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.

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.

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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Lucky # 7

7 years ago today my husband ran through the streets of TriBeCa, a thin layer of ash and dust collecting on his skin and clothes. He called out to his friends, held the hands of strangers, pulled his dog into a building to escape the cloud of smoke and ash filling the street behind him.

7 years ago everything he knew about life and about New York changed. He was one of many. Many who were lucky and many who were devastated.

We will never forget. We need no bumper sticker or tribute video to remind us.

Next time won't you sing with me?

Amazed. Bewildered. Captivated. Delighted. Excited. Frenzied. Gaga. Hopeful. Intimidated. Jubilant. K. L. Marvelous. Neurotic. Overwhelmed. Piqued. Questioning. Rapturous. Shocked. Terrified. Unbelieving. Victorious. Wondering. X. Y. Z.

My ABCs of pregnancy. Anyone have any suggestions for K, L, X, Y, or Z?

It's about time!

As of yesterday, California began performing and recognizing same-sex marriages. The first couple to wed in San Fransisco was a couple that has been together for more than 50 years. Del Martin, 87, and Phyllis Lyon, 84 got married. They actually married back in '04 during the brief window when CA said same-sex marriages were legal... only to later have that union invalidated.

These two women are an example of perserverence. They are an example that love can triumph and that committment can last. For more than 50 years they've shared their lives and been partners. That's all I can hope for my husband and I - that we reach the 50 year mark with as much tenacity and love as those women.

Ball & Chain

I love being married. It's new. It feels great. There's this sense of wonder that accompanies my newly married status. My relationship with my now husband hasn't really changed. We were living together before. We were totally committed to each other. We planned on a future together that includes kids and the whole nine yards. We are each other's family. Getting married didn't make a difference in the way we see each other or treat each other.

But something is different. Something is more important. Seems like there's this part of us that is officially "in it" now. It's strange. I used to think getting married wasn't a necessary part of life for me. I didn't think that the piece of paper with the state seal on it made much of a difference if the commitment was already there.

But then I married my husband. I married him and realized that this is what I wanted all along. It's an amazing feeling.

Grey Monday

(Matthew did a marvelous job with the photo I took of an old clock in Paris)

If I'm being honest (yes, that was a Simon Cowell reference) I'll say that today I'm a little bummed out. Today is just a day. Just a Monday. It's raining. It's cold. This kind of damp cold sets into my bones and chills me through until the next warm day appears.

This plain, rainy Monday holds none of the giddy anticipation of the wedding planning days. It doesn't have the buzz of the Monday we left for our honeymoon. We're not setting out for Berlin's Checkpoint Charlie tomorrow. Nothing. Today is simply today.

How is it that before the wedding that was good enough and now it seems so lackluster? I think this is what people mean when they talk about the post-wedding blues.

Silly if you think about it. I'm getting blue because I feel like there's no big something looming on my horizon to look forward to. I know that every day can't be my wedding day, and to wish it were is preposterous. Still, that doesn't stop a small part of me from longing for that excitement again. That small part is big enough to hold sway on my moon on a rainy, plain Monday.

I have much to be thankful for. I have the most loving husband and the best friends I could conjure up. Plus, "all signs point to yes" for my chances of getting an offer for the job I had a second interview for today. Those are all wonderful, bright, shining things. I'm glad to have them.

But, today is still a rainy Monday in the end. So, when my husband comes home I'll open a bottle of champagne and we'll dance around the kitchen and pretend that it's the end of a very exciting day. He's my fairytale prince, afterall. No harm in a little make-believe.

Ego = reason to know good photogs

Here is what I've learned: if you want to make yourself feel really good, just hire a pro! Our photographers for the wedding were so damn good, I can't tell you how much I appreciate them. They made me feel beautiful all day long. I mean, I clean up nice and all, but I don't look like a model. These photos make me feel like one, though. I can look back at these when I'm 80 and wrinkled to bits and remember how vibrant I looked and felt on my wedding day. I married the most amazing man I know and we both looked smashing. Everyone looked smashing. We honestly had the most beautiful wedding in every way. In look, in sentiment, in the vibe of the room, everything was filled with a beauty I didn't expect.

The most spectacular library you could imagine. These are our nearest and dearest... they call came together for us and thinking back on it makes my eyes tear up. People came from all over just for us. Amazing.

Listening to the toasts given by our best man and maid of honor. To say we were grateful and touched more deeply than we ever thought possible would still leave room for more praise for those 2 wonderful people.

P.S. I did my hair & makeup in 30 minutes. I was pretty proud of myself.

Recap

Honeymoon recap in photos:

Voltaire is buried in here. Victor Hugo, too. Both Curies. Even on our honeymoon we soak in the history of wherever we are. Lucky for us, Paris is chock full of it.

My husband is a goofball. How do you say "goofball" in French? J'adore mon goofball.

Saint Wenceslas (of Christmas carol fame) has many things named after him in Prague. One of those things is the cafe we had breakfast at twice (yes, beer with breakfast is totally normal, apparently). Here's the Saint himself. He went to high school in Madison, Wisconsin and was a very nice kid.

We got a ticket on the subway from a mean inspector in Prague.

We don't care. We go to Berlin tomorrow!

Train to Berlin from Prague. The guy in the dining car gave me a bottle of champagne when I told him we were on our honeymoon. Very sweet man. Everyone here is so kind.

Even in Berlin (the home of the Berliner - jellydoughnut) there are American fatty food joints. I had to eat a heart shaped donut. I mean, it was my patriotic duty. Wasn't it?

Happy couple. Happy married couple. Matthew refers to me as "wife" a lot. It's rather disgustingly cute.

We love the biergarten near the Berlin Zoo. The best schnitzel and the best beer! You know you've got a huge meal when the plate makes you look skinny. It's accessible only by bike or foot. There are colored lights strung above the tables. The communal tables lead to fun and interesting conversation and the locals don't seem to mind helping us with our pathetic lack of German language skills.

2 pairs of American feet standing where the Berlin wall once stood. Right here a wall was put up that separated families from their loved ones, employees from their employers, friends from friends... freedom died here, and was later resurrected in the same spot. If that doesn't make you think and appreciate your life I don't know what will.

WTF, Melissa?

I do something that annoys me. I have always done it and I have always hated it. I wonder if anyone else does it.

When I go on vacation, without fail, I start to think about how sad I'll be when the vacation is over roundabout the second day. As if there is some invisible clock that hangs over my head counting down the seconds, minutes, hours, days until I have to go back home and look reality in the face all over again.

It's day 2. There are 8 left. I woke up this morning with a pang of sadness because I know it will soon be over. I've vowed to put those thoughts out of my mind. They're useless. There is no sense in thinking about the end of the honeymoon when there are 8 glorious days left. I am so ridiculous.

P.S. This clock is in a tiny square we discovered today. We walked past the same streets last year, but we didn't walk down and explore this exact place. Matthew said this clock looked like it could make time stop. For a few moments today I wished that were true.

Love, love, love this place!

Paris is magic. It's the place we both wanted to go first in Europe when we finally got the chance. Ever since we were kids we wanted to see this city and experience it for ourselves. We came here last year for the first time and it was the best trip of our lives... until this one, of course!

This is where we got engaged. This place holds a special place in our hearts because we decided to spend our lives together here. We took a big step toward creating a family here. We fell in love with each other all over again and fell in love with the city at the same time. That was almost a year ago.

This trip has a different feel, a different purpose. We got married. We are husband and wife now. We travel here as a governmentally recognized unit. I wear one more ring on my finger now.

We're staying at the same hotel, we've seen some of the same people, but it feels a little different. It feels spectacular. It's been raining and grey and we don't even care. Paris is gorgeous, even when viewed from under an umbrella huddled together with your favorite person.

Paris, nous sommes pretes!

** Welcome to the first installment of the honeymoon make-up posts. Each was jotted down in one form or another - on a napkin at the airport, in a notebook in Paris, in the back of guide book in Prague, on a postcard in Berlin... **

We leave tonight. We head to Europe. 10 days of nothing but each other, peppered with bits of history (or lots of it, if we stay true to our typical nerdy selves) and varying degrees of embarrassing language blunders. It's going to be amazing. We'll be in Paris, Prague, and Berlin; each for 3 nights. Getting to spend some time alone is going to be wonderful, but I already know we'll miss our friends and be glad to get back to Brooklyn when it's over. Besides, the Dukester will be hard to be away from for a week and a half.

I can only imagine what this honeymoon will be like. Matthew is a super romantic guy anyway, so putting him in Europe is like giving his romantic tendencies a steroid. Add the fact that we just got married to the mix and our entire trip will probably be shrouded in a happy cloud of soft-focus mushiness. I really am the luckiest woman alive.




(I mean, look at how goofy I get when I look at this man! This is the first of the wedding photos I'll post courtesy of the awesome photographers from Beautiful Union Portraits.)

We did it

(image courtesy of Beautiful Union Portraits)


We're married. I'm a wife. He's a husband. It's the best.

I was told by more guests than I can count that it was the best wedding they'd ever been to and I couldn't agree more. Every aspect of our night was perfect. I want to document many of those things here, but it will need to wait until I am a little more coherent and awake. It's been an absolute whirlwind for 36 hours and I need a nap more than anything else at this point.

What I can tell you, despite my state of partial consciousness, is that I would not have changed a single thing. It was my perfect wedding. He is my perfect husband. I'm going to do my best to be his perfect wife from here on out. I couldn't ask for more.

I will share so much more a little later. Here's a preview: Matthew told me he had a surprise for me. He refused to give me a clue further than "it has something to do with a fat guy named David". I had no idea what he was cooking up. Halfway through our reception our band gave him the mic, handed him a guitar, and he surprised me with the most beautiful rendition of "Our House" by CSN&Y with 2 of our best friends singing harmony and playing 2nd guitar. To say there wasn't a dry house in the place would be an understatement.

The big day

** I must confess that I've written this in advance to be posted today because I know I'll have so many things to do. **

Today's the day. Today I marry the most amazing person I know. Matthew, my love, my partner, my cool breeze, my sunshine.

Thank you to all of you who have visited me in this space for all these years and wished me well. I appreciate the kinds words in good times and in bad more than you probably know. Sometimes planning this wedding was so stressful and to alleviate some of the strain I'd go back and read a few of the amazing things you've said to me in the past. You've been so supportive, a real community. You've helped me though some rough spots and you've cheered me on through the triumphs.

Today is a big day. My life will never be the same. I'll have an official stamp on the partnership I've been half of for 2 years now. I'll even have a different last name! I couldn't be happier to be Matthew's wife.

I'll probably post all my honeymoon posts when we get back, so if you don't see any movement in this space don't be alarmed. I'll be back in 12 days with stories to tell and photos to share. I'll miss you!

Last-minute reprieve!

(<-- my bro and my dad)

I have now become one of those 30 year old women who have been saved in one financial way or another by their father. I never thought it would happen to me. I'm not the kind of girl who discusses my finances with my parents... I'm an adult. We severed financial ties long ago and it's a good thing in my book.

So, when I called my dad on Friday afternoon and told him I needed to vent I was not expecting him to swoop in with a superhero getup and save the day. But he did. See, he had his performance review around the same time I had mine. His was equally filled with bullshit - it always is. In fact, his nickname around the store last year was Mr. Meets Expectations because of his constant middle of the road reviews no matter how well the store is performing. Anyway, we had previously talked about the bonus I was scheduled to get and how it was going to pay for the catering and all that. I told him I needed to vent about how I didn't get it on time and now I was screwed and Matthew was going to have to ask his crazy cokehead boss to front us the cash until my payout came through. I was talking very fast, my voice was loud, I was angry, he was quietly listening... and then I cracked. The tears started. I hate crying in front of my dad. He's not good with emotion. It makes him uncomfortable. His standard response to tears is, "You are out of control right now." I was out of control while I sobbed and told him I was very worried and let down and how those people are assholes and I need a new job and... and... and...

"Missy, (yes, that's my nickname that I can't seem to shake no matter how hard I try, stop laughing - the only people who are allowed to call me that are my family and my friends from high school, The Rover included) don't worry. I'll get you the money. The wedding will go off without a hitch. Don't you worry. It will be OK." When those words came out of his mouth I was shocked. Not shocked because my parents aren't kind people with generous hearts, but because I know my folks don't have that kind of money lying around. Turns out he had just gotten an equity loan to do some fixer-upper stuff around the house and he had some dough at his disposal. He wasn't going to start the repairs until after the wedding anyway, so he can loan me the money without it affecting him much at all.

The timing couldn't be more perfect. I'm amazed. You know what else is amazing? 3 different friends stepped forward of their own accord and offered to lend us their tax returns, no questions asked. I must say, I feel very loved and cared for. We are so fortunate. We have wonderful parents and unbelievable friends. Heroic acts of generosity have been shown to us in a pretty scary time... I know I will not soon forget how hopeless I felt only to be buoyed by our friends and family at a moment's notice.

Today I am grateful and humbled and full of joy. Tears are happy ones today. You don't think just because things are going well I'd stop crying, do you? *wink*

But, I love you

Dumbest arguement I've had in a long time: whether or not it means I've "given up" and "conceded defeat" if I choose a plain wedding band rather than the most perfect, spectacular, antique, art nouveau one.

The original idea for our wedding rings was to find vintage art nouveau (or deco, beggars can't be choosy) rings that matched, that were perfectly in our size (you can't easily size a nouveau ring because of the intricacy of the details), and that fit our budget. As you can probably tell, those criteria had a snowball's chance in hell of being realized.

When I finally said I'd like to get a plain, thin band that matched the plain, thin band of my engagement ring it turned into me settling for boring crap instead of going for the gold... quite literally. With 18 days left to go there's no way we're finding matching bands. The chips are stacked against us - we left too little time to mount a proper search, both our fingers are bigger than the typical ring sizes of the 1910s-20s which is the period our favorite designs come from, we didn't want to go with reproductions, finding vintage and estate jewelry in NYC is easy, finding it at affordable prices is not.

I finally made my point that a plain, simple band would look best with my engagement ring, but it was a struggle. End result: concensus. His response, "But, I love you!" 'Nuff said.