How to Survive the First Year of Motherhood -- Part V

Okay, so you've managed to take a shower - sort of (next time you'll get all the shampoo out). You're dressed and you've put on a little make-up. You've even faced the car seat (it's getting easier and the baby's starting to fit better). Now you're ready to leave the house. Brace yourself.

Chances are you're probably coming up on a couple of doctors' appointments over the next few weeks. The obstetrician is a big one and most new moms wind up bringing baby with them. Just try and tell a brand-new mother to leave her precious angel with someone else. Then duck. It's unthinkable. Relax. Your OB is quite used to the babies and your little one isn't likely to be traumatized by the experience. It's important for you and your well-being that you not put it off, though. Go. Think of it as getting it over with (you'd think that after all these centuries they'd come up with a more dignified way of doing it). Oh - and try not to laugh too hard when the doctor reminds you of the six-week pelvic rest caveat and then brings up the subject of birth control. You may be thinking permanent abstinence at this point but your doctor knows better.

As horrible as your post-natal follow up appointment undoubtedly was, you've still got your baby's first well-baby check to face and it's more draining and emotionally exhausting than you can imagine. While you were both in the hospital, your little darling was whisked away to the nursery for examinations. He was sleeping when they rolled him out of your room, he was sleeping when they wheeled him back in and you were happily oblivious to all the poking and prodding that went on in between. This time you get a front row seat.

Are you ready? Let's go.

Once in the front door, you'll sign in at the receptionist and they'll give you a stack of paperwork that rivals the closing papers on a new home. Yes, they expect you to fill them all out. Just take them to a seat in the waiting room and get comfortable. You didn't honestly think you'd be able to RELAX at this point, did you? Well, no matter. You wouldn't have been able to, anyway. As soon as you sit down and start filling out forms you're going to become acutely aware of all the coughing and sneezing and sniffling around you and - your baby! Funny how you'd never noticed how many sick people there are at a doctor's office. Colds and sniffles are a part of life though, and they're inevitable. Granted that doesn't mean you want your baby exposed to every germ in town but, short of isolating him in a hermetically sealed bubble (which is probably beyond your budget anyway), there isn't a whole lot you can do. For right now, about the only solution is to drape a blanket over the handle of his carrier so that he's in his own little tent and pray that they call you back soon. At least, this way none of the other children wandering around will sneeze or cough in his face.

Just when you're beginning to wonder if they missed your name on the sign-in sheet (and about the time you're beginning to look for a door marked "Ladies"), you'll hear his name called and you'll be on your feet. Finally it's time to escape the waiting room and all the horrors lurking behind every sniffle and cough.

You won't know it yet (okay, I guess you will now), but well-baby checks follow a very predictable pattern and, while this visit may be a little traumatic - more for you than for the baby - knowing what to expect makes things easier:

The nurse will take care of this right away and you will be relieved to learn that now they'll use the electronic ear reading kind of thermometer rather than the more invasive type. MUCH better than in grandma's day when babies laid across their mothers' laps. Oh - and don't panic when they tell you the baby's temperature is in the low 99-ish range. He's not sick, he's just been bundled in blankets and then completely covered with one. You'd be warm, too.

While checking his temperature didn't bother him, this might. You'll have to undress him down to a diaper and take him out into the cold corridor and lay him on a scale that looks remarkably like something you'd expect to find in the produce section of the grocery store. His little arms and legs are going to flail and he's not going to be a terribly happy camper but, the good news is, it only takes a minute and then you get to pick him up again. Now, at this point, all you're looking for is weight gain. If he's made it back to his birth weight, wonderful, but as long as he weighs more than he did when he left the hospital, you're fine. If not, they'll tell you what you need to do - switch from breast to bottle, supplement breast milk, change types of formula - there are so many options so please try not to panic or start beating up on yourself. Just take a deep breath, answer the questions and listen to the suggestions that they'll offer. It happens.

Once they've checked and recorded his weight, it's back to the exam room to wait anxiously for the doctor. And wait. And wait. The baby will probably go back to sleep and that's when the doctor will arrive and things will begin in earnest. Even though that black thing with the funnel-shaped tip (it's called an ‘otoscope') looks fearsome, it's not going to annoy your baby too much when the doctor uses it to check his ears. It might annoy him a little bit when the doctor looks up his nose with it but, if he starts to fuss, it'll just make the examination of his mouth and throat that much easier. The doctor's going to check his eyes and feel around his head, checking his soft-spots (they're called ‘fontanels'). Then next comes his little body...poking and pressing and prodding his little belly and moving his arms and legs around and up and down and even under his diaper and the whole process won't take more than five minutes. You'll probably be asked about wet diapers and bowel movements and how much he's eating and sleeping and spitting up, all of which have become favorite topics of conversation by now. Well - maybe not FAVORITES but you're certainly intimately familiar with them. And then the doctor's going to straighten up and ask you if you've got any questions or concerns and all of the ones that have occurred to you over the past few weeks and while you were waiting will fly right out of your head. Completely gone. Poof! Just like that. Take a minute. It's much more helpful to remember them now, rather than in the car on the way home. And, if you can't remember, all is not lost. Write them down and ask them the next time - you'll be back. Soon.

And then it's time to get down to the heart of the matter. The doctor will stand up to leave and the last thing he'll say to you before walking out the door (other than complimenting your on your extraordinarily beautiful baby) is going to be something along the lines of, "I'll send the nurse right in and then we'll need to see him again in a month." And then the doctor will be gone and you'll be waiting - again. Go ahead and swaddle the baby but don't bother starting to dress him yet. The nurse doesn't get paid as much as the doctor - and there are more of them - so this time the wait won't be as long. Besides, they know that you know what's coming and they're probably afraid that if they keep you waiting too long at this point you might bolt. So the nurse will return in fairly short order and this time she'll be carrying...the immunization tray. The first one - for polio - isn't too bad. It's given orally and the nurse will just squirt a little vial into his mouth. It's what's coming. Just keep telling yourself that it's necessary and try not to look at the needle. For that matter, don't feel bad if you have to close your eyes and turn your head; this is one of the hardest things you'll ever have to watch. Trust me, you won't be the first parent to cry as much (if not more, or at least longer) as the baby. You'll see - your brave little trooper's going to get over the ordeal a lot faster than you will.

But you don't have to go through it again for another month.

So you've made it. You've learned how to dress the baby and yourself and you've made it through the first doctor's appointments. Together you've faced pain and packing and pestilence - now if you could just get some sleep.

By now the lack of sleep is showing in the smudges under your eyes and the dazed and vacant expression on your face. You might find yourself giggling hysterically at the littlest things or sobbing inconsolably at a car commercial and your premier goal in life right now - what you want more than anything else in the world - is four hours of uninterrupted sleep. Just four.