My little man turned a week old Tuesday and my goodness did he make sure it ended on a terrible, absolutely horrible note…
He’s been starting to have a long stretch of sleep at night. 5-6 hours, which seemed odd to me but my extra sleep was welcomed. He’s also been breastfeeding like a champ. The day started on a high note: 6 hours of sleep and straight to breastfeeding time with momma. 15 minutes after the first breast and he unlatched himself ready for burps. We were rocking the first week birthday!
Until, that is, he burped up several strings of blood… Sheer, utter panic kicked in and all I could think was “let’s get daddy!!” I rushed downstairs, threw open our bedroom door and with tears streaming down my face I was able to finally bellow “I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!” I showed him the blood on my shoulder and he just calmly told me to call his pediatrician. He held our little one while I rushed back upstairs to find the number for his doc and tried my best to not sob as I told them what had just happened. They told me to head on over and that the doc would see us as soon as he was back from his lunch hour. I strapped Killian into our truck and he and I started our 5-minute drive to the pediatrician’s office. (I love that we live so close!) But apparently, we got there a bit too early and we both sat in a room waiting for about 30-minutes while I just cried and cried over top of my son.
It is so awesome having this many hormones spiking all over the place. Seriously. Awesome…
The doc did end up coming back from his lunch a bit early. He looked over my kiddo, asked a few questions and we eventually came to one conclusion. The blood was mine. Even though I’m not cracked and bleeding, have no pink/red spots or lumps, the blood had to be mine. And that’s okay and totally normal (and 100% nerve wracking…). Killian’s doc was very good at making me feel secure about my kiddo being a-okay. He’s not sick, he’s not allergic to my milk and he doesn’t have an infection. We headed home to start having a better day and to finish his breakfast. But this time, instead of blood coming up, he started choking up chunks of brown curds. I’m guessing it was the old blood with bits of undigested milk. I rushed to find an aspirator and had to rescue my son a second time. It was just too much. I held little Killian in the rocker and cried over top of him (again) while I called my mom for help and she left work right away.
I don’t know how any woman does this without a great support system! By the time my mom had gotten home, I was shivering uncontrollably from anxiety, my lips and fingers had turned purple and I couldn’t move from our rocker. (Again, hormones are so awesome…) My mom held my son so I was able to take a hot bath to de-ice myself, then took us out for dinner since I hadn’t eaten all day. And for dessert, she took us to Babies R’ Us and bought little Killian a swing/rocker so that I can finally start putting him down and make sure I get some things done. You know, like feeding myself. Showering every now and then. And even go to the bathroom to clean my stitches.
Since Tuesday, things have really started to look up. Little man’s plastibell and cord stump have fallen off, daddy got a raise at work, and I’ve finally been able to get some sleep! They might be small victories, sure, but I’ll gladly take them. And hopefully, Killian’s 2 week birthday will be much less adventurous.