Injury Time

OK, so I've been a touch lax in updating the blog recently.  It's not that nothing has been happening, just that I've not got around to documenting it.  So, with that in mind, here we go with a super-sized post!

Grande nappiccinos

When we last left our hero, he was struggling with some poo issues.  After a bout of constipation, Alex had moved (boom-boom) on to producing tiny, high density pellet poos.  (HDPPs.)  These were very small and had a curious texture, rather like wet peat.  They also stank.  Really, really badly.  They were clearly difficult to pass too, as poor Alex would go bright red and gurn while trying to fire them out.  We started feeding him lots (lots!) of fruit, especially prunes, and some laxatives from the GP.  Finally, something shifted.

And oh boy did it shift!  The first "normal" (non-HDPP) poo was epic.  It required not one, not two, but three (count 'em, three) nappies to contain!  Gushing would be a good word.  To say Alex was relieved is an understatement!  His tummy is now noticeably less taut.  Poos have returned to more normal volumes and regularity, although they still really pong.  I suspect this is a side effect of solids and will not change.

Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick

Alex has also been experimenting with causing bodily harm to his parents of late.  (His Dad specifically.  I don't know if he likes Mum more, or if Nic's just faster than me.)  So far Alex has jabbed me in the eye with sufficient force to make opening said eye difficult for a good five minutes and rammed a finger so far up my nose that he caused it to bleed.  (My nose, obviously, not his finger.)  He's also cut his own ear with a pointy fingernail.  We try and keep his fingernails cut to reduce these incidents, but the only way you notice they've got sharp again is when someone looses an eye.

In charge, but not in control

Last Thursday Nic went in to the office for a couple of meetings while I stayed home with Alex.  I've said before that I don't know how Nic manages to cope so well at home most days, and last Thursday has left me no more informed on that score!  Alex and I coped, but I'm not sure how well we'd do in the long term.  (Apart from anything else, it's a weird mix of terror and boredom.  Like the Army, but with less bullets and more Bargain Hunt.)

During the day Alex and I went to both the baby drop-in clinic at the health centre (he now weighs 7.96kg, or 17 & 1/2 lbs) and Rhymetime at the local library.  I was the only dad at either one.  I guess this isn't surprising given how childcare and parental leave are divided up in the UK, but it's still a bit of a shame.  (It's also remarkable to hear some of the nursery rhymes sung at Rhymetime!  Talk about old-fashioned stereotypes!  The woman running Rhymetime at least had the decency to look slightly embarrassed about it, although only when it came to stereotypes about dads.  Ones about mums sailed right by without comment.)  We also had a nice time in the garden, where Alex attempted to denude the lawn of grass, one handful at a time.  (He wasn't interested in eating it though, thankfully.  Just pulling it up, looking at it, then discarding it.)

Night fever

The day after I was looking after Alex we had our first real health scare.  About lunchtime he went grey, spaced out, head flopping, and then spewed.  He was also boiling hot.  Nic phoned the health visitor, who said she'd get the emergency doctor to call back, then my dad, who said just to go straight to the GPs, as they'd want to see Alex anyway.  Once she was there they diagnosed him as having a viral infection.  (GP speak for "you're going to feel like crap for a couple of days, but you're basically fine and there's nothing we can do anyway".)  Alex seemed to be ok-ish once I got home, albeit somewhat subdued and clearly running a fever.  When we had our regular bath though, he did the grey faced spacing out thing again.  We dosed him with calpol and prepared for a disturbed night.

In fact he slept relatively well over night.  It was just that when he woke up it was a touch more... interesting than usual.  First time, Nic fed him then went to give him some more calpol, at which point he vomited, with extreme prejudice.  It went all over him, his sleeping bag and Nicola.  Especially over Nicola.  Her pyjamas, her hair and even down her pants.  I was handed Alex to change while Nic took a shower at 2am.  The next feed he managed to only puke on his sleeping bag and a bit of Nic's jumper.

The next morning he seemed a bit better, although still a bit off his food.  No more spew at least.  By lunch, the fever seemed to have broken.  JRB warned us that kids often appeared to get better from viral infections before having another fever (although this doesn't seemed to have happened to Alex), so we didn't count our chickens at that point.  By the evening he looked to be in that "I'm not really ill any more, but I'm too knackered to do anything" stage.  By Sunday, he was right as rain.  If anything, he was in a better mood than he'd been in for days.  He stayed bright and breezy all day.  He was fine this morning too, so I hope we've survived this bout of illness.  Let's hope so, anyway.  It was no fun at all.

The House at Poo Corner

It's 8:40am and both Nicola and Alex are asleep.  Alex in his bouncy chair just beside me, Nic in bed.  It was a long night for her.  Alex woke her up at 5:30 by squawking in his sleep.  Once he actually decided to wake up (6:30 or so), he was difficult to feed.  Then he threw up.  With style.  Everywhere.  Over Nic, over the couch, over the rug, over the floor and over himself.  At this point poor Nic had had enough, so I've been in charge since the spew while she catches up with some sleep.  (And changes her clothes!)  Now that Alex is snoozing too, I thought I'd write up a quick blog entry about everyone's favorite topic, poo.  So brace yourselves.  And for God's sake, don't read this over lunch.  (The photo is not related, just funny.)

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The standard joke about new parents is that everything their baby does is fascinating, right down to the poo.  This is not true.  Some baby related things are deeply dull, like late night crying or demanding to be held upright for hours on end.  Poo IS fascinating though.  Let me take you on a guided tour to prove it...

Firstly, if you're breast feeding your baby, poo is one of the few ways of knowing if your child is getting enough to eat.  A dirty nappy means a full baby.  (The other way of telling is if they're putting on weight, but that's not a very immediate measure.)  For Alex in particular, feeding times often equal poo times.  It's not uncommon for him to be happily feeding then go very still and produce a massive FFFFFrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrP! noise.  Then another.  Then another.  (Poos, like bad luck, come in threes.)  Sometimes the sheer force of poo is enough to detach him from the nipple and shoot him forwards like a poo-powered rocket.

Oddly, the noise level is totally unrelated to the amount of poo produced.  A massive ripper can mean a nappy so full it overflows, nothing at all or anything in-between.  The best way of telling for sure is to give his crotch or arse a sniff.  (Ahh, the joys of being a dad.)  If you're not sure, it was a fart.  You KNOW when it's a poo.  Dirty nappies are not referred to in our house as stinkers for nothing.

Baby poo does not smell like shit, mind you.  It has a scent all of its own.  In fact, from conversations with other parents, it has a smell unique to your own baby.  Alex has a distinctly noxious sulfurous whiff, with high, rotten meat overtones.  A bit like a lingering skunk spray for those in the USA.  A bit like a meaty fart for those not acquainted with the odor of the skunk.  Other babies smell of cheese I gather.  I think I'd prefer that.

Once you've confirmed the stinker, it's time to get changing.  A tub of warm water (the bottom water in our house) and some cotton wool are your first priorities.  Then the change mat, some kitchen towel and a stinking baby.  Strip baby.  Assess the situation BEFORE removing the nappy.  Namely: has the poo escaped?  You'd be amazed at the sheer maneuverability of turds.  How you can get a poo out of the nappy and all the way up to your shoulder baffles me.  None the less, it is a regular occurrence.  A full squirter will require a full change.  Do your best not to smear the poo into your child's hair.

Open the nappy.

This is the interesting bit.  What sort of poo will it be?  Yellow liquid with white seeds?  (What the hell THOSE are I don't know.  He's not been eating grapes on my watch.)  Perhaps just a light green crusty coating?  (A sure sign that he actually did this poo an hour or more ago and you didn't notice.  Lose 5 dad points and go back to Old Kent Road.)  Sludgy yellow?  (A big one, then.)  Or maybe everyone's favorite, the clumpy burnt umber monstrosity?  (You'll need more cotton wool.)  Whatever it is, wet the first bit of cotton wool and get to work.

Whether it's that baby poo isn't too bad, or it's just that your own baby's poo isn't too bad, the actual dealing with the poo is the least of your worries.  Grossing out or vomiting are far from your mind.  More pressing is the need to make sure that one of those flailing feet doesn't end up in the sludgy puddle of poo, water and used cotton wool.  Or redirecting the sudden stream of urine away from your face and into the nappy.  Either way, you're not going to be worrying about the poo.  And it's really not that bad.  I've encountered far worse things attached to Ringo's arse than Alex's.

Once your child is clean and happy, slap a new nappy on them and you're done.  And as I said above, if you're breastfeeding, you know that they're eating well.  And that's what makes it so interesting.

That and the sludge, of course.

He's a Dedicated Follower of Fashion

Whoever invented poppers is a god amongst men.

Dressing a baby is something of an acquired skill.  It is also terrifying, awkward, mentally challenging and boring, all at the same time.  Much like the rest of parenthood then, I suppose.

For those who've never had to dress a baby, let me try and describe it for you.  First, catch your child.  At Alex's stage, this isn't a problem, thankfully.  He's almost always where you left him.

Next, remove any soiled clothing from your child.  This is where it starts to get tricky.  When you're dealing with a squirter that has managed to get all over the baby-grow, or vomit that has somehow seeped in between vest and jumper it can be a challenge working out how to get the damn thing off with smearing faeces over your child's face.  (Social services generally take a dim view of coating your son in cack.)  If in doubt, scissors are your friends.  (Although Social Services also take a dim view of at home amputation, so be careful what you cut!)  Despite this, getting kids undressed is relatively easy.

At this stage, you might as well change your hypothetical child's hypothetical nappy.  Make sure to keep the clean clothes well away at this point.  You'll be surprised at the range, volume and directionality achievable by a stream of urine, and you don't want to have to change your child's clothes twice.  In dire circumstances remember, it is easier to strip yourself than your child and easier still to wash your skin than your clothes.  Hands in particular make excellent impromptu flood barriers.

Now it's time to get the clean clothes on your child.  By this point crying is inevitable.  If you're lucky it will just be a pathetic mewling which tugs at the heart strings.  If you're unlucky it will be a full blown, red faced howl which grinds the soul to pulp and shatters any nearby crystal.  Try to ignore it.  You'll fail, but at least you'll be thinking about ignoring it, rather than the scream itself.

Firstly, take the vest in one hand.  Bunch it up so you can slip it over the child's head with your other hand.  With your third hand, raise the child's head off the mat, while using your fourth and fifth hands to guide the arms into the sleeves...  OK, let's try that again.  With one hand, bunch up the vest.  With your other hand grip your child's head, shoulders and lower back (one finger each) and use the remaining two fingers to guide the vest over the head.  Get the vest stuck at about eye level.  Drop child.  (This is why a squishy changing mat is a good investment.)  Wrestle vest down over head.  Insert arms into holes.

I said, insert arms into holes.

Insert arms into...  JUST BEND YOUR ARMS, DAMN YOU!

Breathe deeply.  Count to ten.

Insert arms into holes.  Pull vest down over body.  Fasten poppers.  Most vests seem to have three poppers in a row at the bottom.  You will still only succeed in getting these fastened properly 50% of the time.  Worse still, 25% of the time you will be too tired to care or notice your mistake and your child will end up looking like they dressed themselves.

Baby-grows are somewhat easier as they usually don't have to be pulled over the head.  They do have significantly more poppers though, leading to a commensurately higher chance of popper related screw ups.  If you're lucky, no-one will notice.  If you're unlucky your child will look like the bastard offspring of Long-John Silver and Heather Mills.

Jumpers are like vests, only now you have to worry about the baby-grow's sleeves disappearing up the arm of the jumper.  Jumpers are also more likely to come with buttons.  Buttons should only be attempted by parents who took the Advanced Dressing Course with their local NCT group.  Mere mortals fiddle with them once, then pretend that the jumper looks cooler undone.  Besides, it's a surprisingly balmy -4C outside.  And hypothermia is character building, right?

Throughout all of this, you will be struggling against a tiny person who DOES NOT want to get dressed.  Babies are surprisingly strong when they want to be.  Despite this, you'll not be willing to use any amount of force for fear of hurting them.  If you do even the slightest amount of damage, (I broke one of Alex's fingernails), you will never forgive yourself.

Once your child is fully dressed, it's time to show your partner your handiwork.  It is at this point at which your child will be sick.  Go to step one.  Lather, rinse, repeat.