Pete has broken the 5lb barrier and has started troughing down his food. The incubator lid is up, but he can still stop his own heartbeat on command. Well, not really stop, just slow - this is known as a bradycardia, or simply a "b" as we've spent so much time in hospital that we get a doctorate in medicine for time served. Professional cyclists can have resting heart rates as low as 28 beats per minute. So Peter's a cyclist!
We've been told that he might be sent home early attached to a heart monitor, a piece of equipment infamous for alarming every few minutes with false positives. It's new parent sleep deprivation with an added edge. He also has a funny-shaped head, according to the physio, that they may scan again, but he gets that from his father. He's looking less like a wrinkly old man but does somewhat resemble a famous British comic-strip villain:
In the meantime he has to keep his temperature up and keep growing, although we've found that dressing him in three premie babygrows at once keeps him toasty and makes him look bigger! I'm pretty sure the doctors haven't noticed our sneaky tactics.
Playing on his parents' emotions already.
Hannah will be put on the payroll soon.
Unimpressed by this strange burping routine.
And with one simple touch, I control you!
The top is up! Again! And we live in hope.
Although, with all these blankets, he might have preferred it down.
Underneath, finally resembling a real baby!
Cute!
Cute!
Cute and cute!
