Lasts and Firsts

This morning, I woke up and heard the baby. I picked him up and started to nurse him for the very last time. It felt strange to know that we are done with this phase, and even stranger that barring a whole string of surprises, I will never nurse another baby.

And yet here we are.

Later, I got on an airplane for a business trip -- the first business trip I've been on for years without my husband and babies in tow. It is strangely quiet and surreal without them. I don't know if I can get used to it, although a few hours of blissful, solo sleep will help.

The Second Baby

It was about this time last year - about 11 pm - that I realized that the contractions were finally getting stronger. I had been having them sporadically for weeks - through the blizzard! - but after a long day of work, 36 hours before my scheduled C-section, I was in actual labor.

I woke up my husband, we grabbed our bags and the kid - after all, my mother-in-law wasn't driving up until the morning- and got in the newly acquired minivan. We drove in to the city, to my office, so I could get my computer. After all, my labor barely progressed the last time, so I had plenty of time.

We got to the hospital, got checked in, and waited. They were getting me ready for a C-section - next, after the doctor finished another surgery. I was at 3 centimeters. My daughter, then 3 (and a half!) held my hand during the bad contractions, telling me it was all going to be okay. My friend came to sit with her. It was about 2 am.

They gave me an epidural. It worked for a little while. But then, like last time,  it stopped working. They prepped me for surgery. And then we waited. And waited.

Just after 5:30, they wheeled me in to the OR. They took one look at me and told me nevermind. I was ready to push. I said, "I can't do this." I was unprepared. I spent the entire pregnancy planning the easy non-traumatic birth I had been denied the first time, and they were taking it away from me.

They wheeled me into L&D. And, apparently, I could do it, just like generations of women have for all of history.

It all happened so fast: the baby was in my arms by 6:40. My handsome, healthy son was an unplanned VBAC. I should always remember that the universe just laughs while I'm busy making plans.

I was up walking within hours instead of days. My milk came in and I nursed. (Heck, I'm still nursing this hungry baby.). He stayed next to me the entire time, We were home in 2 days.

This baby. My second baby. My last baby. My son.

On the eve of his first birthday, he is about 21 pounds - so much bigger than his sister! He has the goofiest six-toothed smile and a contagious laugh. He has a sparkle in his big brown eyes that warns me when he is up to no good. He loves his dad, worships his sister, and makes friends wherever he goes.

Mostly, though, he is mine. And he doesn't know it yet, but he has healed me in so many ways.

This time last year...

In June of last year, I found out I was pregnant again after the miscarriage.  We were excited again, but apprehensive.

Then, on the third of July, I started bleeding again, just shy of ten weeks, just like the last time. I called the doctor, and she said that there was not much she could do. We'd have to wait and see through the long weekend. 

I pretty much cried for two days. I came as close to praying as I ever have. And then, we went for our ultrasound. 

The baby was healthy and perfect, despite the bleeding.

And now he's here, my handsome, happy boy. 

Kid versus the alarm

Since the baby came along 10 weeks ago, everyone has been more tired than usual. (Go figure.)  

It has affected my daughter in a couple of ways. First of all, we have been more permissive about bedtime. I mean, when you are exhausted from dealing with a newborn, the last thing you want to do is fight with a threenager about her bedtime. Second, when I get up early to feed her brother, I let her sleep in.  And third, I'm on maternity leave, so unless there's an early morning appointment, there is not a lot of urgency in my schedule. 

When you combine these things with the time change, the abandonment of all naps, and everything else, my former early riser is now waking up at 9 am or later, and going to sleep at 9:30 or sometimes even 10. It's plenty of sleep -11 hours - but it needs to be shifted back a few hours, particularly as I go back to work soon. 

So, my husband and I came up with a plan. We would get her an alarm clock, figuring that she could use it now that she is starting to tell time, and also, it would wake her up. I wanted to buy her a kid's clock, but my husband really liked a pink-and-white old fashioned dual-bell alarm clock. I went along with it. 

We ordered the clock and it arrived yesterday. The kid was in love: she played with it, learned how to switch it off, and proudly put it near her bed. It was Friday night, so I set the alarm to wake her with plenty of time to get ready for her Saturday morning gymnastics class. 

In the morning, I woke up and started feeding the baby. I looked at my clock and realized that the alarm was about to go off. All of a sudden, I hear the bell, both through the walls and the baby monitor, followed closely by a blood-curdling scream. Then "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! MOMMY! I am SCARED! It's too loud! MAKE IT STOP!  AAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

I ran in there with the baby still on my boob, half laughing. I turned off the alarm and calmed my daughter down. 

Tonight, she made me take the alarm clock out of her room. I promised her that it was off, but she doesn't trust me anymore. 

Appellate Jurisdiction

The other day, the kiddo was watching TV (Disney Junior) and saw something she wanted on a commercial -- I am not even sure what it was, but I can guarantee that she already has something similar, in the piles of toys that have eaten the family room. Whatever it was, she told me she wanted it, and I said, "Do you have money to pay for it?" She said, "No, but you do. Buy it for me."

I stuck to my guns and said no. I don't remember exactly what she said after that, but the gist of it was that she did not believe me and wanted to appeal my decision to a higher authority. I told her she had two choices: Santa Claus or Grandpa. 

Of course, the smart kid says, "I want to talk to Grandpa's face!"

On the one hand, I think it's great that she wants to talk to my dad.  On the other hand, he will probably buy her what he wants.  He used to be really good at saying no, but with the grandkids, seems to lack the same resolve.

Now I just have to teach a 75 year old how to use Skype.

The Pre-Halloween Halloween

The week before Halloween, we had gotten a notice from school that they would be having a Halloween/Fall Festival on October 31. Then the kiddo -- who is so not a baby anymore -- was out of school for a few days with a little cold and a low fever.  She went home Tuesday afternoon when it started -- and because we've now reached that parenting point that having to drop everything to go get her in the middle of the day is more disruptive than just keeping her home in the first place -- she didn't go back to school until Friday morning, October 30.

Costume 1

Apparently, while she was out, the school posted flyers everywhere that they were going to have a Halloween parade on Friday morning, in addition to the festival the next afternoon.  So, without advance notice that there was going to be a parade that day, I brought a kid to school without a costume. I should have assumed that there'd be something, like every other school everywhere, except the ones that think Halloween is evil -- but I wrongly believed that the reason they gave us notice about the Saturday event was to keep us from sending kids in costume on Friday. Oops.

Costume 2

When we got to the threes room, almost all of the other girls in the threes class were dressed as princesses.  (One was Spidergirl, and I give her mad props for going against the relentless tide.)  Only my kid and one other -- her friend Melanie -- did not have a costume at all. The other princesses all gave me a hard time because my kid did not have a princess dress -- it seems that even preschoolers hold their friends' moms to very high standards.  

Costume 3

The two costume-less girls were so sad when I left -- the other kids were sitting in the circle for story time, and the two of them were sitting outside the circle together, with the most dejected looks on their faces.  I got in the car and started driving to work, but then I felt really guilty. So, I turned around, drove to the house, grabbed two princess dresses from the dress-up bin, and brought them to the school. Sleeping Beauty and Rapunzel were very happy princesses, the teachers think that I am the best ever -- and I was very late to work.

Two ... and a half

Two-and-a-half is a complicated age.

Two-and-a-half means constant motion, constant dialogue, constant arguments.  She has her own opinion about everything, and she cannot be dissuaded.  She will argue to the death that something is pink even though everyone else says that it is red. Our conversations go something like this:

"Here you go, Mommy.  Fix it please."
"Why did you put the little blue lizard in the kaleidoscope?"
"IT'S NOT A LIZARD! IT'S A FROG!"

For the record, it is blue and has a tail -- it is certainly not a frog.  I still think it is a lizard, though I could be convinced that it is a newt.

She is a picky eater. She is bossy.  She throws a temper tantrum at the drop of a hat.

She is energetic.  She is funny.  She is sweet, when she wants to be.

She is the best thing ever.

Her Grandmother's Granddaughter

Mom,

How I wish you could have met her. She reminds me so much of you -- she has blue eyes like yours, and her laugh is infectious.  Her favorite color is pink.  You would have seen the irony in that.

She loves to sing.  We sing good morning to each other and we make up silly songs.  Sometimes we sing the Frozen soundtrack at the top of our lungs in the car.

She loves to cuddle with me.  In the evening, before bedtime, she curls up next to me on the couch. She talks a lot now.  Sometimes she tells me about her day, or about what we are watching on TV.

We like to read books together.  She likes to point at the pictures and tell me what she sees.  Sometimes she asks what the word is, and then she repeats it in the cutest little tentative voice.  It feels like she is learning 100 words a day.

When she wakes up too early, I take her in the big bed with me for a cuddle.  I am instantly transported back, 30-plus years and a couple hundred miles, to the big bed in the house in New Jersey.  I can still feel how much I was loved.  If nothing else, I hope to pass that on.

We miss you every day, but especially today.  Happy birthday.



(also posted at blah blah blog)

And this, too.

There are one or two amazing things I forgot to write about in my earlier post.

A few days ago, she got a scratch on her leg, and I told her that I would kiss her boo-boo all better.  She loves that.  Now she asks for me to kiss her boo-boo every day, even though you can barely see anything.  And then, this weekend, I had a scratch on my chin.  She pointed to it, said, "Mommy boo-boo.  Kiss?"  And then she gave me the biggest, wettest kiss.

In our new family room, we have a blue striped throw blanket.  Every evening, when she starts to get tired, she brings me the blanket and says "Baby."  That means that she wants me to wrap her up in the blanket like a little swaddled baby and cuddle with her.

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I love these things so much.  I hope they never end.

Two

It's been a long time since I've written.  So long that the baby is not a baby anymore -- she turned two last month.

At two, she is a bona fide toddler.  She runs and she jumps and she climbs and she talks and she squeals and she laughs and she throws the most ridiculous temper tantrums.

A few weeks ago, we were in a chain restaurant near our new house -- yes, a house! in the suburbs! -- and after a string of me telling her to stop doing things -- no climbing, no squirming, no throwing food, no kicking mommy -- she wrote me a song.  "Mommy, no!" is destined to be a hit, someday.

She knows what she likes and what she doesn't like.  She loves matchbox cars, peeling the paper off of her crayons, anything from Frozen.  We were in Walmart right before her birthday, and she saw a whole display of Elsa dolls.  I tried to walk past them, but she is too quick.  "Oooh, Mommy!" she squealed.  "Let it gooooooo!"

She now has one of those dolls.  How do you say no to that?

We go to gymnastics every Saturday.  She loves to tumble, to climb on things, to swing from bars and rings.

This child has almost no fear.  A few weeks ago, I would have told you that she has no fear, but a few tumbles down the stairs have changed that.  She is now averse to the stairs.  She stands at the landing and cries, "Mommy, carry!"  It doesn't matter how full my arms are -- or how empty Daddy's arms are -- she only wants me to carry her.  No amount of scooting or crawling or handholding will do.  Only carrying, and only Mommy.

I'm sure I will miss this when she is a teenager and hates me to the core of my being.

This weekend, we went to the grocery store.  While we were waiting in a long checkout line, she lost it.  Not even stickers from the cashier would make it better.  So, I took her out to carry her, her diaper bag, and, two heavy bags of groceries.

Finally, we made it to the car -- on the second level of the parking garage, of course. I had to put her down to find the keys.  I stood her up between my legs and told her to put her hand on the car.  Instead, she ran.

She only got a few steps away before I caught her.  When I did, she gave me this look -- you know the look, the look you give someone when you are taunting them, when you are waiting for a reaction.  In that moment, I could see the future teenager that is going to challenge me on everything.

I was so scared and angry; I gave her a whole speech about running away from Mommy in a place where there were cars, and she could have gotten hurt, and NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.  She laughed.  I told her that I was so angry with her that we couldn't listen to Frozen in the car for the rest of the day.  Her reaction changed.  "No, Mommy, no!  Let it go!"

Indeed.

Post-Vacation Realization

This weekend, I finally figured out the one thing I really didn't understand before having kids. 

Before, at the end of a long day of work, I could relax in the evening (in my quiet, clean house). And if that wasn't enough, there was always the weekend to recharge. And if THAT wasn't enough, there was always a three-day-weekend or vacation to look forward to. 

Now, my weekends are lots of toddler-wrangling surrounded by piles of laundry and broken up by errand-running. And today, at the end of a long weekend mini-vacation just a short drive away, I am just as tired, if not more so, than at the beginning. 

So that leads to my new-found understanding. It's not the sleep deprivation that you have when your kid is a newborn that is the killer. (That ends, thank goodness.) It's that, with kids, there is no real "down time" to relax and recharge. Maybe ever. 

This is not really a complaint: I wouldn't trade my kid for the cleanest, quietest house or all the fancy spa vacations in the world. But sometimes, I wish I could have it both ways. 

The Truth About Having A Baby

I read so many of blogs and Facebook posts about pregnancies, birth stories, and the early days with babies. Everyone seems to have had such lovely experiences. I think that's why I never wrote anything of substance about mine: other than the outcome -- my delightful daughter -- my experiences were not pleasant (understatement of the century). I had a challenging pregnancy; I had a long, painful, and traumatic childbirth experience, the high point of which was the surgical intervention; my first few weeks with my daughter were painful because of complications from surgery and panicked because of breastfeeding difficulties. None of it was pretty, and almost a year after the baby's birth, I am still traumatized.

Don't read any further if you're squeamish.

Mother's Day

I woke up at 6:15 this morning to the sound of the monitor. It wasn't a full-fledged cry, and it wasn't one of the whimpers that mean that she's not fully awake yet; it was somewhere in between. It gave me enough time to run to the bathroom and get her bottle warmed before I got her.

When I got in the room, she was standing up in her crib, supported by one hand on the toy piano we have suspended from the footboard. She was, as always, happy to see me. And despite my lack of sleep -- she had awoken, briefly, at midnight, and her dad's alarm went off at 3 am -- I was beyond happy to see her.

Diaper, bottle, playtime on the floor, breakfast, another diaper, more playtime, another bottle, snuggles, and a nap: a morning just like every other weekend morning.

This was my mother's day; my first one as a mom. It was also the first one in a very long time that hasn't been overwhelmingly tinged with sadness and loss. I still miss my mother terribly, but I have so much more now than I ever did before. I am so very lucky.

Practicing her pouty face.

At Eight Months

My daughter is eight months old today.

Flower Girl.

She gives sloppy open mouth kisses when she feels like it, and has been known to applaud the weather forecast. She giggles when you do something unexpected, like blow raspberries on her belly. She pinches me and pulls my hair, a lot, usually when I am feeding her. 

She holds on to me so tightly when I pick her up when she's crying in the middle of the night, and first thing in the morning too. She pushes me away when she wants to play with her toys. She likes the toys with the flashing lights, or the ones that make noise or play music, more so when someone close by is sleeping.

She likes to roll over mid-diaper change and wave her little butt in the air. I know I shouldn't laugh, but I do anyway. She calls me "Da Da," even though I keep telling her that my name is "Mama." I know that, eventually, she'll get it right.

She can crawl or roll from one end of the house to the other in seconds. She likes to climb on me, and now she uses my limbs, or whatever else she can find, to pull herself up to standing.  

She is a force of nature, this baby. She is exhausting and exhilarating. And I have never loved anything or anyone as fiercely.

Wittlebee

This week, we received our first Wittlebee box: a really cute three piece purple set, grey sweatpants, a threadless t-shirt, and an orange hooded sweatshirt.

We can't wait to see what they send next month!

If you are interested in having cute kid's clothes sent to you without having to shop or even think about it, you should check it out. And if you use my link, you save $10.

Six Months

This is a little late, since she'll be seven months on Tuesday.  But let's just say that so far, six months is the best.

Hello, Kitty.

Dear Leo's Mom

I saw you crying when you dropped Leo off at daycare for the first time today. I wanted to hug you, to tell you that it's okay, that it gets better. But the truth is that I don't know if it does. We just learn to hide it better so that we can get done what needs to get done, and so that our babies don't know that we're really a wreck inside.

It's not like the daycare isn't a good place. It is. They've been taking excellent care of my daughter for the past two months. She is happy and well-cared for, and really, what more could I ask? Still, if I didn't have to work, I'd be staying at home with her, soaking up all the cuddles and delighting in watching her figure out this crazy, extraordinary world. But that's not currently in the budget.

You are lucky, in some respects: Leo is over 4 months old and today is the first day that you dropped him off. I had to go back to work when my baby was just 12 weeks old, still a newborn. And, like you, I cried.

I cried after every babysitter interview. When we finally found someone, and I left her the first time, just for two hours as a transition, I cried the entire time. Then, when I went back to work full-time, I cried in the car for a week. Some days, I cried in my office, and in the evening after I put her to sleep. And then, three weeks later, when she started at the daycare? I went through the whole process all over again.

I cried because I felt like such a bad mommy. But now I know, I am not a bad mommy: I am doing what I need to do to take care of my family to the best of my ability. Bad mommies are the ones that don't make sacrifices to take care of their families; mommies that always put their own wants and desires first.

You are not a bad mommy.

It gets easier. I promise.

"Sleeps like a baby." Yeah, right.

I left work early on Friday to take the baby to the pediatrician for her four-month well-baby visit.  She got shots, and we both seem to be handling it better now. She only screamed for a minute before falling asleep, and this time, I only got a little teary-eyed.  Then we came home and she had her first rice cereal.

Of course, she was fussy and sick all weekend. On Saturday, she barfed so much that I think we set a record in the number of outfit changes in a single day -- hers AND mine. Sometimes it seems like she holds it in until I'm the one holding her, and then she lets go.  She almost always smiles after she barfs on me, particularly if I've just showered. 

She loves to pull my hair.  I got a haircut yesterday, and when she saw me, she cried. It was like I threw out her favorite toy.

This week, she decided that she hates sleeping in her crib. She waits for me to fall asleep and then cries, inconsolably, until I take her into bed with me, which means that I'm sleeping in the guest bed about 75% of the time, so L can sleep. Then she will only sleep ON me.  Of course, on L's days off, when he goes in to console her, she seems to go right back to sleep. 

Sleeping like a baby. When it suits her.

She is SO good at daycare, all smiles and sunshine. The teachers love her to pieces: we walk in, and they all can't wait to snuggle with my baby. But they think that I'm a disaster. Today, when I took her in -- late, because she woke up at 5:30 and then fell asleep when I was trying to get us out the door --  all of the teachers were super concerned because she has a big cut on her cheek. Of course, they weren't around during the hysterical crying fit where she clawed her face.  

The worst was Friday, when they called me to ask me whether it was okay to wake her up, because she slept for over 2 hours.  Of course she sleeps there -- BECAUSE SHE WON'T SLEEP AT NIGHT, IN HER CRIB.

Three Months

The first three months went by in a whirlwind.

One minute it was my due date, and it seemed like I had been pregnant forever, not just 40 weeks.  There I was, planning my induction for the next week, and heading into the office because I would go stir-crazy at home, waiting ... and seemingly out of nowhere, my water broke, and I was headed to the hospital to have the baby.  Then, the long, long, LONG unproductive labor, followed by the c-section, and then -- the best part -- getting to meet our new little person for the very first time.

One day.

Since then, it seems like time has sped up.

One Month.

Every millisecond seems to go by more quickly than the previous one.

Two Months.

My once-teeny-tiny little newborn is now a sweet, wonderful, three month old girl.  She holds her head up by herself; she plays with toys; she giggles, squeals and coos in an attempt to communicate. Sometimes I am scared to blink, for fear that I will miss the next great achievement.

Three Months.

Week 40

We've made it in to our 40th week, and all is relatively well. I am ready for the pregnancy to be over (and the parenting to begin); the baby seems to be quite comfortable staying where she is. L says that she gets the stubbornness from my side of the family.

At the doctor this week, we picked out an induction date, just in case the baby doesn't budge. I'm glad there's an end in sight, but I really thought that things would get going on their own.

Honestly, I have to admit that I'm a little bummed that there's no sign of the baby yet today. I mean, how perfect would it be for a mom born on one all-American holiday (Thanksgiving Day) to have a daughter born on the other (Independence Day)? Then again, my sister was born on Christmas, and while my nephew was due around Easter, he wasn't born that day either. Maybe I should stop looking for patterns in these things....