The doctor was really wonderful - the best pediatric doctor we've met with thus far. He had a great bedside manner and the staff was very nice, too. I arrived ten minutes late - only to learn I was actually 40 minutes late, since I should have been there 30 minutes earlier to fill out paper work. Whoops. Scotty, of course, began wailing as soon as I had a pen and clipboard in hand. After trilling loudly, "Mommy only has two hands, Pumpkin!" the receptionist took pity on us both and came over the sacred glass partition to pick him up and rock him. She took him in the back as I frantically scribbled information, feeling like the worst mother in America. Aside from my screaming child, I was asked: social security number? I don't know. Name of the cream we put in his neck in between his fat rolls, to avoid a yeast infection? Not sure. Reason for referral? I wrote, "It's complicated." Yup, go ahead and just call Child Protective Services now.
Anyways, while I signed forms, another couple came into the waiting room with a (sleeping) baby in a car seat. I, of course, had to peer in and comment. The proud dad told me that the baby was two months, three weeks old. As in, two weeks younger than Scotty. And Scotty looked behemouth next to this tyke. Scotty's little hand was the size of this child's head. The receptionist (aside from taking him in the back to others could coo at him) referred to him as "the Whooper" and the doctor called him a linebacker. Not a "little linebacker", but a regular ole linebacker. Everytime people comment on his size (now 17+ pounds and growing), I cough uncomfortably and mutter something about "you should see his dad...he's [ahem] a big guy." Poor Brian. He has no idea I throw him under the bus so frequently. He looks the size of a five or six month old, not a 13 weeker.
So the good news is that there is nothing wrong with Scotty. The doctor said that it's fairly common for even exclusively breast-fed babies to poop only once or twice a week, and it's usually a stage. Since we are using about 5-6 oz of formula per day (since my supply is still low), it's normal for him to not be pooping very often.
Then he asked about my diet. Yes, the breast milk question.
I tried really hard to not come across defensively. He said, not asked, "And I'm sure you are eating plenty of fruits and vegetables." I shifted uncomfortably. Um...sure. I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth. Do fruit-flavored Skittles count? What about raisins...in oatmeal cookies? Yeah, my diet has some room for improvement. I confessed that yes, I'd been into our leftover Halloween candy a little more than I should and he just laughed. I can only imagine how many new moms he gets in his office ready to come to blows over the quality of their breast milk. It's just about as personal as commenting on someone's weight.
When I called Brian on my way home, he asked, "What did the doctor think?" and I had to confess it was the breast milk. He laughed hysterically. That's great. Just great. Because if pumping isn't enough fun, then let's take all of the baked goods out of my diet. Tonight, when he asked what I wanted for dinner, I told him bitterly, "Just grapes." Thankfully, he didn't listen.
Yesterday while at the park (among the whole crowd of people who had gathered to watch my child scream in his car seat -- ahh, motherhood), I wandered through the farmer's market that was set-up and made a bold decision: I signed us up for an at-home food delivery service. It's based out of Utah, and they specialize in organic fruits and veggies, fresh breads, as well as meats with no antibiotics or hormones. I have no idea if it will save us money despite the salesman's claims to the contrary, but they deliver right to our door every week. No more grocery store! Hooray! That is worth it's weight in gold. Our kitchen is going to be stocked to the gills with beautiful, organic produce and all kinds of healthy meal options, with little effort. I love it!
I put our first order in tonight, and what was first on my list?
Pumpkin chocolate chip bread.
Yum. :-) Oh, well.