Four and Five Month Catch Up and a Whole Lotta Change

Alex,

The past eight weeks have been a blur – in them you turned four and then five months, my time as a stay at home mom ended and I returned to work, you started at Play and Learn, and Daddy started his new job at QIAGEN. Your father and I have always been ones to see change as a challenge, and thus generally seek it out, however all of this proved to be a bit too much change at once. I’m exhausted; you remain your happy, mellow, easygoing self. At the end of the very long day, this is what is most important. You’ve become our barometer for the whole childcare and working schedule thing – as long as you’re doing well, we’re okay with the situation for the time being.

And “doing well” might be an understatement. At your four month appointment, you weighed 17 lbs 1 oz and measured 26 inches long! You’ve just about doubled your birth weight and I’m sure have picked up a few more ounces since January when you were last officially measured. I have packed away some of my favorites of your clothing including your first jeans. While I’m so happy that you are thriving, it does make me sad that you’ll never again be as small as you were on the day we saw you for the first time. That you’ll never again fit into your first pajamas. That your red and white striped Christmas onsie is already too short for you (thankfully, we have plenty of photos of you in this). I imagine that from here on out, watching you grow will always be bittersweet to some degree; as I celebrate your milestones, I also let go of a bit of your childhood with each day.

Yet, I digress…put the hankies away, friends!

At your last well baby appointment, we made the joint decision with your pediatrician to see a neurosurgeon about your head. You’ve developed quite a case of brachiocephaly (flattening on the back of the head), which is cosmetic, but nonetheless concerning. I suppose this is the tradeoff of having a baby who has slept 10 hours a night since his 5th week. Try as we do to get you to turn your head at night, you always end up facing the ceiling. So, Daddy and I took you in January to meet with a doctor from Dupont, and he recommended that we have you fitted with an orthotic molding helmet.

When the topic of helmets first was breached at your 2-month pediatrician appointment, I went through a series of emotions much like any parent, I imagine. First I ignored the doctor (“What, helmet? Who said anything about a helmet?”). Then I had about three weeks of the most intense guilt possible (“Not a good mommy…not a good mommy…not a good mommy”). When your fourth month appointment rolled around, I had prepared myself for the reality of how your pediatrician would want to proceed, so the decision was an easy one.

Last week, I took you for your scan and measurements at the Orthotic clinic in North Philadelphia. Daddy was in Switzerland, so I was flying solo for this adventure. Immediately, I was impressed with the people at the clinic who will be working with us. Their obvious experience and skill in dealing with young children was so reassuring. You were completely charming throughout the entire process, which was painless, but time consuming. I’m wondering if the patience you exhibit now will extend into your toddler years. Daddy tells me to keep dreaming.

On February 20, you will be fitted for your helmet, which you will wear 23 hours a day for the next four to six months. I’m hoping that by your first birthday, you’ll have graduated from treatment and in the long run, this will be but a small blip on the radar screen that becomes your long and happy life that you will experience with a round head.

In January, you started daycare, and despite my best attempts to thwart the onslaught of germs by disinfecting you thoroughly when we return home each evening, you experienced your first cold that month. I spent about $80 at CVS to stock the house with every possible pediatrician-recommended sick baby accoutrement. We now have a basket in the family room with bulb syringes, saline nasal drops, different kinds of thermometers, infant Tylenol, Kleenex, and other various remedies. I even stocked our pantry with Pedialyte, on the off chance that you dehydrated. In the midst of me going completely crazy over your runny nose, you basically chilled and proved once again that I need to settle down about you. How thankful I am that you’re not following in my absolutely terrible footsteps when it comes to being sick.

And speaking of daycare, you are flourishing there. All of your teachers love you and you’ve firmly established yourself as the class flirt. My favorite part of each workday is picking you up, and although it is really nice when your Daddy can do pick up as well, I secretly miss that moment of my day when he does. Your smile when you see me literally takes over your entire face – even the worst possible day is suddenly bright and shiny after I’ve seen that smile. Even though this transition has been difficult there are some positives. You are learning that you will not always be with me but that I will always come for you. I suppose, that’s a good learning lesson for you to take with you into life – that although I am not physically there, I am always with you. That, I’m afraid, is your burden from here on out, kiddo. Your burden and my absolute, complete, overwhelming pleasure.

I love you,
Mommy