(Unless you have anything to do with my employment status or the amount of my paycheck, in which case I am, in fact, doing a million things and I am totally rocking all of them.)
You know how sometimes? There's a bunch of shit going on? And you're all, fine. I can handle this, but this is all. I can't handle one more thing. If one more thing happens? I'm going to jump out the window/poke out my eye/pull out my hair/drink ten kegs of Christmas Ale.
It seems that I have added that One More Thing by going back to work and now I pretty much feel like I'm in a tailspin. Get up, get ready, get Olivia ready, get to work, go to the hospital, go back to work, go home, go back to the hospital, go to bed. It's been a week and I'm staring down the tunnel at next week and wondering where is the light? Ya know?
I had been trying to get up the nerve to talk to the charge nurse in the NICU about getting a primary nurse for Ainsley. It's getting a bit old to hear, over and over, "well, she's doing * this * but I don't know her so I'm not sure if that's typical." Which...OK. I'm sure it's in the novel of notes in the computer but damn if it wouldn't be nice to have someone with her consistently who would just know. Because I'm at work, being all worky (and kicking ass at everything in life, in general) and I'm not here.
And nobody is here with her all the time who knows her. Which is annoying but not really anyone's fault, either. She's pretty much another baby in another isolette that needs fed and changed and can't really breathe. Blah blah blah she's just little and needs to grow and basically we really just need to wait and see.
So I finally asked to talk to the charge nurse and apparently it's voluntary. Being a primary, I mean. The nurse has to want to do it, which makes sense. And guess what else? You need to ask. I need to ask someone, "hey, wanna take care of my baby? Since, you know, I can't and everything."
Here's what I'm getting at: I'm afraid of rejection. Because if I ask someone to care for Ainsley, maybe a bit beyond the requirement of Don't Let Her Die, and they say no? I don't know if my delicate psyche can take it. I'm like one comment about my ass being fat away from confining myself to the house surrounded by Twix Bars and beer. Lots of beer.
When they do rounds, they start off by saying the baby's day of life. Today is Ainsley's 71st day of life.
Ainsley...is a bit of a grouch. We've been trying to bring up Olivia's intolerance to milk and soy protein to the nurses, because Ainsley has had the same irritability and terrible diaper rash that plagued Olivia's first few months.
(Oh, yes, and reflux. Of course reflux.)
And everyone is all YAY FOR BREASTMILK! But I think the breastmilk is making her ill because it is my frozen milk and I ate dairy. So I'm all YAY FOR NEOCATE! And finally finally! We got someone to listen to us, and she will be on Neocate after my milk runs out in a few days.
|4 pounds, 10 ounces: I'm little and wee! |
My lungs are for crying, not breathing. Get over it.
Don't get me wrong: the cute greatly outweighs the grouchy. I'm always shocked at how fast 4 or 5 hours can pass. Time flies when you're holding an adorable baybee.