Tidbits

Confessions of a new mom:

• I think my baby is cuter than your baby no matter what.
• Sometimes I look at him and I wonder if I can be a good mom and a "cool" mom at the same time.
• I know, without a doubt, that I would sacrifice my life for his in a heartbeat if I needed to.
• Contrary to popular belief, a mother doesn't love every last detail of her child - his poop is the nastiest substance I have ever come across.
• I wonder if I will ever get a chance at a full night's sleep again. If it happens I wonder if I'll be able to enjoy it.
• I look forward to the time when I can have a conversation with him, but I am apprehensive about not having all the answers to his questions.
• I have a small and silly fear that he will be smarter than me. I also hope that's the case, even though I won't like it much at first.
• I still cry on occasion because my body is not my own and won't be again until he's no longer breastfeeding. I mourn the loss of my individual self while I celebrate the arrival of my mother self.
• I get a kick out of picking his little nose when he's got a visible booger.
• I was relieved when the surgeon announced he was a boy at his birth because I thought a boy would be easier... I know how much of a pain in the ass I was as a girl and I dreaded a mini-me.
• I laugh often because his tiny feet smell like adult feet, just tiny.
• Matthew and I joke that he'll grow up to be our total opposite - a jock with no interest in art or literature... and we both secretly harbor a real fear that it might just happen.
• His eyes haven't set their color yet, but I hope they're green like my mom's.
• I want to have another child someday, but I don't know if I can love any other baby like I love this one.

So small and so big

(Photo courtesy of Justine Cooper Photography)

My son is small. He's tiny, in fact. He's perfectly normal size for his age, but perfectly normal for a 10 week old baby is quite small. His size makes me at once small and big. I've never felt smaller or bigger, in fact.

When he smiles at me I feel like a giant, as if I can conquer anything - invincible. I feel 20' tall and as strong as 10 men. He makes me feel bigger than I really am.

But, when I put him back to bed after nursing him in the wee hours of the night I look at him sleeping in his crib, breathing in and out, and I feel so small. I am humbled and awe struck, I feel even smaller than his tiny body in those moments.

I suppose this is parenthood - the big and the small of it all.

Friends are good things to have

Jude has a buddy. That's him on the left. They just happened to match the other day. Freaking cute, right?

It's good to have friends. They're invaluable. They keep you sane when things swirl around. They make you laugh when you're blue. They keep you company when you're lonely. They prop you up when you're too tired to stand. Friends are crucial.

I miss my friends these days. They're not gone. I'm not gone. Things are just different, that's all. I think I don't get as many phone calls and hangouts because people don't know how to incorporate Melissa The Mom into social gatherings. Melissa The Mom is different. She has a kid. Does the baby come along? Does she need to make sure Matthew is home to watch the baby? Can they both come? Do they have a sitter? Does she even want to hang out since she's on baby duty and breastfeeding demands a pretty tight schedule? How do I relate to her now that she's a parent? What can I talk to her about besides the baby?

I think these are all valid questions, but I wish there could be a dialogue about them instead of this open-ended hiatus. The questions don't get asked and I feel strange calling people up and saying, "Hi, I think you might think I can't hang out or maybe I don't want to, but that's not the case." I'd love to go get a cup of coffee or catch a movie. I just need to plan a little more for it now. As long as I can either bring Jude or make sure there is enough pumped breastmilk in the fridge being social is no hassle. It's just different. Like everything else. Things are different.

Friends are good things to have. I miss mine.

Out and about... sans kidlet

On Saturday night we celebrated our anniversary, even though it was technically the next day. My amazing sister in law was in town and she babysat Jude while we went to dinner at a lovely little Italian resto in the 'hood. It was so hard to leave that little bean! I knew he was in the most capable hands (she's a kindergarten teacher and she is beyond fabulous with babies), yet I was nervous.

My sister in law is the only person I'm comfortable leaving Jude with at this point. As much as I love my friends and family, she's still the only one Matthew and I feel good about when it comes to watching our 6 week old tiny package of poo and goo. I'm hoping this will change soon... she lives in Boston!! It's kind of hard to call in the sitter from 4 hours away. Lucky for me she'll be here for the months of July and August staying with us.

Those of you with kids - how long did it take until you were comfy (or at least not *totally* against) leaving your kids with friends/a sitter? I'm really thrilled we went out alone because we needed to celebrate the first year of our marriage without the distraction of Jude for an evening and we had a wonderful time. But, I can't see that becoming a regular pattern because I'm still uneasy about leaving him. I've got to get comfortable with trusting other people with my child or I run the risk of becoming one of *those* moms. You know the type - helicopters - they hover and hover and never leave the kid alone. I do not want that AT ALL. Maybe we should start with short amounts of time (and hour or so?) and work up to longer stretches (dinner and a movie?). Thoughts? Advice?

P.S. It's absolutely gorgeous in Brooklyn today. Jude and I took Duke for a walk... Duke went a block and sat down as if on strike. He hates, I mean hates, the heat. It was 78 at the time and he was done. Wait until it's 90 later today - oh whatever will that pooch do? The horror.

Momming is weird. It's wonderful, totally wonderful, but man oh man, it's weird!!

Coming to a theater near you

The international cinematic release of Jude's First Bath.

So tired

The past couple nights Jude has reverted to his first week nighttime behavior pattern. Which means that he will sleep for 3-4 hours at a time during the day, no matter how hard we try to keep him awake, and then at night he'll be awake for 2 hours at a time, 30 minutes of that he's nursing, and the other 90 minutes are spent either staring wide-eyed at Matthew and me or screaming inconsolably.

It's so hard when your child is crying and you have no idea what to do to help. Jude scrunches up his face and he looks at me pleadingly with those huge, dark, tear-filled eyes and I just want to die because I can't make the bad stuff go away.

Everything you try seems fruitless. Shhhh-ing will work for 5 minutes and then just when you think he's drifting off to dreamland the screaming starts up again. Swaddling will work for a little while, but then teeny weeny Houdini wiggles his way free just enough to have a tiny arm flail up in the air and jolt himself out of sleepiness. Walking around the apartment while bouncing and singing is a miracle cure... as long as the walking and singing never stops.

This is what life is like with a 3 week old baby. It's typical. It's totally normal and everyone struggles with this stage.

If only knowing that made it even one bit easier.

L-O-V-E

Thump.

Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

That's my heart thumping. It's bigger than it used to be. Each time I see my guys my heart swells up so big that it breaks a little. It breaks the tiniest bit every single time I lay eyes on these two. Then, when it repairs itself like any good muscle will do it's a bit bigger than it was before.

At this rate I'll need to gain back that pregnancy weight just to give my body some more space for my heart to spread out.

This face says "mischief"

Jude. 13 days old. Incredible.

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The best laid plans...

I want to write about Jude's birth. It's important to me to set it to words in this space. It will be a reminder for me of what I went through and how much hard work it took to get that little bean into the world. Everyone worked hard - Jude, me, Matthew, my sister in law, my parents, our doula, our friends. To say that it didn't go as planned would be the mildest way of putting it.

I labored at home for 24 hours. Matthew and I counted contractions for a day and then called our doula. We headed to the hospital 12 hours later and had to wait for a couple of hours to be checked in because all the rooms were taken. Nothing like leaking amniotic fluid and having very painful contractions in a waiting room. Nothing like it.

Several hours later we got a labor and delivery room. My contractions got progressively more intense and I was still only dilated a couple of centimeters. It stayed that way for a few hours. My midwife talked to us about using some meds to get my cervix in better shape to get the baby out because nature was not cooperating - I was having transitional contractions but I still wasn't dilated more than a couple of centimeters. She knew we wanted a natural birth and she gave my body lots of time to see if we could overcome what obstacles stood in the way, but it wasn't working. Cervadil, then pitocin, then an epidural... all things that I was staunchly against going into the birth. My contractions were so hard and fast I was exhausted and they were afraid I would have nothing left when it finally came time to push the baby out.

After 48 hours of labor it turns out that I had a dysfunctional labor because of cervical swelling (I finally got up to 7 centimeters, but then became very swollen and got back down to 4 centimeters). At that point I was getting into a high risk category and a c-section became the only option. It was my worst nightmare before labor started. I did everything to avoid it. My midwife gave me a lot of time to see if my body could overcome, but there was no chance. She explained everything and we both cried about it. I was so upset. She was upset for me. Everyone knew it wasn't what I wanted, but we all knew that the only real goal was to get the baby out safely. If we waited much longer both of us would be in danger.

Matthew got ready to come with me to the operating room. Our midwife helped him put on the scrubs and mask. His cool checkered Vans slipped into the shoe covers and he was ready - more or less. He prepared himself to see his wife and the mother of his child get cut open on the table. He always said he thought he would have made a good doctor... but he said later that he could never detach enough from the patient to cut into them.

So I had a c-section. At 2:48 on 3/12 Jude came into the world and my surgeon passed him through a hole he cut in the drape so I could be the first one to kiss him. The surgeon said he wanted me to be able to kiss the baby first, that just because I didn't push the baby out didn't mean I wasn't the mommy. That meant so much to me. He told me we had a boy and I got to give little, slimy Jude his first smooch.

The surgery was frightening and I had a bad reaction to the anesthesia - I got the shakes very badly and couldn't control the upper half of my body. I was twitching and jerking and it was very scary. I knew I was in good hands and that Jude was in good hands, but that was the hardest experience of my life.

In the end, we got our son. That's all that counts. I came to grips with all the medical intervention and was actually grateful for it afterward when my midwife told me how close I was to something disastrous. She explained that when you hear about women in remote areas developing fistulas they most often result from the exact scenario that played out for me. Except, those women don't have medical care, so the option of a c-section doesn't exist. If I were one of them I would have likely died. Matthew just kept saying, "I know you don't want to hear this, but we can make another baby but I can't make another you. I can't go through this life without you, so this surgery is what needs to happen. Please." That was all I needed to hear.

And when Jude cried for the first time and I heard that tiny voice coming from across the OR I knew we did the right thing. I tried and Jude tried and we did our best. All that counts is that we made it through and our family is at home, happy and healthy. The poopy diapers and the sleepless nights, the spit up and the endless burpings, the coos and cries, the sore nipples and the achy belly - it's all worth it. It's all worth it and I'd do it again tomorrow if it meant my little family would be as happy as we are right now.

Life awaits. The future is here. The three of us will face it together. Hey, ho! Let's go! As Matthew says, Ramones fans are born, not made.

Nice 'do.

Jude. Day 4. On the nursing pillow. Hanging out. Making his mom cry and laugh and stare in amazement at the same time.

And look at that hair!! I was bald as a cue ball as a baby. I guess he gets the hair from his dad. I kept joking before he was born that if the baby was a boy he'd come out with a full beard. Almost. I still can't believe I got my boy. He's healthy and happy and that's all that matters.

Operation: Mind Off Labor

(disclaimer: those are not my feet, although I wish they were)

I slept for an ungodly 11 hours last night. Apparently I needed the rest. It was a good thing since I haven't been sleeping well the past couple of weeks. I'd get comfortable and start to nod off, but then have to shift my hips because I had sciatica pain or the baby's position was making it hard for me to get a full breath of air. Just super fun late term pregnancy stuff. But last night? Last night I slept like I was going for the gold. Snoozed like a log. Pretty awesome stuff.

Today my mission is to occupy my time with things that don't have anything to do with babies or being pregnant. I'm trying to keep my mind off of my mounting frustration with labor starting and stopping, so I'm going to get some loose ends tied up and slip a little pampering into the schedule, too.

First on the list was to find out how to finalize my short term disability claim once the baby is born (Yes, that's how my employer does maternity leave, folks... it's a short term disability claim for a fraction of my pay - makes new moms feel awesome! I can't wait to be disabled. Groan.) I got my claim # and filed all that stuff away, so that's one thing checked off the list.

Next was to make an appointment to get a pedicure. Oh, the life! I got a gift certificate for my birthday back in September and have been saving it for a rainy day. Well, it's grey and kinda rainy out there and my feet could use some beautifying. So, in a couple of hours I'll hop on the subway and head to one of my favorite parts of Brooklyn to get my feet "all cuted up" for free at an adorable little salon.

On the way home, if I'm not totally wiped out in the energy department I'll stop by the library and return a DVD (woefully overdue - I've become that person!) and maybe check out a book or two.

Later on tonight I'll patch a pair of Matthew's jeans (yes, we're jeans patchers... he has his favorite pairs and they tend to wear out in choice spots - prime patching opportunities abound in this household), maybe check out online what exhibits are coming up at the Brooklyn Library, then have some friends over for dinner. That sounds like a pretty full day. A full day of stuff not having to do with fixating on labor and delivery.

We'll see how it all goes.

Get it?

Matthew took this photo yesterday. We've been saying how funny it would be to get a pic of the bump under the BUMP sign for months now. Good thing we finally took one. No clue how much longer there will be a bump instead of a baby. Been having contractions on and off since last week. Really looking forward to actual labor. Since Thursday I've been 1 centimeter dilated and in a holding pattern. I've been trying to keep my mind off of things as much as possible, but it's hard. Being calm and letting go of anxiety when every move you make is uncomfortable is not easy.

I'm ok! I'm here!

I got a comment from Sandra asking me how I am that made me realize I've been absent the past couple weeks. I've been beyond busy, but I'm fine! Things are good! Don't worry, there's no baby yet and there are no health problems significant enough to be concerned about. The puking on the tracks incident of the last post was a one time incident. A horrifying, embarrassing incident, but a one time thing.

We had our weekly (we're up to weekly now) midwife appointment this week and everything is great. I'm measuring a little bigger than average in the belly, so the midwife is estimating this kidlet is going to be 8lbs and change. It's what I had been thinking, too. My weight is still right on track (21 lbs). I'm doing well. The only thing that's been keeping me down this past week is the energy level (which is pretty nonexistent) and the swollen ankles. I have cankles, people! CANKLES!! All of a sudden they popped up on Wednesday and haven't gone anywhere since. Their encampment is strong. The cankles have invaded and it doesn't seem as if they're going anywhere for the next few weeks.

3 weeks from today is the baby's due date according to the sonogram from 13 weeks. 3 weeks from t-o-d-a-y. OK. I can do this. We can do this. Totally. Yep. I was built for this. It's completely OK.

Deep breaths. Big, deep, cleansing breaths.

Squeeze, cramp, spasm, repeat.

Braxton-Hicks contractions are strange. I started having them about 2 weeks ago. The midwives say everything is A-OK in there, so I'm not worried about them. They're just strange. The first time it happened I knew right away what it was and I didn't freak out at all. I just had to lean against a gate on my walk home and take some deep breaths.

I know now all those books we've read really have sunk in. Pretty amazing. I feel we're prepared. Well, we're as prepared as we can be. Which is to say that we are well educated about childbirth and we are armed with copious information.

That wonderful education also means that we are fully prepared to know absolutely nothing once labor actually starts. Flexibility is the key. We're ready to throw it all out the window at a moment's notice and take each moment as it comes. I think that's mainly why I'm not scared. Labor doesn't scare me. Delivery doesn't scare me. I'm prepared for it to be painful and tough and amazing and beautiful and weird and disturbing and fulfilling all at the same time. Sounds simple, right? *wink*

Pardon me. I need to go rub some oil on my belly. My belly button is flush with the rest of me now and it feels like it will pop out at any moment.

31 & 1/2 weeks

31 & 1/2 weeks. Just about 2 months to go. I can't believe we're this close.

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When it rains...

It's pouring.

My husband will likely lose his job by the end of January. This is mainly due to the fact that his boss is an absolute failure in life and does far too much coke to succeed in anything. Unless a miracle happens my husband will not get his paycheck this week and neither will the 25 people he works with. That includes men who commute from the Bronx to make $12/hr to support their families, a Polish couple who have worked there since they came to this country years ago, hardworking people. His boss's response when asked what these employees are supposed to do without their paychecks was, "They should have a savings and not live paycheck to paycheck." This is precisely how far outside reality this man lives. A savings?

My maternity leave, which I thought was going to be 12 weeks, is actually only 6... at 66% of my pay. This doesn't seem remotely OK to me. 6 weeks? I work for a health and wellness company! A health and wellness company should know that 6 weeks is a joke. I'm not covered under FMLA because I won't have been with my employer for 12 months by the time I take my leave, so I don't have the option of extending my leave to 12 weeks with unpaid time off. I'm trying to finagle the system to get a few more weeks out of it (trying to use all my sick time and vacation time, figure out how I can extend short-term disability somehow, etc.), but it's daunting. Plus, with the prospect of Matthew unemployed it will mean that the dream of getting to stay home with our baby and not go back to work is all but gone.

It's pouring, folks. Cats and dogs.

Nesting

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People told me to expect the nesting urge to kick in any day now. Well, it's kicked in. Hard. Almost as hard as the baby has been kicking.

Matthew has been amazing - completely unsurprising. He's been super-dad-in-training since day one. We hardly had any time to ourselves this weekend and yet today he managed to prime and paint the crib my cousin gave us, assemble it, put it in place and then get all misty with me over the book my sister in law gave us for the baby.

Since we're a typical Brooklyn couple, living in a one bedroom apartment, we need to make our bedroom a combination bedroom/nursery. We've been focusing a lot on how to make the room work for both halves of this arrangement. The baby needs a safe, comfy, calming place and so do we.

Something else he did this past week is in the photo above. While we were in Paris on our honeymoon in April I took a photo of a very old clock in a park we'd never been to before. Matthew pumped up some of the colors in Photoshop and had it printed. It's huge! It's huge and it looks amazing over our new bed. Not only is he prepping the baby's side of the room, he's making sure our bedroom is a true sanctuary for us. I don't know how I could be luckier.

TMI Alert

Interesting and exciting discovery of the week - my boobs work.

No joke. They work. It's so weird! And amazing! I am a veritable food factory. Our apartment is a house of wonder at the moment. I realize it's some of the most basic biology known to man, but even the thought of my body being able to feed a little person is mind-blowing.

Poke, poke. Jab, jab.

I've spent the last week with a tiny foot (or feet at times) jabbed into my ribs. It's wonderful and amazing, but it's pretty darn uncomfortable! Teensy heels crammed into tight spots that are usually occupied with various internal organs which have lived in those spots for 31 years. That's been my experience this past week.

We've spent many an hour on the couch lately just watching my belly move and undulate. It's wild to see my own body moving on account of someone else's own body. Someone else's itty bitty body which weighs about 2 lbs. by now. That's 2 cans of black beans. We use this comparison because 2 cans of black beans are a staple in our pantry and often we'll venture into the kitchen and just carry around a couple of cans for awhile. You know, just to see what 2 lbs. really feels like. Funny, the cans don't squirm like Awesome does.

Unrelated: Is anyone else swooning due to Denny's reappearance on Grey's Anatomy? *drool, swoon, drool* And how about the introduction of a character with Aspergers? Pretty groundbreaking. Ooh, Denny's back onscreen. Gotta jet.

23 weeks. Excuse me, have you seen my toes?

23 weeks. Awesome is huge!

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