Feeling a little blue

On Thursday night I was scared. Very scared. Scared to the point where at times I couldn't talk because I knew it would mean I would cry – and the way I cry you can't understand what I'm saying, my words come out sounding like a bear stuck in a lawnmower. But I had to keep calm and in stay in control.

Tricky had been a little grumpy for a few hours, more than likely because the day before he had received his first immunisations, so we decided to give him a bath because he really likes them. Every time he gets in the water he goes wide eyed and quiet, as if he is concentrating on the sensations. Instead of bathing him in his plastic bathtub, we put him in the big bath with me so he could get some nice cuddles at the same time as getting squeaky clean. Two birds, one stone, perfect.

This time though, instead of the usual look of awe, he did really long, slow blinks and then went to sleep on my chest. I tried waking him up a few times but he just wanted to go back to sleep. He had been sleepy earlier because of the shots, but not like this. I turned him around to face me, mainly because I thought he looked so scrumptious in his naked sleepiness and I wanted a better look at him. Then I noticed that all around his lips, the skin was tinged blue. I called in Hubby. Did he think it looked blue too, or was it just the lights? No. It wasn't the lights. He had a little five o'clock shadow about fifteen years too early.

We got out of the bath and he didn't cry. He normally has a little cry when he realises the lovely watery world of the tub has been taken away from him. But he was silent. I didn't like it one bit. He was still breathing fine, and there was no other discolouration on him anywhere else but the little alarm bells going off in my head would not be silenced.

The colour returned shortly after that but I couldn't shake one image from my mind – photos of my sister with her lips blue from lack of oxygen. Should we just watch for a while and see if he was alright? Or should we go by the old 'better safe than sorry' mantra and head to the emergency department? There was no way I would be able to sleep without knowing he was alright, so we went to Princess Margaret Hospital for Children. On the way there I sat in the back seat and watched him the entire time, I just couldn't look away. I had to see his chest moving up and down.

In triage his oxygen saturation was measured and found to be 99% so he was definitely not in any immediate danger. We were given a bed in emergency and found ourselves at the bottom of the list. Strangely I found this comforting. They would have rushed to us if they thought he was sick, wouldn't they? In the bed to our right was a boy with a broken arm and Hubby and I chatted about when he broke his arm as a kid, falling off his bike. I wanted to talk about anything and everything... to keep my mind occupied so that it didn't wander off with worst case scenarios. It did not help that the song stuck in my head was “Blue Lips” by Regina Spektor.

After a while we were seen by an amazing young doctor who made me feel immediately at ease. She didn't make me feel like an idiot for coming in, she listened to the history of my sister's heart defect and then examined him thoroughly – she listened to his heart, checked to see if his hands, feet and tongue were pink, and did other doctor-y things. He was fine. She explained that sometimes this happens, it's normal. Really? It's normal for my kid's mouth to go blue? Apparently, yes. Because it was the area around his lips and not the lips themselves. Bizarre. I was given a full medical explanation but in the emotion of it all I've forgotten what exactly it was.

We arrived home at 1.00am and I cried with a mix of relief and exhaustion. I thought I would feel silly for going to the hospital only to be turned around with a clean bill of health, possibly labelled a paranoid parent... but I didn't. Instead I felt secure in the knowledge that I'd done the right thing. My Tricky was safe and the saying is right because it's way better than being sorry. I slept soundly... until he woke me up for another feed anyway.

Good as gold

Prepare yourself to learn some very personal details about me. This post shall go down in history as the first (maybe of many) of the 'too much information' variety. It will come as no big shock to those of you with children, you may have already tread this path. I have a cracked nipple. There I said it. But that's not the best part...

I saw a lactation counsellor at the fortnightly Australian Breastfeeding Association meetings I go to because it was still hurting to feed him, but strangely only on the left side. The side with the crack. A crack that had been there from when Tricky was only a few days old. I got some great advice and it became less painful but the crack still wasn't healing.

I'd been using all the suggested methods of healing cracks – putting breastmilk on the nipple and letting it air dry on there (I was very tempted to answer the door like this one time, but figured the constant stream of door-to-door salesmen didn't need encouraging), using pure lanolin cream and expressing from that side and not feeding just in case it was a problem with attachment – but it still wasn't healing.

So I went and saw a fully fledged Lactation Consultant through the hospital Tricky was born at. She was happy with Tricky's latch so the next possibility of a non healing nipple is infection - in particular a staphylococci infection. Yep, I have golden staph of the nipple. Bond had Goldfinger, I have Goldnipple. Can't quite see Shirley Bassey singing about that.

Of course I immediately went to my trusted friend, Google, to ask more questions. Just a tip: never to do an image search of 'infected nipple' on a full stomach. After looking it up I realise I've gotten off pretty lightly – I don't have all the yucky bits in the pictures, in fact you can't tell there is anything wrong unless you look closely and see the crack.

I'm half way through a course of antibiotics and the crack appears to be healing – hooray! The only issue I have now is that the antibiotics need to be taken on an empty stomach... for a breastfeeding woman that can be classed as cruel and unusual punishment!

Did you suffer with cracked nipples? How did you manage? Leave a comment with your story.

A reason to smile

I didn't realise just how boring babies were until I had Tricky. I don't know if it makes me a bad mother to say it, because I'm sure some other mothers are thinking it. Up until now he's been as interactive as a Tamagotchi, but now that he is awake more and more during the day it has all started happening.

This past week Tricky has started smiling nice big proper smiles... not just the accidental bowel related ones! Hooray! Never when there is a camera around though. The other thing he's mastered is poking his tongue out – we've been poking our tongues out at him for a few weeks because babies will mirror you and it helps them learn where things are on their body (or so all the books say). Hubby and I would sit with Tricky, talking like idiots and poking out our tongues and eventually he would do it back, much to our delight. But now he just does it by himself if you go near him... think we may have started a bad habit there. Oops. Never mind, it's cute.

He's also figured out that he can control his voice and is oohing and aahing all over the place - he's quite a little chatter box! I of course answer back to him when he does it and we have a little chat, normally with me saying things like “Oh really?” and “No! She didn't did she?” because all our conversations revolve around magazine worthy scandals.

As his new 'skills' emerge I've wondered just what it was that he did before this. The answer, of course, is nothing. They eat, they sleep, they cry, they poo and they wee. End of story. There is no interaction. No response to your pathetic sing-song voice. Just a teeny weeny baby that lays there and stares. If you're lucky they stare at you. They take it all in and give nothing back in those first few weeks.

In the coming weeks Tricky's smiles will become more and more frequent and I can't wait... they'll soon be followed by gorgeous little baby giggles! Let the fun and games begin!

Modern mother

There are more breastfeeding aids on the market than you can poke a stick at (why you'd want to poke a stick at them though is beyond me). The most popular are special little pins that you can clip to your bra strap to remember what side you fed from last and rubber bracelets that let you record what side you fed from and at what time.

In the early days of breastfeeding when I was still getting the hang of it I realised I needed help remembering which side I'd fed from (I was such a milk factory that even after Tricky had a feed I could barely tell the difference by feel). Did I go out and buy a special pin or bracelet? No. I put on my birth stone ring and moved it from one hand to the other at the end of each feed. Then I'd look at the time,  round it up to the nearest quarter hour and remember it. My system worked great and now that I'm in the swing of things I don't need it and the ring stays permanently on my right hand.

Today I received one of the reminder bracelets (from a company wanting me to try their products) and decided to use it for the day to see how it would stack up against my turquoise ring. I didn't last more than a few hours it was so annoying! To remember which breast you fed from last you turn the bracelet inside out and the time is recorded with a slider that you line up to a number. Now it might be because it was a cheaply made version destined to be a freebie, but the band would twist and the slider would move itself – if I had been relying on it for accurate information I would have been screwed. I can imagine looking at the bracelet and seeing that Tricky last fed seven hours ago and in a sleep deprived state I might actually believe it.

So if a cheaply made bracelet or a fancy pin are not going to work for you, you can always go high tech. That's right, there's an iPhone app that will record it all for you, for up to six different bubs (sorry, Octomom, you'll have to find a different method). You'll be a super-duper high tech mum with that. What ever happened to a pen and paper? Please note the sarcasm is due to the fact that I don't own an iPhone and am therefore jealous of anyone who could have this app.

Do these products help us be better parents? Or do they just drain our pockets? Leave a comment below with your thoughts

To serve and protect

Last night we had a prowler. Hubby and I were awoken (while Tricky slept soundly) by Sprocket madly barking followed by the sounds of someone running down the side of our house and jumping our almost six foot high gate. This is the third time (spread over five years and two houses) that someone has tried to break in to our home, but the first time as parents.

Hubby leapt in to action, double checking that the house was secure and called the police on their non-emergency number (we had heard the person leave, we were in no danger) who then patrolled the street a few times in case the perp (oooh I feel like I'm in Law & Order) moved a few houses down to try his luck there. The times this had happened previously, out of the two of us, Hubby was the more spooked – understandably so when you consider he did come face to face with the intruder on the second occasion! This time though, it was completely different. My easy going, laid back husband was gone and in his place was Super Dad, protector of the family!

So where was I? The one who normally isn't too freaked out knowing that I'm safe inside and the bad guy is outside? I was sitting up in bed too afraid to move – there might have been a boogey man under the bed waiting to grab my ankle after all. I felt vulnerable and exposed like never before even though the previous intruders left tool marks on the doors and this guy only left footprints in the sand. He hadn't gotten anywhere near as close as the others thanks to Sprocket the Wonder Dog giving him the fright of his life yet I was shaking like a leaf.

I'm sure that becoming a dad has switched that protective instinct on in Hubby's head, but I thought mine would have been in full force too. Or perhaps it was and it is showing itself by making me much more alert and aware of those “what ifs” that were running through my head. Pappa Bear is big and fierce while Mumma Bear nurtures? There is only one thing I know for sure, and that is that I'm reading way too much in to this!

Did you feel instantly protective over your little ones?