I hate formula.
I really do.

It's messy. It's clumpy. It smells funny. It makes him puke more. It only lasts an hour after it's warmed.

When he was eating plain breast milk, if he ate an ounce and then refused more, I could set the bottle to the side and give him 45 minutes to digest and feel better and then try again. Now I have a clock. And since it's mixed with my breast milk, if that hour ticks by, I'm throwing away my breast milk.

If I was making gobs and gobs of milk, that wouldn't be so horrible. And really, I AM making plenty because he's only eating 2oz. But I'm not making enough for him to eat the 3oz he's supposed to be eating.

and honestly, the thought of him eating 3oz blows my mind. Sometimes he'll only eat an ounce and then will cry for a half hour because he's in pain. So three? THREE? When it takes me an hour+ to get 2 into him.. I just can't imagine.

Robbie had a play date with his NICU BFF the other day. G is 18 days younger than Robbie, born at 26 weeks even weighing 1lb 13oz. He looks huge compared to Robbie. I love that he's doing so well, but I want the same for Robbie.

I'm a huge anxious mess. I just want him to do well. And he is. He's bright and alert and developing just the way he should be. But he's not eating or growing and eventually those things will catch up with him.

I'm his mom. Feeding him is my most basic job. I'm trying. I'm truly, truly trying. But I feel like there just isn't enough that I can do.

And then I think about that fucking G-Tube that I hated. I despised it. I was so glad for it to go. It leaked and was irritating his skin. I'm convinced it's part of the source of some of his stomach troubles.

BUT if we had it, we could feed him what and when he needed. If it came down to it, we could always do an NG tube (through the nose) but no one wants that. And in a kid who is beginning to really discover his hands, it's just going to get pulled out.

That just leads to more baby torture. A tube up the nose again.

As it is, today we had to start giving him a glycerin suppository to make him poop. I managed to get sprayed with poop in a rather hysterical moment. I thought he was done but was so, so wrong. He has an impressive range, let me tell you. But I have to say, having to put that up his bum was really uncomfortable for me. I think it was more uncomfortable for me than him since he didn't even seem to notice until he pooped so hard that he puked through his nose. Fun times. Makes you want to be my baby, doesn't it?

I had really hoped the baby torture had ended in the NICU. Instead now I'M the torturer instead of the nurses.

I'm just so incredibly sad.

And I feel guilty for feeling sad. (Aren't emotions fun? Whee!) I know how lucky I am. So many babies have so many more problems. So many parents didn't get to bring their babies home to worry over them. We're blessed. We are.

But my God, I'm so tired. It seems like everything. is. a. battle.

Eat, sleep, poop. Basic baby stuff and we can't seem to do any of it normally.

Back in the NICU one day, my favorite neo once told me that he wished he had a crystal ball. It wouldn't matter what he could see. He could tell me that he was going to have 3 infections and spend weeks on the ventilator and come home a month after his due date. I wouldn't like it, but I'd say okay. I'd prepare myself for what was to come and deal with it because we knew where we were headed. But instead, we spent every day wondering what would be thrown at us.

And he's right. And I feel that way now. If you could tell me he's going to outgrow this at a year, I'd think "MY GOD, A YEAR?!" but once I finished my pity party, I'd say okay. A year. We just have to make it through a year. But we don't know.

He could wake up tomorrow and eat like a champ for the rest of his life. Or he might not outgrow it until he's 5. Or 10. We just don't know. So we spend every day just trying to figure out what to do.

I continue to try different bottles. (He took a pretty good feeding through an Avent tonight.) Maybe that's the magic answer. Maybe it's just one tool. I still try 5 different positions to feed him. (The last one managed to be sort of on his belly. That was challenging.) Whatever it takes to get him to eat.

I just hope it's enough. If he could live in love, he'd need a diet by now. That's all I can cling to for now.

--Trish

Failure to Thrive

Today was a weight check with the pediatrician. He should have been at least 8lb, preferably closer to 9.

7 pound 7 ounces is all we've got.

Overall, our doctor was pretty positive. That's her nature. She said his physical exam is great. His development is right on track.

Eating sucks. He should be eating about 3oz every 3 hours. I'm lucky to get 2 into him.

Now we go back to adding formula to every bottle.

And we up his meds again.

All of that was doable and I was okay until I looked at the sheet you take to the check out.

She had circled under diagnosis "Failure To Thrive."

Just what every mom longs to hear. Your kid is not thriving.

I feel like a failure.

I know in my head that I'm doing everything I can. He lives with a bottle in his mouth. Monday he literally ate 12 times. When you consider at least 30 minutes per feeding(and realistically- 45 minutes to an hour), that's at least 6 hours a day of feeding him. I keep him at an incline. When he is in pain and refuses to eat, I've managed to figure out how to pat him and feed him at the same time so that he eats.

If he gets sick of one bottle, I'll change bottles to see if he likes a different nipple this time.

Almost every feeding is a 2 parter. He takes an ounce, gets upset. I pat him until he's calm again, give him a break, then in a half hour, he finishes the rest. This makes every feeding at least 45 minutes- sometimes as much as an hour and a half.

All I do is feed him. I know in my head that I'm doing what I can.

But my heart sees "Failure to Thrive" and I feel like I'VE failed. It's my job to protect him. It's my job to support him. It's my job to FEED HIM. It's my job to make him thrive. And he's not. I've failed.

All I can do now is pray this stupid reflux heals and he starts eating and thriving.

We're going to need another herd of moose.

--Trish

Pro Pics

My birthday present from my dad this year were professional pictures.

http://rrosephoto.blogspot.com

We had our session this past Saturday.

The photographer was wonderfully patient. (And in a small-world-isn't-it moment, it turns out we went to the same high school.)

Robbie did pretty well considering I woke him to get him ready and by the end of the session he was starving. (It was one of those days where he ate every 2 hours or so ALL DAY LONG.)

These are just the sneak peak pictures. The rest will be ready in a week or so. I'm so please.

He's so beautiful.

--Trish

Along for the ride

Robbie is now 24 weeks old. Can you believe he's been outside as long as he was inside? Yes, I was 26w pregnant, but you know, that counts the 2 weeks before he was actually CONCEIVED, so really, he grew for 24 weeks in my belly (well, since we're being precise- in my uterus) and has now grown for 24 weeks outside as well.

The weeks and days continue to amaze me. Tonight I discovered his belly is ticklish. He smiles and scrunches up his nose when you lightly tickle him. The most fascinating thing in the world remains to be the ceiling fan. If I'm really desperate to distract him, airplane up near the fan usually does the trick.

He's becoming more and more independent. Now when he's cranky, one of the first thing to try is to lay him on a bed and let him kick his legs. The playmat works, too, but more often than not, he's happier just laying in our bed or the twin bed in his room.

He loves to sit up. One of favorite games is to sit with his butt pressed against my leg for leverage, let him grab my hands and then he does a sit-up. I try to let him lean back and he struggles to stay upright.

Of course, he still hates his bebe pod seat. As much as he likes to sit up, he should love it, but really, he seems intrigued for a minute- maybe 90 seconds. Then he lets loose a nearly painful screech of displeasure. GET ME OUT!

His new bouncy seat rules, though. It has an adjustable back so he can be sat most of the way up. It also rocks, vibrates and plays both white noise and some rather soothing music. It's also raised. Great for us not-so-young parents.

His favorite toys are the toy that came with the bebe pod and the purple elephant on his playmat. He's also fond of the giraffe and parrot, but the elephant seems to particularly enthrall him. He's starting flailing in a more meaningful way- making contact with things and then widening his eyes in surprised elation that HE made it MOVE.

He's getting better at getting his hands in his mouth on purpose. Usually a whole fist when he's hungry, but occasionally just a thumb which seems to please him immensely. I often know he's found it from across the room because he smacks so loudly on it.

Learning all his ins and outs just amazes me. He's this little........person. Seeing things through his eyes fills me with amazement. The things we take for granted!

And his smiles! Bon Jovi wrote he was Livin' on a Prayer. I feel like I'm livin' on a smile. The boost just a flash of a grin can give me is amazing. Suddenly I'm energized- To try to make it happen again!

No amount of self-mockery or non-sense spewing is over the line if it has a chance of eliciting the holy grail of parenthood- a laugh. He isn't quite laughing out loud just yet. It's more of a head-thrown back strong "HEH!" but it's completely recognizable as laughter. A mom could live for a week on just one of those gems.

I feel so incredibly blessed to be able to accompany through all of his milestones and achievements. My life is no longer mine- I'm simply a guest at the dinner theatre of his life.

--Trish


Hmm. A new seat. Let me ponder...



Nope. No likey. NOT ONE BIT.


Daddy and Grandpa are full on ribs and enjoying Sunday football with me!



November 3, 2008, 4am.
Journal entry
This woman called "Mommy" says good babies should be sleeping in their beds now. I seem to have found a more comfortable place and think a bed is a poor substitute.
The furry striped thing has taken up arms on my side.
Attempts to persuade her continue to be met with resistance.
--Robbie




Daddy has TV. I have the ceiling fan. Life is good.




burrrrrrrrrrp!


Lift those legs, lift those legs, work the core!


My new favorite toy



Hey internets!





My fancy new seat




This week my friend Jen came to visit me and mommy!

March of Dimes

I'd like to draw your attention to the upper right corner. It takes 45 seconds and no money to help be a voice for babies like Robbie.

The U.S. was given a D on the report card on premature birth.

We keep hearing about how our nation has the best health care in the world. This should make us hang our heads in shame.

Please, sign the petition so we can stand proud again.

--Trish