(Wrote this about a week ago - so dates won't make sense).

Over the past month or so, I've asked my husband exactly two questions about his take on this whole resurrected Star Wars craze. (You've heard of it, right)?

1. Does it bother you that every-other-commercial features Star Wars and that you can't throw a stick without it hitting something Star Wars-related?

2. Did you hear what Lucas had to say about the new movie? And if so, I want your pre- and post-viewing opinion.

This line of questioning reminded me of why I fell for John Brian Fountain in the first place.

(This is a demented love letter, so be warned).

Let's start with John's answers: 

1. No.

Why I love this: John is, without question, a die-hard Star Wars fan. He loves every single movie. He doesn't bitch about any aspect of a single one of the first six made... EVER. He loves them all. He hasn't yet seen the seventh, but he will be (finally) tomorrow and I am very excited for him. I also think it's a phenomenal way to start the first day of 2016. I wish I could go with him but I can't and in a way, I almost think it's better. It's just him and the movie. That's it. No distractions.

2. Yes.

For those of you that didn't hear, apparently Lucas is a bit disappointed that the story isn't as relationship-focused as his vision for the franchise was always supposed to be -akin to a family soap opera.

Back to John's answer. (Bear in mind that I am paraphrasing and probably not doing his explanation/opinion justice).

John: Yeah, he sounds a little bitter, but I don't blame him.

Me: But he CHOSE to sell the franchise - after he probably made a fortune just from licensing to Disney for their theme parks and what not - not to mention countless other profitable licenses.

John: Yes, but he probably sold it somewhat reluctantly. For the past 10 years, he's had to put up with incessant slamming and vitriol coming from the same people who worshipped the first trilogy.

Me: Yes, but he chose to try to be successful in Hollywood and SUCCEEDED and anyone who goes down that path has to know that they're going to have to deal with a combo platter of love and hate. It goes with the territory.

John: But he couldn't have predicted that this world he'd create would have such a monumental impact... globally - and that decades later upon the advent of the Internet, he'd be subjected to an endless onslaught of hatred - in the form of outright insults to accusations that he has ruined people's lives to wildly offensive parodies. And not just online - in person too. That has to get to him. For there to be this hateful backlash to the world that HE created, to have to live with never being able to live up to every single fan's expectations... it can't be easy.

Me: Jesus. You're totally right. I guess I don't blame him for being a bit bitter either. So do you think you're going to like the new movie?

John: Yes.

And I hope to God he does. And I hope I do too, because my husband is totally 100% correct. George Lucas CREATED this whole entire world that everyone is gaga for... until they stamp their feet and decide that they could've written the latest screenplay better. In the meantime, when you stop to consider the millions his creation has had a monumental impact on, let alone the artists, filmmakers, etc. whose imaginations were ignited by Star Wars, it's pretty preposterous that he even has to deal with some of those same people raking him over the coals for expanding that universe in a manner they deem inappropriate.

So here's the thing. My husband's take on Star Wars is the same take he has on everything he truly loves: He loves hard and deep and forever. That's not to say he wouldn't admit it if he really hated any of the movies. He totally would... But he really loves them - all of them...

... and it makes me love him more.

And he's Gypsy's dad. :)

Side note: People hated the ending to Lost, including me. I find it all the more interesting that JJ Abrams directed the latest installment of Star Wars.
Another side note: Since writing this, John did in fact see the movie on New Year's day and gave it a B+. I have no idea when I'll get around to seeing it. Probably not until it's on On Demand or something.
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Gypsy will be 10 weeks this Thursday and I'm already finding myself stunned by the massive amounts of growth and progress taking place before my eyes on a near-daily basis.

During tummy time yesterday, she rolled over. I thought it was a fluke, put her back on her belly - and she did it again. Clearly not a fluke. I didn't think that would start for at least another month, but lo-and-behold, she did it. She's a strong little bunny, so ultimately, I guess I shouldn't be that surprised. You should see this little girl's legs. Muscle tone that leads me to believe we've got a Serena Williams situation here. Speaking of which, she's making me learn to love my own strong legs. Suddenly, I have a newfound appreciation for my gigantic calf muscles and thunder thighs. Hers are so fucking adorable I can barely take it.

Anyway - she's doing a lot of things I wasn't expecting just yet - like drooling, thumb sucking, taking interest in the television and chatting/yelling up a storm.

It's all adorable - and every new development sends me over the moon... at first... and then I find myself horrified by how quickly it's all happening. Her startle reflex seems to be disappearing too - (in fact as of today it might be gone) -  which is great for her - but sad for me - especially because I find it so hilarious.

What everyone says is true: They grow up way too fast. I'm already imagining her as the rebellious teen who is dating men she shouldn't be and I'm grimacing at the thought. I'm also constantly reminding myself to enjoy every single second of her infancy because despite the sleepless nights, it's the most amazing, adorable, insane and miraculous thing I've ever experienced and it will never happen again.

This is my first and only baby. There won't be another.

Don't even try to tell me that once I've forgotten the agony of pregnancy and childbirth, I'll be dying to get knocked up again, 'cause it ain't ever gonna happen. My husband and I are standing very firm on this. We are, without question, one and done.

That said, it's all the more reason I'm so bummed that she's already growing up so fast. Of course, I'm totally excited for all of the forthcoming developments - eating solid food and watching her light up when she likes a new taste... crawling... walking... talking... I mean, who wouldn't be? But I know the second these things happen, I'll be misty-eyed thinking that my little baby is going to be an adult in the blink of an eye.

So for now, I'm going to go marvel at my little girl's drool, while I still can.


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Her daddy creates things like this:



















Good thing too - because I haven't had 5 free seconds to write this week and so I'm hijacking his comic this week as my blog.

Enjoy.

And if you want to see more fun stuff:

www.fountainspencomics.blogspot.com

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A good friend of mine warned me about receiving oodles of unsolicited advice from people both during and post-pregnancy - and I have! Up until now, I haven't actually solicited any advice at all, either because I have already googled the shit out of the subject and formed my own opinion on whatever it was I was confused/concerned/curious about - or because it's mostly been me asking friends - "Is this normal?"

But now I am asking for advice. I may not follow it. I may secretly think you're nuts for whatever you suggest, but I am outright admitting that I am at a bit of a loss for what to do in our current situation re: Gypsy's sleeping arrangements.

Here's what's transpired thus far:

For the first few weeks, Gypsy was up at night - almost all of the time. Occasionally, we'd put her down in her bassinet - and she'd be fine for a short while, (maybe a 1/2 hour or so), but she was mostly wide awake - and eating around the clock. John and I pretty much started watching her in shifts.

In the past week or so, Gypsy has started sleeping for more than a couple of hours at a time - sometimes even going 4 whole hours without stirring. It has been blissful. That being said however, she outgrew her bassinet pretty quickly - and we've graduated her to a crib, (albeit a mini-one so it's not overwhelmingly huge), but she doesn't like it. Not one bit.

Anyway - at our last visit to the doc, her pediatrician recommended that we start up a bedtime routine... something along the lines of doing her last feeding in the dark, rocking her for a bit - and putting her down in there while she's drowsy but still awake - and then singing to her or reading her a bedtime story. The pediatrician told us that we'd fail at this for the first 30 - 40 times we tried it - and we have! At least we're on track there! She also told us not to immediately take her out of the crib if she starts fussing - but to go to her, comfort her a bit by talking softly, rubbing her belly, etc. and then only taking her out of her mini-jail if her fussiness escalates to a full-blown cry/wail. Check and check. At most, she lasts in her crib about 5 minutes before the wailing begins.

The other night - I was determined to get the whole crib thing to work, so I told John to go to sleep - and I'd just keep at it until I found success. 4 hours later, after singing the entire Adele album to her like 100 times, (I know all the lyrics by heart already), I gave up. She wasn't having it.

So, for the past many weeks, both John and I have still been sleeping in shifts with Gypsy on the couch. John never actually sleeps. Sure, he'll nod off, but no real extended periods of sleep. Fortunately, I have found a way to catch some zzz's while doing this - but it isn't easy.

Parts of my body are starting to hurt because thanks to breastfeeding, I only go to our actual bed for a few hours a night and leave Gypsy with John - and then usually just decide to stay on the couch with her for the rest of the night because it's... well... easier.

So I am getting some sleep - though I don't know how deep or restful it truly is - but I am definitely starting to grow tired of the whole setup. (I'm sure some of you are reading this and thinking that I'm doing better than most).

I know I don't like the idea of "sleep training" - where we simply let her cry it out for 3 - 4 nights until she gets the drift that she's on her own because we've basically fucking abandoned her, so my question to you folks is...

What do you suggest?

Should we just keep sticking to the bedtime routine and hope that it finally works and does so on a consistent basis?
Oh - and YES - I am familiar with the 5 Ss. We've done it all. She just doesn't like the crib.

In happy news however, she's smiling and giggling a lot.



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No really.

Until I had Gypsy, I knew that I could be a bit of an asshole - but I didn't really know to what extent. Now I'm pretty clear on the matter: I'm a total fucking asshole.

Prior to being a mommy, (still getting used to saying that), I had a blog called 'To Kid or Not to Kid' where I spent two years writing about whether or not to have a child. I wrote about lots of stuff - especially the myriad pros and cons of parenthood - but sometimes I'd attack other parents for doing something I thought was truly asinine. I still stand by most of my attacks because some parents just do what can only be considered truly stupid, awful and/or seemingly cruel. Certain parents do deserve a bit of criticism. I'm sure at some point I will too... but I am going to try really hard not to do anything truly worthy of such vilification. But anyway - my point here is that I am an asshole - not for the fairly justifiable critiquing of some truly psychotic parents - but rather the unfair and pretentious judgment of one of my own mommy friends.

As a parent of a near-6 week-old, I now find myself eating humble pie because I devoted an entire blog post to ridiculing a very dear friend for throwing a 6-month birthday party for her child. I thought she was absolutely out of her goddamned mind. I thought she was kidding at first when we got the invite and resented having to go. After all - almost everyone else there was a parent too - and John and I were the odd men out. It wasn't exactly bonding material. Everyone's kids were in tow as well - (it was her child's birthday party after all) so we were kinda bored - and all the more primed to sit in judgment as non-parents wishing there was harsher alcohol on-hand to cushion the blow of our boredom.

Now I finally fucking get it  - and I've been thinking about what an asshole I must be for not getting it before. My friend was celebrating the fact that she managed to keep her kid alive for six whole months! As the parent of a newborn who got sick at two weeks and was dragged to the ER in the middle of the night, I totally fucking get it now. Having a newborn is scary as hell. Any kind of sickness for a newborn is earth-shattering. SIDS is pretty much an unspeakable horror. Newborns are a shitshow of constant newness, paranoia and blood-curdling fear.

I am terrified all the time that I will do something wrong - or that Gypsy will somehow find a way to suffocate herself to death in her tiny bare-bones bassinet.

Even though I want to cherish every single second of this adorable infant phase, I am COUNTING THE DAYS until she's six months old. The threat of SIDS will diminish considerably, and I will feel a bit more relaxed if/when she starts rolling over onto her side or stomach when she sleeps. I may even breathe a momentary sigh of relief. Yes, I know that once you're a parent the worry is permanent - but come on - it seems pretty damn apparent that the first six months really are just a nonstop stress fest. Will she suffocate or just stop breathing for no reason whatsoever? Where are the results of the genetic tests they conducted in the hospital? Is she too cold? Too hot? Why won't she stop crying? Is she colicky? Does she hate me already? Should she still be cross-eyed from time-to-time? When should we sleep train her and can we bear it? When is she old enough to take on the subway and do these sound-muffling headphones really work? Is she pooping enough? Has she gained enough weight? Is this nap too long? Too short? It's enough to make anyone an absolute lunatic and want to celebrate hitting that 6-month milestone.

Anyway, I am very lucky in that the friend of the aforementioned 6-month birthday party didn't hold the post against me. Or at least she didn't get so mad that she stopped talking to me. Instead, she behaved as any adult should - especially a parent adult. She informed me that it offended her. I think I apologized - but I'm sure it rang hollow. It didn't matter though - she totally forgave me and hasn't brought it up since... until last week... when she came over to meet Gypsy. I said something, (don't recall what), that made her laugh and say something along the lines of, "So now you get why I threw a 6-month birthday party) - and I said "Yes" pretty damn emphatically. I also apologized - again - only this time, it was significantly more heartfelt.

I am an asshole and I really am so sorry.

XO - you know who you are.





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So given that nearly four weeks have passed since I had my C-section and out came the most incredible, adorable, magical little girl we call Gypsy, I finally feel prepared to relay my feelings about the entire C-section debacle.

The surgical procedure itself was a cakewalk. My doctor was phenomenal and everything in that respect went off without a hitch. The only thing that sucked was what took place in advance of the surgery - having to swallow a vile liquid antacid that tasted worse than barium. My husband still doesn't believe that could even be possible. I assure you that to me, it was. Anyway - it was the 4 1/2 day aftermath to the surgery that temporarily turned my world upside down and infuriated the shit out of me.

Nobody in the hospital hands you a guidebook on breastfeeding and the staff offers very little in the way of help, unless you ask to meet with one of their on-staff lactation consultants, but you need to know to ask. And... note to anyone planning on having a baby and breastfeeding:

ASK BEFORE YOU RUN INTO EXCRUCIATING AND EXCESSIVELY FRUSTRATING PROBLEMS SO YOU CAN AVOID THEM.

Another issue nobody had warned me about was when I'd be able to eat solid food. I hadn't eaten anything in almost 24 hours - and apparently they wouldn't let me do so until I passed gas. Why does nobody mention this? Lucky for me, I managed to meet their requirement pretty quickly. When I told them however, they decided it was still too soon regardless. WTF? Why did they tell me I could have solid food when I passed gas, only to decide thereafter to change their agenda??? Not cool. Maybe they thought I was lying? Either way, not cool.

On day 2, I woke up drenched in sweat and in massive pain. I was so out of it and exhausted that it didn't even occur to me to inquire about what pain meds I had been given, if any - until I was pretty much in tears - especially because they wanted me to walk around. Little did I know they had only been giving me Motrin. MOTRIN! "Motrin is used to reduce fever and treat pain or inflammation caused by many conditions such as headache, toothache, back pain, arthritis, menstrual cramps, or minor injury."

MINOR INJURY.

Um - having someone cut through skin, muscle, uterine tissue, etc. probably qualifies as far more than a minor injury and I would hazard a guess that it might call for a drug slightly more potent than Motrin. So, when I explained to the nurse that I was in what felt like unbearable pain, and her response was, "Well you've been getting Motrin every six hours," it took everything in my power not to tell her to fuck the hell off. Instead, in an effort to get what I truly needed, (significantly more potent meds), I calmly explained that it wasn't working. She asked if I'd like some Percocet and said she was, "surprised nobody had offered me any earlier." Um - WHAT? So they're supposed to offer you something more powerful and check on you to make sure you're not suffering unnecessarily? Well, for me, that didn't happen. And why did she remind me that I'd been given Motrin a handful of times if the typical patient takes both Motrin and Percocet?

And things would only get worse.

I would run out of water, page the nursing staff and be told more was on its way. An hour or so later, when no water came, I'd page the nursing staff again.

This went on multiple times per day. I also had to request my pain medication around 1 - 2 hours after it was due each and every time. Apparently, the nurses needed to be reminded that I needed it. I guess I couldn't help but wonder why, given that they manage the care for a pretty significant number of C-section patients every single day. Is this really a surprise?

In any case, nobody tells you just how painful the recovery from a C-section will be. Or maybe nobody tells you because they were sufficiently drugged and oblivious. I don't know. All I know is that I have a pretty decent pain threshold and I was losing my mind without the Percocet, especially when I attempted to get in or out of bed, which you are asked to do repeatedly. Yes, I am aware that this helps you recover/heal faster, but that doesn't make it suck less.

That day, I also got a roommate. I knew this was a possibility, and one that I'd accepted, so I was hoping that she'd at least be nice and maybe even kind-of fun to talk to and commiserate with. No such luck. This girl, (and yes, I'm using that term on purpose), was a nightmare. She was on her phone incessantly speaking in a foreign language I couldn't quite put my finger on - and she had a voice that was truly nails on a chalkboard for me. It was nasal and whiny and it drove me completely mad. To boot, her husband was with her constantly - in the room until midnight every night. He also did all of her talking for her when any hospital staff came in to discuss anything. He advised her not to take the Percocet when it was offered. Brilliant. She of course, complied with all of his requests. He was a total blowhard and I think I hated him more than I hated her. That night, she paged the nurse at around 3 a.m. to inform her she was freezing. Mind you, I was still sweating bullets. She demanded that the thermostat be set higher. Of course, she never bothered to ask me how I felt about this and the room that we SHARED quickly became a sauna.

This was also the day my husband came down with some kind of miserable cold/flu/sinus infection type thing - so I knew he wouldn't be able to stop by or help for the remainder of my stay. Awesome.

Admittedly, (and maybe this was the hormones talking), I blamed him for getting sick. I told him he doesn't take good enough care of himself and that this was all his fault.

YAY ME. In my defense however, I really was ridiculously hormonal, beyond overtired, in a lot of pain even with the meds and I was feeling more helpless than I ever had in my entire life. My husband can tell you that I am not good with being helpless. I hate asking for help because I'm fiercely independent, so relying on anyone for anything doesn't make me too happy. Because the vast majority of the nursing staff was so preposterously shitty, it just added insult to injury in this regard.

The next day, my milk came in. In fact, it flooded in - to the point of being truly uncomfortable. I breast fed Gypsy, but it did little to help. My breasts were so engorged - they literally looked like bowling balls. I have large breasts to begin with - and now they were comically large - and stretched so taut they looked and felt like they might burst. A few hours later, I was again, in tears from pain  - and wondering if this was normal. By that evening, I was hysterical. I paged the nurse - who sent for the head nurse. I explained that I honestly was beside myself and unsure of what to do through a flood of tears and hysteria. I had tried feeding Gypsy who refused - no doubt because my breasts were pretty much too engorged to even feed her with any level of comfort for either one of us. They fashioned hot compresses out of diapers - and instructed me to hold them on my chest in an effort to start resolving the issue. Then, when I still couldn't breastfeed, they reluctantly brought out the pump.

Much to their surprise, I pumped 3.5 bottles of milk. Again - this was when my milk had first come in. Apparently, my body thought it was having triplets. I was only mildly relieved, but any relief was welcome. Then they brought in ice packs. The goal, now that I'd expressed enough milk to alleviate the engorgement was to stop my body from producing another excessive run - and to get more in line with Gypsy's needs sooner rather than later.

Anyway, I'd been up for nearly 24 hours straight - and was alert enough at this point to notice how hostile many members of the nursing staff were. In fact, one complained about having to work on the maternity floor - less than 60 seconds in to being in my room. Another came in - and didn't say a word as she began taking my vitals. I was really beginning to wonder what the fuck everyone's problem was there. They didn't make me feel any better about anything - let alone paging if I needed something, which only worked about 25% of the time anyhow. When I asked any of the staff taking my vitals for anything like water or help of any kind, they looked at me as if I'd asked them to fetch some caviar and pate. At some point, I asked a nurse for another couple of pillows to help me prop myself up to stay on my back - and she only gave me one stating that if she gave me another, I'd just wind up on my side or stomach that way. I was always too tired to really argue.

In the meantime, my roommate became a bigger and bigger pain the ass. I couldn't tolerate the tropical climate she insisted on - and something about her told me she wasn't worth the attempt of having a rational conversation with.

On the morning of my 4th day, a new head nurse popped in. Little did I know she'd become my ultimate advocate and hero. She noticed that nobody had delivered my breakfast. I explained that I had been having trouble getting meals from day 1 - and that somebody had said I hadn't been entered into the system properly. She was stunned that after three entire days, this issue hadn't been resolved, yet she wasn't surprised that I had been barked at by various of the other nurses, including one who basically refused to go get my baby from the nursery for me because, as she put it, I could go get her myself, despite the fact that I was nowhere near healed enough to walk that far only 24 hours post-surgery.

My nurse, Michele, quickly became a friend. I am not exaggerating. She was amazing. She made sure I had food and plenty of coffee, and listened to me gripe about my first few days there. She also got me a private room next door so I no longer had to put up with the incredibly annoying roomie. While it would only be for another 24 hours, I cannot even begin to relay what a blessing this was for me, at the time - particularly as I was dealing with some other rather uncomfortable side effects of being post-partum - namely, constipation. I was lucky that this issue was not one that ailed me during the pregnancy itself - but man did the C-section and the seemingly lame cocktail of drugs they gave me thereafter seem to kick this into holy hell high gear. I mean seriously - I had to resort to suppositories. SUPPOSITORIES! For those of you who have never had this wonderful experience, let me explain.

If all else fails - and you cannot go to the bathroom, you will insert an inch-and-a-half long glycerin capsule into your bottom. Then you wait as long as you can - and somehow, this is supposed to encourage whatever is clogging your intestines to clear on out.

It is not a pleasant feeling. It was sort of burny and weird - and even after I suffered it for about 20 minutes - it accomplished next to nothing - and I was again, in tears. It's not that constipation in and of itself is so bad - but when your abdominal area has just been cut open - the constipation makes the pain in that region about a million times worse - so you are desperate to get the pipes working once again.

Funny thing about pregnancy and birth - you no longer have much in the way of shame - but the last thing I wanted during the running-to-the-bathroom-with-my-fingers-crossed-hoping-something-would-happen-process was a roommate - especially an incredibly grating one.

That night, at around 11:30 p.m., they tried to give me another roommate. At that point, I had a total shit fit and demanded to speak to the head nurse. I explained the myriad shitty conditions I'd experienced and that I'd been told I would not get another roommate during my last night there. I complained enough that it finally worked and I succeeded in avoiding having to share my room with yet another potentially miserable human being.

The next morning, I had to use a second suppository. It was fairly upsetting. I'll spare you the results - but let's just say - it would take going home and even further intervention to fully rectify (HA) the problem. By the time things had improved, I felt like I had given birth to a child out of my rear end. Sorry if that is TMI. Wait, no, I'm not sorry. This is supposed to be educational for anyone who wants to know what really happens after a C-section.

So, on day five, I went home. FINALLY. I cannot even begin to explain how glorious that was - even given the car ride home which reminded me about every 3 seconds or so that I had been cut open thanks to potholes, bumps in the NYC streets, etc. It didn't matter though. I had my beautiful baby girl and I was going HOME.

There's no place like home, especially with a magical little girl to be madly in love with, who has already helped me erase a lot of the horrors we went through to get her here.

Leigh Hope Fountain 0 Comments


















I didn't write a post last week. I was too busy basking in the bliss of being a new mommy. (Well, that and exhaustion the likes of which I've never before experienced). Despite a few hurdles post-birth, (a rather crappy hospital stay, my husband getting sick with me following suit, etc.,) things were finally looking up. In fact, we were settling quite nicely into parenthood. Not much sleep of course, but we were getting into a groove and things were awesome. Happy tears all around.

But then Gypsy started sneezing. I was a bit concerned, as both John and I had suffered and recovered from some kind of cold/flu/virus/sinus thing over the past few weeks, but I didn't totally freak out. I was high on life as a mommy - so much so that when I was sick, I refused to let whatever I had get in the way of getting Gypsy set up in her first costume on Halloween. So, 7 days later, I figured Gypsy was in the clear. How long can an incubation period be, right?

Then on Saturday, Gypsy started sneezing more - and by late-afternoon, she developed a cough. I was concerned, as was John, and we finished our errands, got home and hoped that it didn't get worse. I googled  - and it seemed that unless she had a fever, there wasn't too much cause for concern. Nevertheless, something was still bothering me. John went to sleep first that night. (We've been sleeping in shifts). I sat watching TV with Gypsy on my lap, listening to her breathing, which sounded a little labored - and her cough became more frequent and sounded wet. I didn't like the sound of it and it sent me into a panic. I called the pediatrician - and the on-call doc expressed concern as well, despite Gypsy not having a fever. She said that in a newborn, especially a newborn only 16 days old, "...a cough is serious with or without fever," - and she gave me two options:

1. Take her to the E.R.

2. Take her into the Manhattan office in the morning. (Sunday).

At this point, I was in tears. I was really hoping that her lack of a fever meant we didn't have to freak the fuck out, but I guess some maternal instinct told me I'd better be sure - hence the late-night call. I texted a few mommy friends to seek out their opinions on the matter - and it seemed that the consensus was to do something right then and there. I had pretty much already made up my mind prior to touching base with them anyhow. Better safe than sorry, right? Besides, I knew I'd never be able to sleep a wink without knowing if Gypsy was going to be okay - and decided the E.R. was our best bet.

I woke up John, explained the situation - and not long thereafter, we waltzed into the emergency room on Saturday night closing in on Sunday morning, around midnight. I wish I could say that being there made me feel better, but it didn't. The staff was cold, callous and utterly indifferent. I didn't feel that Gypsy was secure at all in their hands - and seriously questioned whether we should've gone to another hospital further away. Fortunately, the doc who thoroughly examined Gypsy at least had a decent bedside manner. I burst into tears in front of her - and she was quite understanding and kind. Don't get me started on the three other staff we had to contend with. Honestly, their attitudes and behavior were completely inexcusable. The other doc looked and sounded half asleep or stoned and referred to her as "the little guy," which infuriated John. He also looked like he was 15 and he was no Doogie Howser. Again, don't get me started. Our primary doc on this case informed us that Gypsy's lungs were clear and that she was indeed, fever-free, but that we should keep a close eye - make sure she continued to eat regularly and that we should start giving her liquid vitamin D supplements. We were discharged shortly thereafter.

I really thought I'd feel better after all of that, but I only felt slightly better, if that. I was and am still utterly paranoid about Gypsy being so sick before she's even a month old. I can't sleep - I am watching her like a hawk, taking videos of her in her bassinet when she's coughing or sounds like she's struggling so I have something to point to when we see our pediatrician tomorrow for a follow-up, I'm aspirating her tiny little nostrils with the help of saline, taking her temperature, trying to keep her as comfortable as possible, cheering her on every time she breastfeeds and every so often, crying due to a hefty dose of mommy hormones and paranoia about the prospect of her developing a fever.

As I type this, she's in her bassinet and I'm listening to every sound she makes... hoping that nothing sounds worse than what I've already been hearing for the past 24 hours while counting the minutes until I can call our pediatrician's office and beg for the earliest available appointment.

(Intermission)

Okay - wrote that last night. This morning, Gypsy seems to be doing a bit better. Got her an appointment with her regular pediatrician for 5 p.m.

Let's hope she's doing even better still by then.

This wasn't supposed to be my first post, (that I'd write), following Gypsy's birth, but as with all things child-related, I have a feeling I'm not going to be dictating forthcoming topics as often. Seems that life - and really Gypsy - will do that for me.







Leigh Hope Fountain 1 Comments
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