anna in med school

The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends against co-sleeping, stating that it increases the risk of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS).  Therefore, John and I were adamantly against co-sleeping.  I mean, we can be a little granola, but the American Academy of Pediatrics is not exactly a fringe group; if it provides recommendations for keeping your child alive in the first year of life, we take them.  To add terror to our paranoia, John’s seen a number of parents bring in blue babies to the ED after accidents of co-sleeping…scary stuff!

And then the three-week mark of postpartum sleep-deprivation set in and, despite all efforts otherwise, I would fall asleep with Ari cozily nestled on my chest.  Each time I would wake up practically in nervous tears that I might have restricted her breathing for a moment, causing some sort of neurological damage that would unfold in the coming days/weeks/years.  I was petrified.  And then at times, much to John’s chagrin, I would surrender, and I would settle into a safe, well-contained portion of the bed, and co-sleep.

At our one-month appointment, I admitted my transgressions to my pediatrician.  “I know it’s risky, I know it’s not recommended, but how exactly bad is this?”  He responded sympathetically, “Look, I can’t recommend it outright, but I can tell you that co-sleeping is practiced exclusively in a number of countries, and they don’t have a higher incidence of SIDS.  At some point, you have to weigh the risks of co-sleeping with those of you being horribly sleep-deprived.”  John and I also reassured ourselves that we weren’t overweight, we didn’t smoke, and we weren’t sleeping altered by drugs or alcohol, some of the confounding variables that seemed to be present in co-sleeping accidents.

Regardless, as soon as other options presented themselves–when Ari fell in love with her swing–we moved away from co-sleeping and didn’t return…until our first night in Italy.  We were all still recovering from the infamous flight across the pond, and our exhausted little nugget was not tolerating the pea-pod.  She would kick and get increasingly frustrated by/hysterical due to the elastic recoil of the tent; she would sit up and her head would bounce off the top–she was a mess.  After a few minutes of walking and singing, John lay the still wide awake Ari down on her stomach next to me on the soft queen mattress.  As soon as her cheek hit the bed, she was out like a light, it was remarkable.  We didn’t question it; we didn’t try to move her; we just gave in to sleeping with her between us.  It was sweet, and having all of us well-rested set the tone for the coming week of travel.  And I couldn’t help but giggle the couple of times John and I would wake up just barely hanging on to our respective edge of the queen bed, being pushed to the sides by a 21-pound infant who decided that she wanted to sleep perpendicular.

Below, moments of peri-sleep caught on camera:

Um, I guess this conversation I had with the lady across the aisle 16 minutes from landing in Rome sums it up:

Next flight, you need to bring a pacifier.  Have you ever tried a pacifier?  I mean, I notice that you breastfeed–which I think is great by the way–but sometimes it helps to have a pacifier.  You know, something to shove in it’s mouth.  Because it has been screaming.  All.  Flight.  Long.  That’s nine hours.  It clearly needs something, and you’re not providing it.  Have you even thought about the other people on this flight?  The first couple days of vacation are going to be ruined for most of the flight.  They will most certainly be ruined for me.  I haven’t slept.  And I have the worst headache.  I just can’t imagine anything more rude.  You’re just the rudest woman I’ve ever met.

I kept my face unaffected and my gaze constant on her, while Ari continued to squirm exhaustingly in my arms, latching and unlatching to suckle every few seconds, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.  After a few seconds, I responded, “You know, I think I understand.  Sometimes when I have a headache, I say really inconsiderate things as well.”

Not the most witty comeback, but I was sleep-deprived too.  And it at least shut her up.

To be fair, though, we felt horrible for the disturbance we caused.  We did give her some benadryl, but it only made her more exhausted and miserable without bridging her over to sleep.  (For the record, benadryl can cause paradoxical excitation in some children, for unknown reasons.  We had tested it out on her beforehand; it does make her drowsy and, normally, helps her fall asleep.)  We carried on special snacks and a few toys.  I just think she was being 10.5 months old.  She’s a different girl than she was when we went to Israel.  Poor thing wanted to crawl around and stretch out, and I’m not surprised I couldn’t figure out the magic formula for getting her to fall asleep in my arms–if nursing doesn’t cut it, nothing will.

And 99.9% of the people on the flight (and on all our flights) have been lovely to us.  A woman an aisle ahead of us offered to hold Ari for a while, for example.  We were bound to run into an overwhelmed, exhausted individual who had reached her limit.

Oh!  And one other wrench: there was a medical emergency on a plane, and John was called away for close to three hours.  The good news: 1) The woman turned out stable and, for the most part, okay.  2) Everyone LOVED John (I mean, how could you not?), and flight attendants would come up to me periodically, “Your husband is amazing!”  3) As a result, no one bothered me about bouncing my daughter in the aisle.  4) Since another doctor was being less than helpful/downright disruptive, the U.S. marshals on the flight made an appearance–cool, hunh?  And the not-so-great: 1) I lost my other set of hands for three hours, and I think Ari was pissed in part because she was bored of just me.  2) Kind of a stressful flight for the hubs.

In summary, Ari has survived ten flights in her first year of life, six of which were international.  We are going to hold off booking major travel for the foreseeable future, although with our family scattered and the holidays coming up, I have a feeling we might leave the security of ground sooner than we might like.

Made the rest of the vacation a breeze.  A happy babe is…something pretty great (isn’t there a happy-wife-is-a-happy-life correlate?)

John, I have loved every minute.

One of the joys of all the weddings of 2013 has been the opportunity to remember and reflect upon our marriage.  When we sit side-by-side and our hands graze one another (when our sweet daughter allows us as much), I still feel the excitement I experienced when our pinkie fingers briefly touched as we watched a reading of A Christmas Carol on our first pseudo-date ten years ago in December.

Tonight we celebrated by opening a bottle from a vineyard we visited in Bordeaux shortly before getting engaged.  It was simple, and an appreciated calm from our week of over-indulgence in Italy.  Marry me again!

Our first…

Our second…

Our third…

(Photos above, no surprise, taken by the beloved Julie.)

(Which do you like better, Christmas or Wedding season?)

I really need to take a week or two to just write about the weddings we’ve been to this year.  It’s been an active season for our family, in a great way.  Is there anything better than watching friends and family get hitched, and then throwing back a cocktail and dancing without any inhibition?  (If you were me, you would have to dance without inhibition, because it would be the only way you would get on the dance floor at all.  My husband has actually asked me, “What are you doing with your limbs, anyway?”  It ain’t pretty, but it is enthusiastic.)  Best day ever, for everyone involved.

Lucie and Ryan’s day was no exception.  They are two friends from medical school who have somehow created a strong and welcoming partnership despite enormous stresses–can you imagine applying to I think 30 joint MD-PhD programs in order to ensure that you would be in the same city?  Applying to med school on my own was stress-inducing enough!  I have long admired their love and passion for all things (medicine, science, relationships, athletics, travel), and it was a privilege to be part of their celebration.

Like the other weddings of the season, I will (really) write more later (small personal preview: last minute I went stag because John woke up with food poisoning–poor kid!), but I still need to pack for Lorenzo and Lauren’s wedding in ITALY.  We did okay traveling to Israel with the babe at six months, but I’m not sure I’ve totally anticipated the challenges of traveling with a 10.5-month-old.  In an effort for less costly travel, John and I are not sitting together on the flight across the pond.  I’m hoping I might be able to sniff out the folks who are obviously parents but are traveling sans dependents, hold out Ari in all her cuteness and negotiate a seat swap.  Wishful thinking?  Wish us luck!!  xoxo

As I sat in the first seminar of Medical Humanities, one of the bioethics classes I’m taking this semester, John and Ari were not missing me at all:

Each on our respective adventures: them trying out the new backpack around the arboretum; me discussing the evolution of the male midwife.  Win-win.

I’m a UVA grad, so I have to have a soft spot for Professor William Faulkner.  (In Sanctuary, he writes that at the university in Virginia, he “learned to drink like a gentleman”–wahoo-wah!)  But it’s been years since he’s been brought up in conversations.  Last week, Kristen was visiting.  She’s a high school English teacher who thinks often and long about the impact of certain texts on her students.  It just felt like a little extra literature and culture was infused in everything we did, from strolling Olde City, to trudging through the local arboretum.

Faulkner was all set to publish the book Twilight, the title of which I believe he had also considered for what is The Sound and the Fury.  (Apparently, that time of day fascinated Faulkner, as it was a moment of tension as light slips into darkness.)  But one evening, he was sitting on the porch with his beloved Estelle, and she said casually, “Don’t you just love the light in August?”  Stop the presses.

I thought about this supposed interaction several times in the last week, as the sticky purple August evenings hang over us.  I think we’ve gotten to appreciate this month so much more than most years, as taking a break from school and having an infant slows down the pace of things.

I’m a part-time student of bioethics this semester, and my first class is tonight.  John caught himself ask me, “So, am I babysitting–uh!  Parenting?”  My love, my considerate as hell, progressive partner…we’re fighting the slowly changing societal norms.

Pictures from the last week:

I recently learned that 30 Rock ‘s Liz Lemon’s catch phrase “I want to go to there” was swiped from Tina Fey’s young daughter Alice (maybe everyone already knew?).  And I keep watching Ari–that must be exactly what she’s thinking.  Oh my goodness, it’s going to be ridiculous when she can communicate with words and phrases!  And we’ll be in so much trouble.

Look at how excited she is about a stick!

Tired of pictures yet?  You’ll let me know?

We’ll start and end with the good stuff:

My daughter has perfected that double hand wave.  It’s pretty adorable.  And she has had plenty of opportunity for practice this week as we’ve welcomed a number of old, kitchen floor friends into our home: first yaya Liz and grande-yaya Mary Ann, then Aunt Kristen, and finally Aunt Jen this weekend.

This week was a good one for visitors, as I received my step 1 score.  Not as hoped (but I passed).  I cried.  I kicked the shit out of dead lifts at crossfit.  I ate chocolate.  I am now ready to strategize.  My score reflects competence, and I hope that the hard work and dedication I will put forth for the remainder of my med school track will help direct me into a fulfilling next step in my training.  But it was especially good to be surrounded by girlfriends (and my main squeezes) to soften the disappointment this week.  As John reminded me, things have a habit of working out for our family…

And more good stuff: Ari is pulling up to standing with more confidence.  It’s a pleasure and a privilege to see the delight she derives from these new skills.

All pictures taken by the very talented Julie.  Hope it’s okay that I’m including these pictures in fits and spurts–there are just too many that we love for just one blog entry!

It just got me out of jury duty.  Dude!

Last Friday, 10 days ago, we returned after a glorious week of wedding + beaching culminating in a not so glorious shriek-filled car ride home, and we promptly put our girl down in her own crib.  Nearly three hours later, concerned she wouldn’t sleep at night, we decided to wake her up.  Ari was sweet but so hot to touch, and her cheeks looked like they could light the way in a moonless night.  Over the weekend, as long as we kept her fever in check, she did okay…different, certainly not always pleasant, with feeding and sleeping effected, but okay.  And we started to wait.

By day seven of a moderate fever, we had her pediatrician examine her.  Everything looked well, except for the fever and mild changes in behavior resulting, so he agreed to let us wait it out for a few more days sans antibiotics before considering further interventions.  I still shutter at the idea of catheterizing her to see if she has a urinary tract infection.  (I actually remember having to be cathed myself when I was three–it was traumatic and, though I know at 10 months she wouldn’t remember, I dearly wanted to avoid it.)

(photos above taken by Julie at the end of our session last week, as Ari was starting to melt down…a prelude to the coming weeks)

So we kept at it, each of us getting progressively more sleep-deprived each day, since fevers have a habit of waking up lil’uns abruptly and often in the middle of the night.  We made it to Virginia for one of my closest friends’ wedding this weekend.  Wanting to scape up as much time as possible at the friend-filled toast and roast on Friday, John and I alternated bouncing Ari around in her carrier.  Concerned her squawking might interrupt a tender moment of a toast, I impatiently paced the hallway outside the banquet room, Ari strapped to my back.  As she seemed to be getting close to sleep, I decided to rotate her to the front of my body.  As a slipped one of the straps off my left shoulder, I felt her body weight shift oddly and suddenly fall away.

I heard the most unnerving, muffled but abrupt thwack (it was reminiscent of the sound a medicine ball makes at the gym when its exhausted user lets it drop to ground) before I turned to see her head below her body, against the thinly carpeted hallway floor.  Her mouth twisted in anguish, her face turned beet red, and there was a second of confused silence before Ari let out a deafening cry.  How awful it must have been to be so close to sleep only to be so cruelly and painfully woken up.  I immediately scooped her up, crying myself, and held her close, which did very little to console her.  I felt such an intense conflict of thought: logically, even in the moment, I knew she was fine (immediate crying, no confusion or loss of consciousness, no vomiting, etc.); but then oh-my-god-oh-my-god I broke my daughter!

My friend Ted, standing in the doorway to the banquet room, saw me, and I sobbed, “Please get John.”  And John was perfect. He gingerly yet firmly took Ari from my arms, we walked outside, he started to distract her while feeling her scalp for bumps, all the while answering my stuttering questions I knew were absurd but I just had to get out: Is there any chance she broke her neck?  No, babies are flexible–I’ve seen babies fall from two stories and not have neck damage (please don’t test it!).  What about a skull fracture?  No, and she didn’t fall much further than her standing height, so wouldn’t that be a horrible trick of nature.  OH god, could she have an intracranial bleed?  She’s already looking better, acting herself, no vomiting.  Is she aways going to hate me?  I asked this question as Ari started reaching for me…  (Only later, with Ari safely sleeping in her peapod and her parents sipping a malbec, John sighed, “Shit, that was scary.”  Love that he has feelings!)

Still, I was freaked and, after having calmed down, I restarted my snotty sobfest several times when I recounted the event while saying goodbyes and gathering up things.  And, of course, Ari’s fever raged on, her face got stuck in a crevice of her pod, and we had another bad night.  I was so lucky that my friend, despite being the queen of spreadsheets and the organizer of all things, was the most tolerate/loving/chill bride-to-be on the planet and supported my emotional roller coaster bullshit, which is just not cool to whip out on someone else’s wedding day.  Ever.  After leaving Ari in the comforting and capable arms of Vovi, I experienced a few more bouts of sobbing with flashbacks to when I heard the thwack of her head against the ground, but arrived at the salon heart full and happy to celebrate Erica and Dan’s marriage.  I was doing better, really.

And then I forgot my special underwear.  No, this is actually as ridiculous as it sounds.  I forgot the underwear I planned to wear: the uber comfy, no-line, tummy-tucking lucky spanx that I wore at my own wedding.  And while I recognize that this is counter to any measure of feminist pride and acceptance of one’s own body, dammit I wanted my spanx to make me feel better about myself!  There wasn’t a good solution to this problem, since I lacked time to go back or go shopping without missing something like watching Erica slip on her wedding dress.  So instead I cried.

Hmmm, I need to paint this picture.  I didn’t just cry.  I ugly cried.  Sitting on the floor of Erica’s hotel room while the other bridesmaids gathered, a breast pump suctioned to my breasts, and the rhythmic wompa-wompa accompanying my sniffles.  And in my head I heard the thwack of my baby’s head hit the ground on repeat.  And I thought, Oh God, what if her fever doesn’t break and she needs to get cathed this week–I can’t do that to her, and I won’t be able to hold her body down.  And I didn’t even have my lucky, make-me-feel-better-about-my-body underwear.  And what if I failed the boards?!?!?!

Clearly this emotional riptide was something I just needed to roll with for the moment.  Again, logically I knew I was completely absurd, but I could not. stop. crying.  I think for a moment I even forgot why I was crying.  In response to the underwear dilemma, John (on the phone) suggested, “Why don’t you just freebuff it?”   To which I snapped, “Have you forgotten how I leak?”

It’s amazing the wonders of a splash of cold water to the face, some carefully applied de-splotching make-up, a strong mimosa, and girlfriends who love you and think your hysterics are adorable rather than repulsive.  The wedding was magnificent, the celebration epic.  If substances impede our memory, we’ll always have the photo booth.

Ari’s fever finally broke yesterday (day 10), her energy is up, her eyes mischievous.   There continues to be no discernable bump on her head, although we did accidentally run it into some hanging apparatus at the local stop-n-go.  We lack evidence of any love lost between us, and she remains appreciative of Aunt Erica and Uncle Dan for getting hitched and bringing together such a wonderful assortment of characters.