Daily Peep: Decisions, Decisions

French fry . . . lettuce . . . French fry . . . lettuce . . .

All Clear!

Got a call from the Children's Hospital today.

All Peeper's tests came back "just fine."

That's totally what we expected, but it sure is good to hear it officially!

Daily Peep: Shoes

Shoes to fill.

Shoes are filling.

Daily Peep: Making A Call

Vote for Peeper

Update 2/19/10: Peeper's getting her adorable, cloth-diapered ass kicked. Go vote again!

Remember this photo of Peeper?

It's one of five finalists in Mama Note's Cutest Cloth Diapered Baby Photo Contest!

Click the link above to vote!

Kinetic Sculpture

Here's video of the awesome kinetic sculptures at the children's hospital.

And a little bit of Peeper.

Got Breastmilk?

This is what Peeper looked like when she woke up this morning:


In case you missed that:

Daily Peep: Childrens Museum Hospital

Other than the blood draw, Peeper had a great time at the hospital today.






I took some video of these in action. I'll try to get it posted tomorrow.

Home From The Doctor

We're home from Peeper's appointment and, other than a missed exit on the way there, which made us about thirty minutes late (pretty standard for us) the trip was more or less uneventful.

Peeper was quite a trooper with all the car time, and was very brave getting her blood drawn.

The doctor says that he's certain her tests will come back perfectly normal, but we will still be glad to hear it officially, in about 10 days.

In other news, of the we-needed-a-doctor-to-tell-us-that? variety, Peeper is small for her age, and adorable. And has beautiful eyes and hair.

Well, duh.

Actually, both the doctor and his (hmm, nurse? assistant? resident?) seemed to be rather hung up on her size.

The first thing the (lets call her an assistant, because she was assisting him, whatever her actual title might be) said when she walked in the room was, "Oh, she's so little. I was expecting like (gestures quite a bit taller than Peeper). She's like the size of a six month old!"

Um, no.

She may be more like the size of your average twelve month old than fifteen month old, but definitely not a typical six month old!

(And I know that, because I looked it up. Because I am me. Her height and weight would be "greater than 95th percentile" for a six month old. So there.)

The assistant asked if she's small because of her heart defect and we explained that, while her growth did speed up after her surgery, and although she had some placental/umbilical issues in utero, she's most likely just petite, like Shrike.

I also pointed out that, other than bulking up around a year, just prior to a height spurt, she's tracked right along that same 5th percentile line since well before birth.

Sidebar
Speaking of the surgery, when we told the assistant about it, she asked, "How did they do the surgery, because I don't see a scar. . . ."

As she was saying it, she was approaching her, to do the exam, and pointed it out, to which she replied, "Wow - that's a great looking scar!"

During this whole conversation, Peeper had been running around the room, just a few feet away from her, wearing nothing but a diaper, and she'd not even noticed it!

When the doctor was commenting on her size and asking her about growth, he asked what she's eating and how her appetite is.

I said that she's mostly still breastfeeding, but that she eats lots of solids as well.

To that, he said (and this is where Shrike tells me that she was amazed at the restraint that I showed), "Well, you've got to be careful with breastmilk. It's not doing anything for her now (Or maybe it was "It doesn't have anything for her now" - I don't remember the exact wording.) and it fills her up; she needs to eat more solids."

I just nodded and assured him that, "Oh yes, she eats lots and lots of solids, as well."

I did not point out that breastmilk is more calorific than most of the solid foods she eats, or that in the second year, breastmilk actually gets more concentrated, both in nutritional and immunological factors, or that it certainly didn't magically turn into water on her first birthday.

Given that she's growing and thriving, I think it's pretty obvious that the breastmilk is providing the nutrition to do so.

Either that, or she's photosynthesizing, because even in her recent hollow-leg mode, she's still not really eating all that much in the way of solid food.

(Certainly not of the nutritious, healthy-body-building variety. She really likes her carbs. That's my girl.)

I just bit my tongue and told myself that we (knock wood) never have to see this guy again.

Although, later, I thought about the fact that the next mom he says that to might not know better, and maybe I should've said something along the lines of, "Well, you know, there's a recent study. . . ." (The thing about it becoming more concentrated.)

When we finished up with the exam, as soon as we got out of earshot, I said to Shrike, "That's a load of bullshit! What about . . . ( see above study, etc). . . "

As I sputtered, she said, soothingly, "I know. I know, honey. I know everything."

I stopped. "You know everything?"

"Well, no," she said. "I know what you tell me. And you know everything."

"Oh, okay."

Ironically, right across the hallway, there was a big sign on a door indicating that there was a training going on inside - for lactation nurses.

I was thinking that I ought to go tell the trainer that when she's done there, she should go set this guy straight. Later, I found out Shrike was thinking the same thing!

The only other "concern" that the doctor and his assistant seemed to have was with Peeper's speech. I described how she's been hitting all her verbal milestones at the very late end of the normal range, and told them that she's got 30 - 40 signs, and maybe 5 words.

Oh, yeah, did I mention that?

That she's picked up some words? (It's on the sidebar. Pay attention!)

Since her check up two weeks ago, when she was pretty much saying, "Mama" and that's it, she's started saying "baby" (baaaah-buh), maybe "doggy" (duhgeeduhgeedugee), and definitely "eye" (aaahh! - over and over, while pointing to the eyes of various people and animals in a book).

She can also tell you that the monkey says "ahah" and sometimes will tell you that a doggy says either "ah-ah" or (pant-pant).

She's also started mimicking us on occassion, and the other night, when we were reading a book about polar animals, she repeated both "Humph Humph!" (the walrus) and - I swear! - "Waddle, Waddle!" (the penguin).

In the past few days, we're also thinking she's hitting that stage where it sounds like she's speaking a foreign language sometimes, rather than just baby babbles.

So, once again, she's made a big leap right after I've talked to the doctor about my concerns - but she is still behind where she really "ought" to be.

This doctor, or maybe it was his assistant, said that they like to see (I think it was) ten words at fifteen months, and she definitely does not have that.

He agreed that there's nothing to worry about cognitively or with receptive language or language processing, but did encourage us to consider getting her checked out to see if she might qualify for some early intervention for her speech, on the basis that it's free and it can't hurt and if it can help, why not do it.

If we don't see big leaps and bounds in the next couple of months, I will definitely mention to her pediatrician that this doctor thought it was worth checking out.

(Yes, I know he was an idiot a few minutes ago, when we were discussing breastfeeding. Shut up.)

On the other hand, I wonder if this metabolic specialist is quick to jump on things like that and to push for early intervention because many of his actual patients (rather than "rule-outs" like Peeper) do have developmental delays, as compared to our regular pediatrician, who deals primarily with typically-developing kids, and sees the occassional one who needs some sort of intervention.

When we finished up with the doctor, we went to the lab to turn in her pee sample (collected yesterday, with really no drama at all) and have her blood drawn.

They called her back while I was in the bathroom, so Shrike got to hold her hand - well, her whole body, actually - during the stick.

From the waiting room, I could hear her crying, but Shrike said that she actually did quite well.

When we were all done with the medical portion of the trip, we let her run off some energy in the hospital's atrium.

She pushed buttons on all the "learn about your body" exhibits, and got almost as big a kick out of the amazing Rube Goldbergesque kinetic sculptures as we did.

Then, off to the cafeteria for some dinner, and more energy-off-running, and then we headed back home.

It was a big pain in the ass, but all day long I just kept thinking about how much easier it was than our first couple of trips there - especially the first trip, when we were still shell-shocked from her birth, and then her heart diagnosis, and we didn't know what we might find out about the metabolic stuff.

That, and just being there and seeing so many other kids who are so much sicker than Peeper has ever been, really reminded us - once again - just how very, very lucky we are.

Metabolic Follow-Up

We've got an appointment at the Children's Hospital of BigCity tomorrow, for one last (we assume) follow-up on Peeper's questionable newborn metabolic tests.

You might remember that when she was seven weeks old, her tyrosine level was down to almost normal, so the doctor said that means she doesn't have any metabolic disorders, but he wanted us back in March, to get another look at her blood and urine, so that he could see it actually within the normal range before releasing her.

Well, we were a little busy in March, what with the open-heart surgery and all, and we're just now getting there.

(In our defense, we called in October or November and this was the first appointment they could offer us!)

I'm torn between feeling guilty for waiting so long, and feeling silly for even bothering, this far down the road, but we're going.

It won't be a fun trip, I'm sure, but I keep reminding myself how much easier it's bound to be than the first time we went - at eleven days post-partum, lugging a breastpump, and terrified that she might actually have a problem.

Tomorrow?

Piece o'cake!