Bigger and better adventures

Oliver the Magnificat came to live with us in 2004 as a refugee after friends had their second child and noticed Oliver suffering from what could best be described as “toddler stress”.

He enjoyed being an only cat in our quiet house, where he has been the undisputed ruler of the sofas for the last three years.

Then, a big change. Without any warning, there is another small creature in the house and it seems to have first priority on laps. It makes unpredictable, loud noises. Even worse, it is fed rather more frequently than he is.

What is a cat to do?

Last night I went to bed at a sensible time but I just couldn’t fall asleep. I lay there, tossing and turning, until I finally drifted off three hours and an unscheduled breastfeed later.

So I was a bit tired today, which may explain why I ran a bath for Talia, got her undressed, picked her up and placed her in the bath tub - without thinking to take off her nappy first. Let’s just say that it might not have needed changing before then, but it certainly did afterwards.

We have been singing to Talia since the very first weeks in the NICU. Sometime we sing “real” songs, and sometimes we just make them up as we go. I’m particularly good at making up new words - or making up the tune if I forget how it goes - or simply substituting la la la if all else fails!
As I’m sure our repertoire will change over time, I thought I would post the lyrics to some of them before they are forgotten.

This is one of our breastfeeding songs, to the tune of “Mumma’s little baby loves shortnin’ bread”

Mumma’s little baby loves milkbar, milkbar
Mumma’s little baby loves milkbar best [repeat]

I took her to the doctor, the doctor said
Feed that baby on milkbar (breast)

Mumma’s little baby loves milkbar, milkbar
Mumma’s little baby loves milkbar best [repeat... ad nauseam!]

The LAP forum had a thread running on “the hardest part of your NICU journey”. It made me think back to the long days of CPAP and desats (very tedious) and trying to establish breastfeeding (very stressful), and before that to the day I was discharged from hospital, leaving my beautiful, fragile little daughter behind in a humidicrib. It coincided with my “baby blues” day and I was more or less inconsolable, bursting into tears at the slightest thought of my baby. My husband couldn’t get me back to the NICU fast enough, he was so worried about me.

However, the single worst aspect of the entire journey, the part I would least want to go through again, was the evening I was admitted to hospital. It was the moment when they told me I might be having a baby within hours, when (knowing nothing about premature babies) I believed she was coming too early and would surely die, and my wonderful husband was away overseas, knowing nothing about what was taking place, and he could not comfort me as I lay strapped to the monitors, shaking and frightened.

Thank goodness for the miracles of modern medicine, for the drugs and the machines and the caring and technical skills of doctors and nurses, and (something we take for granted in Australia today) easy access to a clean, well equipped hospital where they have lots of experience in dealing with premature babies.

My grandmother went through this personal hell. No miracles. No baby.

Corrected age: 5 months, 1 week
Weight: 5.165kg
Diet: breastmilk, formula, the merest taste of solids (potato and sweet potato)

Monday morning the Child Health Centre is open for anyone to weigh their baby, so I try to hike up there every week and see how Talia is progressing. She has been very slow to gain weight since leaving hospital, which has caused me a lot of stress and contributed to a bout of postnatal depression. I was so keen to breastfeed exclusively and it was a great disappointment to find that I am a “low-flow” mother and barely able to produce enough milk to keep my baby alive. Fortunately things have improved for both of us since I introduced formula, and now I am still breastfeeding “for medicinal purposes” but without the stress of knowing it is Talia’s only source of food.

I started Talia on “solids” (which are anything but solid!) a couple of weeks ago and have tried Farex, pear, sweet potato and potato. At first she just screwed up her face and wouldn’t have a bar of either farex and pear (”Eat it yourself, Mum!”) but then she seemed to grasp the idea and opened wide as I spooned in a mix of milk and mashed potato. Unfortunately, as fast as it went in, she pushed it with her tongue - straight back out again. I don’t know that she actually swallowed any of it. So I am going to wait for another week or so and see if the tongue reflex goes away.

Talia went on her first historical walking tour today - around the buildings in Fremantle which have a Jewish past. Daddyfeatures and I lived in the UK for six and a half years and always enjoyed exploring old townships on foot, especially with a knowledgeable guide. We are already looking forward to being able to travel with Talia - although whether or not she will share our passions only time will tell.

As we have stayed away from the general public for most of the last five months, it was also the first time Talia has been randomly touched by complete strangers as she sat in her pram while we listened to the guide. I was amazed how many people view a baby as communal property.