Bummer Got Better and Brady Got Bigger!

I was hesitant about my check-up this past Monday because it was another meeting with the now infamous Dr. Bummer (if you remember, I officially put the man on My List the last time we met), but I have to say: I was pleasantly surprised. But I’m getting ahead of myself; let’s start at the beginning of the appointment when I fell on my nurse…

 I waited for what seemed like forever because the office was really backed up. In fact, an older couple (who arrived after me and sat patiently for maybe six minutes) left because “they were wasting their whole day at the doctor’s.” By the time I was called back to be weighed, I was half asleep. When the nurse kindly helped me onto the scale, I looked up at the numbers and then promptly tilted sideways and fell right into her. She’s a tiny woman, so I was sure I had crushed her to death. Much to my surprise, she remained steady on her feet and helped me regain my balance. I have no idea how much I weigh because sheer humiliation is all I could see. Plus, she never actually told me how much I had gained, which I take as a sign of compassion; she knew I was mortified from the fall and didn’t want to make me cry by telling me how much my chocolate binges have added to my thighs. Ick.

Anyway, my blood pressure is still great: 108/62. I did the right thing and got my flu shot, too. The last time I had one I was in college and became deathly ill as a result, so I had sworn them off for life. But I’m afraid of the swine flu now, so I figured it was the responsible thing to do to protect Baby J. 2. My grandma The-Flu-Shot-Saves-Lives-and-Even-Better-It’s-Free-Because-It’s-Covered-By-Your-Insurance Helen would be so proud! I also got to hear the baby’s heart beat for the first time today. The healthy range is between 125-175 beats per minute, and BJ2 was coming in strong at 150. That put me at ease because I keep telling Zach I shouldn’t be able to fit into my regular jeans still so, of course, something could be wrong. He normally rolls his eyes at me when I worry about things like this, which is a reasonable response. I think I’m just carrying higher than I did with Brady which accounts for my pants still buttoning, not without a waist extender on more bloated days, but nevertheless, still buttoning!

Before the appointment was over, I mentioned my desire (again…) to try for a VBAC. I was honest with ‘ole Bummer and told him I didn’t feel like he was supportive of my wishes. He said he was definitely an advocate as long as the baby and I stay healthy. When I explained that I blamed the C-section discomfort and slow recovery for ruining my chances to nurse Brady, Dr. Bummer assured me that he was in my corner, but not without some compromises, of course. For instance, my goal of walking around and letting gravity work its magic is a thing of the past; he said he highly recommends (AKA: insists) I have the epidural in the event that I’ll need another emergency C-section. He explained that if I don’t have the epidural and need the operation, I could end up under anesthesia and be unconscious for the birth of my child. No thank you. I obliged and then asked if I could at least wait for as long as possible before having the epidural so I wouldn’t be strapped to a bed for 24 hours again. Those hopes were dashed as well. Because I’m VBAC-ing, they’ll want to use constant internal monitoring to detect the (1%, rare, barely ever happens) chance of a uterine rupture. While this isn’t exactly what I had in mind, I understand that I will have to cooperate and do what’s best and safest for the baby. If that means hanging out in bed and not feeling the pain of contractions, I guess there are worse things in life.    

On to Brady’s appointment: he entertained the crowd of waiting patients with his walking skills and by yelling “Kick!” which sounds an awful lot like shit. Most people were laughing, but I know some were also judging our parenting as our child teetered about yelling obscenities. Once in the exam room, we stripped the boy down to his diaper and all was well. He enjoyed the nurse, he sat on the scale like a gentleman, he lay still while he was measured—he was a picture of perfection. That is, until his pediatrician walked in the room. Brady just burst into tears! It took Zach and I by such surprise that we just burst out laughing (more evidence of our stellar parenting). Dr. Daly offered Brady a sticker, but nothing would sooth the poor kid. He screamed while the man checked his heart beat, ears, and eyes. By the time the exam was over, Brady was all red and puffy, but at least the worse was behind him. Or so he thought. The shots really did him in today. Normally he wails for a minute and then quits, but today he was gasping for his breath and shaking because he was so tormented by the day’s events. He wasn’t, however, as bad as the child in the room next to ours who had to be held down by his father and three nurses. He kept screaming, “YOU’RE CHOKING ME! YOU’RE KILLING ME!” Zach and I also found this amusing, so maybe Brady’s outburst was karma teaching us a lesson?

At any rate, Brady is in the 25^th percentile for his weight (22 pounds, 14 ounces), the 60^th percentile for his height (31.5 inches), and the doctor predicted his height to be around 5’10. (My brother reminded me that he, too, was predicted to be a bit taller than my dad (between 5'11-6 foot); he currently stands at a manly 5’7. Guess we shouldn't get our hopes up just yet!!) Brady is hitting all of his milestones (albeit his walking is a bit late), and as always, Dr. Daly, the man of many observations, commented on his eyes: “They are really blue.”  He then said, "I've seen white kids, and I've seen really white kids; Brady falls into the really white category." Surprise, surprise.