We may be THOSE parents

Today marks Nate's 3 week birthday. Thankfully the second half of those 3 weeks since Nate has been home have gone much faster than the stressful first half. However, now that we should be second-time seasoned pros, we are more like acutely concerned, hyper-aware, bordering-on-paranoia first-time parents. Poor Nate yawns and stretches and this elicits a 5-minute scrutiny and discussion of said behavior, followed by rapid google-searching about whether this is normal for a newborn or not. We sort of have one eye constantly glued to his chest for confirmation of movement. Regis was wondering if we can rent an oxygen saturation monitor from the hospital. If he knew what they were called or how to properly use one, I suspect he would be already scourging ebay to see if we could pick one up. This has all been amplified by the fact that I have had time to google search things about Nate's birth condition. Severe Infant Respiratory Distress Syndrome. Did you know that this is the #1 cause of infant mortality in first world countries?! Thank God, another small miracle, I wasn't doing these investigations while Nate was at the hospital. 

Needless to say, nights are the worst. You know, because we are supposed to be sleeping. And if we are sleeping, who is making sure the baby is breathing? Between feedings, my own paranoia, and being awoken by my husband's crazies, our sleep is disjointed and infrequent. After 7 nights of this, we finally gave in to the paranoia. We woke a few mornings ago and I started asking, Was it just me or was Nate grunting a lot last night? And does he look kind of red? Has he always been this red? Does his tummy seem swollen? I think it looks sort of swollen and hard feeling, do you? And what about his boy-parts, is this the way they're supposed to look? This went on and on for about 10 minutes before I declared, that's it, we are going to the doctor's now. So we packed up (and by packed, I mean we put on shoes) and headed straight for our local pediatrician's office.

Upon arriving, we found the waiting room unusually packed with what I was assuming were bacterial and viral ridden children. (The type, I'm pretty sure, who do not cover their mouth when they cough). So we hovered outside, mentally calculating the risk of sitting in the waiting room versus having the doctor check out Nate's supposed redness and swollen-ness. But we did finally brave the waiting room, see the doctor, and sheepishly explain to him the reasons we were there that morning. Maybe it was the florescent light in the doctor's office or the dose of fresh air on the way there, but it didn't seem like Nate looked very red anymore. And certainly his tummy didn't look very swollen any more. And his boy parts are "Perfect" according to the pediatrician. We looked like even better parents when Nate demonstrated how to use his perfect boy parts all over the examination table and his clothes, and only then did we realize it would have been wise to pack a change of diaper and clothes. Yes, doctor, we are very worried about our son's health and well-being. Honey, would you mind putting that urine-soaked onsie back on our baby so we can go outside and bury our heads in the sand? Great. Well, a mere $60 later, we walked out with a clean bill of health, the reassurance that our guy is doing well, and some peace of mind. I'm sure the pediatrician's office was high-fiving each other and seeing dollar signs when we left. Because we exhibiting signs of becoming THOSE parents.

You know THOSE parents. The ones who bring their child in at the first sign of a sniffle. The ones who pack back-up bottles of hand sanitizer in every spare pocket of their baby gear. The ones who lysol spray the air in the room around their child. The ones who glare at you if your germ-infested child steps too close. The ones who let you look at their baby (but don't touch!) so long as you stand a safe distance away. The ones who, if they could, would put their boy in a bubble.

Which reminds me of the Paul Simon song....that I am now singing to Nate: These are the days of miracle and wonder, and don't cry, baby, don't cry, don't cry.

And some photos of our little wonder: