Well, not really, although the true status of Little Man/Baby Speedway is up for speculation. You see, even now, almost three months after his birth, I’ve yet to actually SEE the baby, except in a few early photographs. Seriously.
Zilla is still keeping the baby at home unless absolutely necessary, so I can’t confirm, in a tangible way, that this kid even exists. I've heard rumors it exists, but I don't know. We've tried everything to coax it out into the open (and this is beginning to sound like that Royal Caribbean commercial, but trust me, it's no vacation cruise ).
I’ve seen digital pics of a young baby in the arms of a grimacing Boss and a beaming Zilla. Photos by people who have actually laid eyes on the infant - Boss’ sis and our beloved organizational VP. I once spied Boss’ company vehicle, which reportedly contained a nursing Zilla and tiny Speedway, for a few minutes before it vanished from the parking lot. Didn’t get a glimpse of Momzilla or the babe, though.
There are a limited number of people who have actually HELD the baby, although again, I can’t personally verify, since I've never been that close . Half a dozen family members, and assorted medical personnel. Particularly medical personnel. You see, the little man spits up. A lot.
This was, early on, cleared by the pediatrician since he is having lots of wet diapers and gaining well. Same thing happened with several of my own kids, just some immature, weak little digestive muscles that take a few weeks or months to strengthen. More than a little alarming, at first, especially when you see them spew like a garden hose. Frequent, abundant, and sometimes even projectile regurgitation can be quite scary, and sometimes your initial inclination is to rush the the ER. But, over time, as you see that the little sweetie is happy, packing on the ounces, and making good use of his diapers, you calm down a little , use lots of bibs and wouldn’t be caught dead without a burp cloth. Still, you’re bound to have at least one panicked phone call and one office visit to discuss the issue with your doc, especially as a new mom having your first encounter with a major spitter. I get that.
As you have come to fully appreciate over the last several months, such a neonatal trial wouldn’t set well with Princess Zilla. Plainly put, she has freaked in a sustained and unrelenting way. Boss was frenzied too, to begin with, as he certainly has no experience with newborns and their digestive issues. He fed off of Zilla’s panic almost as predictably as Baby Speedway fed off of Zilla. VP’s wife, who is a nurse, had been consulted, and as a good professional who is not authorized to dispense medical advice would naturally do, she gave her shot of opinion along with a “you should probably have him checked out, just to be sure” chaser.
This was all the permission Zilla needed to justify a campout in the emergency room. I imagine Zilla was dismayed when the ER docs didn’t turn up anything alarming and the little family was released with instructions to call the pediatrician’s office for a follow-up.
Predictably, the follow-up visit(s) didn’t satisfy. Now, all of us have been armed with more emotion than reason from time to time, and there’s that thing about “mother’s intuition”, when you KNOW, despite a doctor’s insistence otherwise, that there IS something wrong with your baby. On the other hand, there’s also Munchausen syndrome by proxy. I’m not making any accusations, but I have my hunches as to which process of thought Zilla’s brainwaves more closely resemble. Yeah. So anyway… I'm just saying.
Boss’ family certainly didn’t help. They were all in a flutter because of the breastfeeding thing in the first place – the general consensus being that breastfeeding is “gross”, and wasn’t that just like Zilla to insist upon it. With an “I told you so” air, they informed Boss gravely that all previous babies in the family had been “allergic” to breastfeeding. Now THAT’S a new one. Look THAT one up in the Breastfeeding Mother’s Companion, will ya?
Meanwhile, before you could say “Pass me that burp cloth,” Boss was taking a day off so Speedway could undergo a round of tests at our regional children’s hospital. No local hospital mish-mash for Zilla. Since they don’t have health insurance, baby qualifies for any kind of treatment the doctor orders, anywhere, under a special assistance program administered by the state. After listening to Zilla’s harried repeated phone calls, I’ll bet that pediatrician will readily send them wherever necessary to get them out of his hair.
Poor little Baby Speedway has been put through the wringer more than a couple of times for extensive gastrointestinal assessment . Those of you who have accompanied your infant through digestive tests are well acquainted with the fact that these procedures are kind of torturous for babies . The barium swallow, the upper GI, the lower GI, the scope investigations. They require fasting, occasionally sedation, and often, special radioactive marker solutions fed to or shot up the behind of that sweet little defenseless baby . So far, all they’ve turned up is that the little guy has a weak gastroesophageal flap, the “valve” between the food pipe and the tummy.
I know you MUST be getting really tired of me relating my personal experiences with my kids, but a weak flap was what I suggested to Boss when he first mentioned the extensive upspitting. Of COURSE I’m not an expert on baby’s digestive systems, but I had a few profuse regurgitators, and that was my experience. Their mileage may vary, but I had hoped to reassure Boss that even what seems like vast amounts of spit up can be within the range of normal. Not always, but usually. Sometimes the key is to prevent the baby from swallowing too much air before or during feeding; don’t let him get too upset before nursing as hard crying creates air pockets in the tummy, burp often during feeding, use different burping positions to coax out those stubborn bubbles.
Turned out that was just what the ER said, what their pediatrician said, and what has been repeated to them at every hospital visit. The baby has a weak gastroesophageal flap. He’ll grow out of it. The flap over his trachea is fine, his digestive system is otherwise normal. The diarrhea Zilla was hounding the docs about Is NOT diarrhea, but the soft, sometimes liquidy stool of a normal, exclusively-breastfed baby.
Twelve-week-old Speedway, whose birthweight was just over seven pounds, reportedly now weighs more than 16 pounds, so whatever amount he’s losing isn’t affecting his growth a whit, to say the least. Boss, who was obviously alarmed at the outset of Zilla’s hysterics, now is clearly reluctant to admit their latest foray to the children’s hospital for a new baby-poking session.
I don’t mean this to sound insensitive or ungracious, but am I wrong to be incensed that my tax dollars are being spent on incessant high-priced tests for a baby who is, from all accounts, healthy? If I were to insist to my child’s primary care pediatrician that there was something haywire in my kid’s belly, he’d take me seriously and probably do some preliminary testing. But if the usual and customary examinations showed no problem, and there was a lack of concerning or worsening symptoms, my family health insurance would have put the brakes on any further testing, AND FAST. But since Zilla is bound by no such limitation, she is apparently free to seek opinion after opinion and demand that the baby be subjected to test after test, until such time as somebody can find SOMETHING wrong. ENOUGH already! Rant over. Deep cleansing breath…
Karma does bite, though. I have no info to back this up, but I do know that a “non-emergency” visit to the emergency room – a visit not authorized by the primary care doctor – costs a PRETTY penny. Since neither boss nor Zilla is good with details, I’d bet a dollar to donuts that they are being billed for at least that first ER visit. Even the most dramatic maternal histrionics is no substitute for prior authorization by your primary medical provider, and baby spit-up? It does not constitute a true emergency. I can almost hear Boss’ wallet say, “Ouch!”
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