Entering my office felt a little weird. I already missed work, but I was also relieved not to be here, and grateful to have the time to focus only on Rosie, if that made sense. I saw no sign of Dylan, but Pen had let me know that my patients sent congratulations and were appreciative of Dylan’s chill style.
“Helen had to run to see a patient in the hospital,” Edith said from behind the front desk. “But Pen’s got time to do Rosalie’s exam. Sound okay?”
My heart fell. Helen was a great clinician, even if she was ornery. I was afraid Pen would raise a whole bunch of questions that would lead to a lot of worry and testing. Basically, I didn’t exactly trust her to do a realistic assessment, even though I felt that Rosie was doing great.
Fifteen minutes later, we were settled in an exam room with a colorful flower garden painted on the walls. Penelope looked over Rosie’s chart, and Adam cradled Rosie in his arms.
So far so good. Except it was strange for me not being in Pen’s place.
“Her birth weight was seven pounds, thirteen ounces,” Pen said. “Today, at one month old, she’s eight pounds, ten ounces.”
“Is she growing well?” Adam asked, sending an anxious glance from me to Pen. “Are we feeding her enough?”
“Her weight is excellent,” Pen said with a smile. “And she’s filling out nicely.”
Adam wasn’t reassured. “Sometimes she pulls her mouth away from the bottle, and I think she’s done.” He demonstrated the bottle motion with his hands. “But do you think I should offer her more?”
Pen’s voice was calm and confident. “I think she’s telling you she’s done, and you’re listening. So great job.”
Adam pointed to the baby’s face. “You don’t think she’s a little orange-y, do you?”
Pen craned her neck from her chair. “Not at all.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Adam said, getting up. “Would you take a look at these little white things on her face?”
Pen walked over, even though it wasn’t time for the exam yet. “Those pearly white bumps are called milia, and they’re dead skin cells trapped under the skin. No treatment. They’re a normal newborn thing.”
I was a little startled to see Worrywart Adam, who’d obviously been saving his questions like a squirrel hoards acorns in its cheeks.
Pen started typing into our floating computer with a big arm. “How are her poops?”
Adam laughed. Pen lifted a brow. “Was that funny?”
Adam’s laughter died. “It’s just...are you serious? I mean, the questions you people ask.”
“Well,we peoplewant to make sure that babies are thriving,” Pen explained. “Stools can provide clues to liver or bile duct issue, diarrhea, that kind of thing.” As she prepared to type, she asked, “So how would you describe them? Corn on the cob, sausage, rabbit pellets, gravy, porridge, or chicken nuggets?”
He considered that carefully. “They look kind of pasty, kind of tan…like…peanut butter.”
“Would you agree?” Pen glanced over at me.
I would agree that it was time to move on, except then Adam said,“I thought I might have heard a murmur the other day,” Adam said. “Will you double-check me?”
“You’ve listened to her heart with your stethoscope?” I asked in an incredulous tone.
He gave a guilty shrug.
“Adam,” Penelope said, redirecting. “Have you been spending time googling things?”
“What else is there to do at three in the morning?”
“My advice is to stay off the internet. You can always call the office with questions.” Pen, probably having enough of Adam for the time being, addressed me. “How’s her schedule?”
“Her days and nights are less mixed up,” I said. “I think things are better now that I’m off. But the exhaustion is real.”
Pen looked directly at me. “Are you two co-parenting?”
That stopped me in my tracks. Adam had stayed over every night since that night a week ago when I’d nearly lost it. I’dbegged him numerous times to leave and get a good night’s rest, but he never did.
