn't very hungry at dinner and he felt really warm, so I checked his temperature and it was 101. We gave him Tylenol and some water and put him to bed. Mr. Adventure checked on him and changed his diaper at 11. His fever was still 101 (or 101 again?) and he gave him the very last of the Tylenol, which was maybe half a dose?

We figured fevers aren't a big deal. All kids get sick eventually. Chumby has had the occasional cold, but nothing really bad other than a lot of snot or gross poo diapers.

Around midnight, Mr. Adventure heard what he thought were hiccups coming through the baby monitor, but they didn't stop, so he checked on Chumby and he was having a seizure. I heard him say, "Oh my God!" but it wasn't the gross poo OMG, it was more of a panic. I shot out of bed, he handed him to me, he was twitching still a little bit and his lips were turning blue. Mr. A had a friend over who called 911, but the ambulance was seven minutes out and we only live about a mile from the hospital, so Mr. Adventure drove to the ER while I cradled Chumby, who was still non-responsive.

We were at the ER for a couple of hours. His temperature was 103.5 when they took it. They gave him some ibuprofen or something and his fever started coming down. I loved the nurse we were assigned. He was so kind and gentle. When Chumby started feeling better, he asked for a sticker (because all grown ups who work in buildings with fluorescent lights have stickers, obvs) and the nurse went out to see what he could find. He came back with a stuffed bear.

Febrile seizures are somewhat common in infants and small children, but it doesn't make it any less frightening when it happens. I remember clearly the day I realized I was mortal (after an express kidnapping in Central America!) but I think it's even scarier to discover your children are mortal. Mr. Adventure didn't sleep all weekend. Chumby's breath smelled like he was dying. That was really scary. They did a chest x-ray and tried to get him to pee in a bag (that never happened. Even though we tried running water and watching the episode of Daniel Tiger where everyone goes to the potty). The doctor said he had pneumonia and prescribed 5 days of antibiotics. I didn't know you could have pneumonia with no symptoms.

I think with all toddlers, you know they're feeling better when they are well enough to be total a-holes. So, Chumby is back to his usual self. Hopefully Mr. Adventure and I will be back to our usual selves soon.

In pregnancy news, 33 weeks pregnant. I've started calling the baby Brown Sugar, because I primarily eat generic rice krispies with brown sugar. I wonder if what you eat really impacts the temperament of your baby? When I was pregnant with Chumb, I ate a lot of salty foods and he was a pretty salty baby. He's a super sweet toddler, though. Brown Sugar/Sean Connery is all about the sweet.

Pregnant Chicken talks about breast vs. bottle feeding in her 33 week pregnant post. The first time around, I was so insistent that Hamburglar would only be breast fed and I would do it for a year. And I totally did. This time, I'm like "fuck it! Who gives a shit what this kid is eating as long as he is eating and growing?" Although, my favorite thing about breastfeeding is that it is free. And, as a family on a budget, I'm hoping I can only breastfeed this guy as well. At least for the first 6 months. I kind of hate breastfeeding and I really hate pumping, but it does give me a good excuse to take a break from work and watch shitty TV on my smart phone. Though, I don't have Netflix anymore and I'm still rocking my S2, which doesn't support Amazon Prime instant video.

We may have picked a name. I'm not willing to commit yet, but Mr. Adventure's terrible suggestions have finally worn me down and I kind of don't care what we name the kid anymore. All I know is that I am going to pick a quality and classic middle name so that if he hates the name Mr. A has picked, he can thank me for a quality backup name. During one of my many, many googling sessions of things like "baby naming for assholes," I came across this post from the daddyfiles on baby naming. I liked it.

At 33 weeks pregnant, Brown Sugar is the size of a durian (see: WTF is a durian? from 2013). Here is a recipe for Durian Puree Cheesecake. And here is a recipe for Durian Breakfast Muffins. I feel that the muffins really get into the spirit of faux infant cannibalism, because the recipe calls for brown sugar.

I think that's about it. Mr. Adventure scored a fancy day job, so he's trading in his Stay-At-Home-Dad hat for some Lord-Loves-A-Workin'-Man boots. He starts Monday, though, after being offered the job yesterday, which gives us very little time to find a day care/child care situation. The extra complication is that I don't get until next week, our budget is super tight and daycare is mother f-ing expensive. But, I have a mom from my mom group that said she can help out at least until we find something, or, if things go well, she may be willing to watch Chumby until I go on maternity leave in September! Keep your fingers crossed.

WTF is a durian? And how did I get so pregnant?

Well gang, it seems that with 7 weeks to go, things are okay.  I found a pediatrician, I got into a birthing class, I talked to the woman from the birthing class I was going to take but am not, my midwife decided that she likes me so much she wants to see me every two weeks and I am going to Olympia at the end of next week to bond with my fellow geoduck brethren and have some baby shower fun.  And go to the beach.  The beach is nice.

At 33 weeks, one site told me that the baby is the size of a pineapple.  But he was the size of a pineapple last week or the week before.  So maybe this time it’s a bigger pineapple?  A genetically modified pineapple?  I don’t know.  So, after conducting further research, I found that young Mr. McCloud is the size of a durian.  What is a durian, you ask?  Good question.  I had the same one.  Apparently, a durian is the “King of Fruits” or something.  Like Elvis was the King of Rock and Roll.  So, now we will name the baby Elvis Hamburglar McCloud McWhatever.  Probably not, but still.  Apparently, durians smell weird, too.  They are from Southeast Asia, so maybe that weird smell in the produce department of Uwajimaya is the smell of the durian?  From Wikipedia:

The edible flesh emits a distinctive odour that is strong and penetrating even when the husk is intact. Some people regard the durian as pleasantly fragrant; others find the aroma overpowering and revolting. The smell evokes reactions from deep appreciation to intense disgust, and has been described variously as almonds, rotten onions, turpentine, raw sewage. The persistence of its odour has led to the fruit's banishment from certain hotels and public transportation in Southeast Asia.

My coworker's dad brought home a durian once, and his mom wouldn't let him bring it in the house because it smelled so bad.

Now I bet you are asking yourself, “But what recipes are available for preparing a fruit that sounds so amazingly delicious?!”  That is another excellent question!  And, since it is summer and it is hot, I am going to suggest making a durian ice cream.  In this blog, she has not one, but THREE durian ice cream recipes!  Including a vegan one!  Your homework for the week is to find a durian.  Then, for next week, make all three ice creams and let me know which tastes the best.  Then I will buy a durian, promptly forget why I did so, leave it on the counter for about three weeks, then throw it away.  Because that’s what happens.  Oh!  I have some green beans in my fridge I should probably cook tonight…

We painted the ceiling in the nursery.  Now we just need to stain the floors and find some sort of molding for the room, because the people we bought the house from seem to have hated molding.  There isn’t any on the window sills or the floor or anything.  Except in the addition, but even in there the trim is ugly.  I’ve been staring around my house, noticing all the things I hate about it lately.  The thing I hate the most has to be the terrible wood accents, so, in the guest bathroom, I ripped them all out of the walls.  Well, I unscrewed the screws in most of them, but one of the hand towel rack screws wouldn’t come out, so I physically ripped it from the wall.  My mentor says I’m nesting.  I just thought I was channeling my inner Incredible Hulk.  There is a wooden toilet seat in that room.  WTF?

The pediatrician I found is awesome.  He is about a mile from my house and he laughed at my joke about babies using intravenous drugs.  Also, I was late to my appointment because I went to their old office and they had moved two weeks before and I was all anxious because of traffic and being late, but he still saw me.  The staff were super friendly and after about a minute of talking to him, I was totally calm again.  He didn’t make me feel rushed at all.  He answered my questions and wasn’t a douche.  And he has three boys, so he knows about raising boys.  The only downside is that he has a soul patch.  Soul patches are the lowest form of facial hair.  If facial hair were Dante’s 7 circles of hell, the soul patch would either be the seventh circle or not there at all.  I’m not sure.  A Hitler moustache is better than a soul patch.  But, aside from his terrible facial hair, he is amazing.  And I feel good about it.  And, if his facial hair becomes an issue later on, I can always change pediatricians.

Changing doctors is easier than changing birthing classes.  The woman that runs the Confident Birthing class is a terrible human being.  Maybe her class is amazing, but I kind of hope something terrible happens to her.  It has been two weeks today since I was supposed to go to the first class but discovered it didn’t work with my schedule and canceled my enrollment and blah blah blah.  The woman told me she would figure out my partial refund and get back to me.  I called her on Friday to see where she was at in sending me my money (the class was $175).  She said she has been busy and would get it sent out to me soon and I gave her my address.  The conversation went something like this:

Me: Just to be clear, you are sending me $110, correct?

Her: Where did that number come from?

Me: It is the $175 class fee, minus the $65 non-refundable deposit.

Her: Typically, if someone delivers early and can’t finish the class, I refund them $10 per class.

Me: That’s nice.  But I didn’t attend any classes.

Her: I can send you the book, too.

Me: I don’t need the book.  And the only thing I signed was a recognition of a $65 non-refundable deposit.  Since I didn’t attend any of the classes, I should get the rest back.

Her: I will get your check in the mail.  Good luck in your birth.  <click>

So, there you go.  She was planning on sending me $70 out of $175.  I mean, she made $65 for doing nothing.   She’s a local doula, too and does prenatal massage.  I’ve been trying to find somewhere online to write terrible reviews of her (as a person.  I know nothing about the services she provides), but couldn’t find anything.  So, I told my midwife about my experience and told her she should stop referring people there.  Now I am taking Intuitive Birth through the hospital.  It only costs $60 for four weeks of class and the class ends at 8:30 p, not 10pm, so that’s nice.  I wonder if and/or when I will get my money back?  I think I will email her again today if my check isn’t in my mailbox when I get home from work.

I am meeting with a lawyer this week to update my will.  My old boss paid for us all to have wills done when I was 25.  I didn’t own anything at the time and I made my best friend from college and my favorite ex-boyfriend the executors of my estate because, well, I didn’t know what else to do.  But now, I own a house and there’s going to be a baby and what if Mr. Adventure and I both die?  We need to make arrangements for the wee one.  Yet another benefit of working for The Man is the EAP.  Because it’s a CLC or something, I get a free 30 minute consultation with a lawyer, and a 25% reduction on all additional lawyer fees and services.  The last time I actually hired a lawyer was when I got into a car accident when I was 20.  So, it seems I see a lawyer about as often as I go to the zoo… once a decade.

What else?  I am going to an outdoor wedding on Saturday.  It is hot as balls here and I think having an outdoor wedding in a desert state at the end of July is a form of torture.  Doubly so in my advanced state of pregnancy.  So, I am bringing my hand fan and I may or may not be naked by the end of the ceremony.  The dress I am planning to wear fit me a couple of weeks ago when I last tried it on.  Keep your fingers crossed that it still does!  I have two back-up dresses in mind, just in case my first choice doesn’t work out.  The third choice will definitely fit, but it shows a lot of cleavage.  An inappropriate amount for an afternoon wedding.  Or whatever time the wedding is.  (I don’t know where I put my invitation, but I bet someone knows what time it starts!).

I go back to the midwife next week.  I mean, I just saw her last week, but I guess since we’ve been seeing each other once a month for so long now, she just can’t stand to go that long without seeing me again.  I understand.  I would feel the same way.  I’ve been working on my fancy birth plan checklist thing that she gave me.  We’ve decided that we are going to go for the Vitamin K shot for the baby.  We aren’t circumcising, so I didn’t think it was necessary, but after doing a bunch of research, I learned that they give the Vitamin K shot to help prevent possible brain hemorrhaging.  Baby brain hemorrhage disease is pretty rare (less than 1%, I think) but shoving your head through a birth canal is probably pretty intense and I would feel really bad if my baby died or had brain damage because I didn’t get the shot.  So, there’s that.  I’m going to wait on the Hep B because Hep B is part of the vaccination pack at 2, 4 and 6 months, so babies don’t need it at two minutes after being born, unless the mom has Hep B.  And I am still on the fence about the erythromycin eye ointment stuff.  But that is just because Mr. Adventure is allergic and I’m not sure if the baby would be allergic.  Either way, I would feel like an asshole if my baby went blind because of something I did or did not do, so now I am looking into alternative eye ointments.  I’m also planning on going all natural and laboring at home as long as possible before going to the hospital.  And I received a piece of great advice from my old neighbor.  Her aunt is an L&D nurse and told her before her daughter was born that if her water breaks at 11:00p, wait until midnight to go to the hospital because it will save you from being charged an entire extra day in the hospital.  That’s the kind of advice I’m looking for. 

I can’t wait until next Thursday when I drive to Seattle, Olympia and Portland.  It will be nice to have a mini holiday and go somewhere that isn’t blazing hot for a few days.  Maybe I will even float the Clackamas or the Sandy before I head back East.

Oh!  We’ve decided that we are going to try to teach our German Shepherd mix a new trick: Rock the Baby.  We have the hushamok baby hammock where we are planning for the baby to sleep for the first couple of months.  I want to find something that weighs about ten pounds to put in there, then I am going to work on getting Mr. German Shepherd Mix to nose the hammock part with the command, “Rock the baby.”  Keep your fingers crossed for me that it works out!

And there you have it.  That is all.