Gone Fishing

The baby and I are heading out to Iowa tomorrow and to my parents' house today. This means radio silence here until we get back.

She opened the day by turbo horking on me so I don't think that really bodes well.

This all seemed like a brilliant idea when I was a pregnant but now I just want some one to hold me.

Until next week.

Apparently Not Enough Sleep For Good Writing

The baby slept six hours straight two nights in a row. Now that I have told the internets she will not do it again until she is seventeen years old. But I really enjoyed that baby! I got five hours straight which proves how deeply I have sunk into Mama Stockholm Syndrome because when J told me I needed a nap I was like "But I slept so LONG!"

WTF really.

She gave me her cold though. Sore throat, cruddy nose, one droopy eye. So I can barely enjoy my five hours straight.

We also had baby's first bloody nose today. Closely followed by baby's first bloody towel. I am sure it is the dry air even though I am running the humidifier non-stop. In a couple of days we went from crusty to runny to scabby. LOVELY

By MYSELF

Today I got my hair done.

I went out. By myself. For a couple of hours.

And no one sucked anything from my boobs.

It was pretty awesome.

And, as is my habit, I read US Magazine while waiting for my color to process (sweet JESUS I needed the color no wonder I looked so tired) and can I just say that my baby is way fucking cuter than Nicole Richie's? Yeah, an old issue but STILL. My baby is way damn cuter.

I, however, am not as cute as Nicole Richie. Her whole body weighs the same as my left arm I am sure.

Earlier this week I went to my six week post partum appointment--even though the baby is seven weeks old. Everyone knows that this appointment is so you can be approved to have sex again and so your OB can play with the baby. The baby was passed around gleefully, even with the snuffles, and I was sort of approved to, as Dooce says, "reconvene the procedure."

Sort of meaning sure go ahead, but WAIT don't because I am getting an IUD put in and no sex for a couple of weeks before that. What I love about my OB is that she nicely asked if J would be ok waiting and then laughed her ass off because well not really but tough shit.

People are already asking when we are going to have another. WTF people? And they seem to take our answer of "Um never . . ." as some sort of insult to the baby. No, the baby is delightful. Why mess with delightful? Actually, this decision was not come by lightly and has nothing to do with the actual baby and has everything to do with money and careers and class and Blah Blah BORING SHIT THAT IS NOT YOUR BUSINESS BUT NEITHER IS YOUR ORIGINAL QUESTION ASS. . .

Anyway, seven weeks is a little early to be asking me when I am having another baby.

Yes We Are Still In Our PJs

The baby has a cold. A runny nose, weeping eyed, drooling mess cold. A cold that her father brought home. She's had the crusty nose for a week, fighting back the rest valiantly with the aid of a humidifier and a sunny attitude (where does she get that?) But yesterday she caved in a baby-made-of-rubber-meltdown kind of way. It was a long night.

And it's been a long day. The routine is this: baby awakens in full scream, change diaper, suck snot, nurse for massive amounts of time (not a complaint because she didn't eat so hot yesterday and she needs to), suck snot, talk to baby until she passes out cold in the middle of a giggle, wrap and prop her up in the baby easy chair (Boppy), chug Diet Coke. REPEAT. She is currently doing a cycle in the swing. When she is awake she is THRILLED with the ride and then passes out again. It's benign neglect but I am tired y'all.

Because guess who is getting the cold now?

Silent Partner

Does anyone else find nursing really really boring?

Of course the photos you see show mothers looking down at their babies reverently, all deeply bonding and shit. Mostly I stare off into space all stoned looking (but not stoned) or talk to the baby. Because I did the math and the amount of time I spend with that child latched onto my boob is most of my day. And it is damn dull.

Of course I want her to have the benefits of breast milk. And I have to say that nursing is so much easier (if you are lucky enough to not have any problems) than bottles. No mixing, no toting around stuff, no washing bottles . . .just whip it out. But still. BORING.

J hooked up a DVD player in her room and now I am working my way through every movie we own. We have watched the Disney classics (most alarming, I still remember every damn word of Beauty and the Beast from that year my sister watched it every day), Audrey's best (Breakfast at Tiffany's, Sabrina and My Fair Lady), and the works of Pixar. Also Meg Ryan movies. I am running out of movies because I don't buy many and J's are all Sci Fi or non-AB friendly.

I feel really lucky to have this time with her. And that I can feed her without much trouble. I just wish that she were a little speedier in her eating. Or could hold up her end of the conversation once in a while.

And Valentine's Day Is a Hallmark Holiday?

When, exactly, did St. Patrick's day become a card giving holiday? I understand that certain subcultures in this country really love this holiday (and by subcultures I don't just mean college students looking to get smashed on green beer) but really, do we need to make the kid's gift baskets and send Aunt Edna a card? And since Easter is so early this year Target looks like a holiday vomit-fest.

Easter cards I do understand, at least religious ones (the bunny ones make zero sense), because if you are celebrating a religious Easter well then that is something to celebrate. But WTF with everything else? Baskets sure. But good lord it is more out of hand than Christmas.

My grandmother was traumatized as a child by her dad who wouldn't let her wear green on St. Patrick's Day. She had to wear orange and she was pinched black and blue by the kids at school. So when we were little kids she would crochet little green shamrocks for all the kids in our class. A sweet gesture until you realize that she had six grandchildren (times thirty kids in a class), plus the kids in my mom's homeroom (another thirty) and whomever in my grandfather's office she made them for. . . then you realize that this was a compulsive 250 shamrock a February crafting habit that possibly required treatment. All because she never wanted anyone to get pinched again.

In other words, I hope people enjoy their green beer next week. My grandma can't crochet anymore so she will be worried about all of you.

Like Mommy

When you have a baby you are required by law to have 84,000 conversations about who does she look like and where did she get that adorable nose (what? THERE IS NO LAW?!). We do this as much as anyone else and even include annoying personality traits in the mix.

Mo looks like my daddy, and therefore me. With a round face and big blue eyes (which sadly I do not have) and even the nose a bit. The coloring is all wrong, of course, because her hair is like J's beard all one hundred colors and can't make up it's mind what to look like.

She snores like J. And even flings around a bit in her sleep like him. She hiccups like me (sorry) with full body convulsions. When she is dramatically flinging her binky around I tell her to stop being actressy like her Auntie A (heh). When she babbles it is remarkably like my mother.

I don't know why we feel the need to do this. Maybe it is an urge to claim a piece of the baby, a way to feel connected? Notice I only see my family in her? I hear my mother and law say something about how she looks like J's brother and LORD NO SHE DOESN'T.

The short legs and monkey length arms (making sleepers tragically impossible to fit) are both of our faults though. And we are deeply sorry.

Equations

MIL having a job = fantastic for morale.

Jeans that hold in the sag = fantastic for lack of muffin top.

Lunch with friends and their babies = fantastic for a week finish.

All of this = crappy for blog fodder.

So Dull

J is in the other room reciting most of Return of the Jedi to Mo. It is sort of impossibly cute. He usually takes her for a couple of hours in the morning (they sleep) and then just before bed. I try to leave them alone, but I still wish I could watch it. There is something about a man with a baby. So freakin adorable.

My MIL starts her new job tomorrow. Thank God. I think we are all relieved. And I could definitely use the time alone with the kid. As frustrating as she is sometimes it's easier without some one freaking out every time the kid makes a peep. Babies cry. I am putting that out into the universe as a general rule so that we are clear. So all grandmas and future grandmas, there is no need to wig when the baby cries. It will only piss off her mother. Who thinks you are a lovely person but stop. Please.

Other than that I've got nothing. Lands I am dull these days.

Things Happening

Things that have happened this week that might be interesting to some one (heh,me):

1. The child outgrew my favorite outfits in the newborn sizes. I am aware that other babies outgrow the newborn sizes on their way home from the hospital but my petite flower is supposed to grow and develop normally while still being able to wear her cute-ass outfits like this one (non-pink because it was bought by me on the clearance rack at the Gap--fortunately, I also bought it in the next size up in red).

2. Miss Mo has also started being a cranky bitch from 4-6 every day. Sometimes I can get her to nap through it but really it's all about survival. A normally good natured baby can have a cranky couple of hours and not be held under water by her loving parents. MAYBE.

3. My MIL got a job! With benefits! Relief all the way around!

4. Number 3!!!!

5. I got the shaky chills last night from a fever and generally felt like shit. Tylenol broke the fever but I am a little afraid that it is the flu or some infection. On one hand, please do not let me have the flu and give it to the baby. On the other, please don't let me have infected breasts.

6. My dad did our taxes and we are getting money back. We generally try to break even but shit, I would rather get money than have to pay.

7. My hair has reached epic proportions, so long and not thinning out fast enough. I really need to hack it all off but I am afraid to not have a ponytail option.

8. Help me with this hair!

37th Percentile in the Head HOW CAN THIS BE?

The kiddo will be a month old in a couple of days (or she is already since she was four weeks yesterday). I am not sure how the hell that happened, the getting to be a month old (how is she so old and how the fuck has it only been a month?), but the girl continues to be a wee one. At her Well Baby visit she moved up the growth charts from tee tiny to less tee tiny. An important step but how a child of mine could be so tiny escapes me.

She can coo and ah at you now but mostly it sounds like geese with gastrointestinal problems mating. The doc says she will give up a non-gassy smile any day. My MIL is convinced her every screech is colic and brings the woe multiple times a day. I think she is just fussy--it's hard being a month old.

Babies this age don't do much but she can pull my hair out by the roots, squawk like an uncomfortable water fowl, make wild eyed expressions, grab at the elephant on her gymni really insistently and charm the pants off everyone she meets. Not bad for the tiniest of the tiny.

As Well He Should

Today is J and my seventh wedding anniversary. Our wedding, while imperfect, was really amazing. We never truly wanted one, but I am grateful that we had one. It was simple, and very low key (and cheap!), but there is something incredible about all the people who love you in the world in one place, just wishing you the best.

We agreed to not exchange gifts, or do much to mark the day, since the baby is still so little. J broke the rules and bought me diamond earrings (which technically are a Valentine's/Anniversary/Thanks for popping out the baby gift) and we went out to a great dinner. I was scared to be away from the kiddo that long since I am her only food source. And my fear was rewarded with a HUGE freak out when we got back. She was so worked up about being hungry that she couldn't latch to eat.

But J jumped in and calmed her down and we tag teamed fed and calmed her and got her to bed. In a way that sums up our marriage better than diamonds and dinners. Sometimes things are just a raging hot mess and we run in and fix it whatever way we can--as a team.

Not the most romantic of thoughts, but one that is pretty fucking comforting in day to day marriage.

And since the kid is only a month old and I haven't had the all clear appointment there was no hope for J this was going to end with really sincere fellatio. He must really love me.

And Shall Never Be Again

For the past couple of days the child has been sucking the life out of me. Literally. The baby has wanted to do nothing but nurse and nurse and nurse. She will eat and then hang out for an hour and then want to eat again. She seems to be gaining weight in front of my very eyes. Which is excellent--we definitely want the little bugger to gain weight. However, does she have to eat non-stop all day? Apparently.

I've had to start eating, which is a positive. Because while losing more than thirty pounds in two weeks is awesome, it was mainly water and baby plus accessories. I still need to make sure I lose the last bit in a healthy way.

Sometimes it is easy to forget about the pregnancy--even though it was a freaking long and agonizing--and expect everything to be the way it was. My recovery has been amazing. I mean I had major surgery three weeks ago. My incision has healed nicely, a lot of the weight has come off, my skin is going back to normal. Of course, sometimes I sit up and want to scream because HI they just cut those muscles less than a month ago.

We're figuring stuff out here these days. Plugging along. The days blend together one after another.

And at least I am not pregnant any fucking more.

The Anti-Mush

That's my girl. Bright eyed. Awake. She does this now. It does make the rest of it easier to deal with.

She doesn't like baths. We learned this last night when she turned purple with RAGE at her bath. Screeching bloody murder from the second her clothes were off until we had her dressed again. Even then I was glad that I had planned ahead enough to wait to nurse after so she would calm down. The "Soothing Lavendar" bath stuff probably didn't make her sleepy as planned. But the screaming did wear her ass out.

She has to be swaddled at night. Or her arms flail around and keep her awake. She throws her hands up in a baby Touchdown! gesture. She is not amused if you imitate her on this one.

She gets the hiccups. Full body. I get the loudest hiccups known to man, so loud and full that they shake my body. As a kid my dad would accuse me of faking them. So sorry that I passed that on to you kiddo.

She's three weeks old today. Even anti-mush me can enjoy that.

Ungrateful

People in my house seem to believe that they get an opinion about whether I am being weird about my daughter's sleep. They do not get an opinion.

They do not get an opinion because they are not the ones that pay the price when she doesn't sleep. They don't get up dozens of times during the night (or at all) with her. They don't take care of her during the day. NO ONE GETS AN OPINION BUT ME.

Oh, and J's assurances that my MIL would do whatever I asked? BULLSHIT. I asked her to please not try to keep the baby asleep all day long. If she is tired, let her sleep, but if she is awake have the lights on, talk to her, let her move her arms and legs. PLAY WITH HER. This has been met with an insistance on swaddling her in a dark room all day with a quick switch to letting her arms out when I walk in. My request that she wake me up in the morning after two hours so the kid could eat? Met with her using the pacifier to shut her up for two extra hours so that the kid is so hungry she is hysterical and makes herself puke.

By the way, I am still not allowed to complain. I AM UNGRATEFUL.

I am not allowed to say anything to my husband actually. He is so tired from delivering his software package you see. Which actually, I do feel sorry for him. But he still has the energy to stay up watching movies and go to bars with his friends while I am at home with his mother and baby and exhausted so my sympathy it is Limited.

The list of people I like is also limited. It includes my mommy. And daddy. And the baby. And you internet.

It includes J when he is being adorable with the kid. It doesn't include him when he plays with her for half an hour and then gives her to his mom (who, you guessed it, SWADDLES AND PUTS HER TO SLEEP IMMEDIATELY).

Good and Bad

The good stuff:

For the most part I have been lucky with breastfeeding. With a short, like five minute session, meeting with a lactation consultant at the hospital and a flirtation with nipple shields breast feeding has been pretty simple. I even weaned her mercilously from the shields without even asking her first. I suppose now that I have put this on the internet this will all stop and things will go to hell tonight but so far this has been a bright spot. I am tied to this kid and it is exhausting but at least it has been going as well as could be expected.

The kid is adorable. She gets cuter every day which is good because the hormones are wearing off and the old man newborn look is not as attractive as one would hope. She has fattened up and is filling out her newborn threads much more fetchingly. Also fabulous? How she can hold her pacifier in this tricky way and manages to stash extras in her shirts. How does she do this? Only the under one month set can know.

I managed to shoe-horn the hanging belly into another pair of pre-preggo jeans. These are still not my pants from my skinniest point but they are good jeans and fortunately high waisted enough to control the hang. I am still living in lounge pants but the option of jeans is a happy thought to have tucked into my pocket.

The bad stuff:

The kid doesn't sleep at night. She feeds and naps at lovely intervals (2-4 hours) during the day but at night she can't be down for more than fifteen minutes without something. Some of that is just new-mom shit, I can tell, she snorffles and I have to check on her. But I am also trying to keep her from waking up J and if I am awake anyway? What's the big. This is sucking the life out of me and cannot be good for her since she hits the morning all exhuasted.

I think I am sinking into post-partum depression. I am torn on what to do about this other than tough it out. Is it severe enough for meds? A new mom's group? It's all so confusing. And no one knows shit.

My MIL. Has been SO MUCH help these last couple of weeks. But lord, it has been more than a month and woman doesn't have a job. Or a shot at one. Which means she can't move out. Which is stressful. Even if she is helpful. My house is small and well, it's a lot. I don't want her gone tomorrow. But I'd like some hope that she will be out of the house sometime in the next couple of months. PLEASE

J is gone. All the time. This isn't his fault. Poor thing. He has a big project launching Monday. But it sucks. For me, because he should be with us during this time. And it sucks for Mo, who just adores him. But mainly for me, because I am selfish and if I have to fall apart it basically has to happen when he is here. And there are limits to how much I can hold my shit together.

After

Mo started throwing up Friday night and we ended up in the ER. She has a rotovirus that has progressed into diarrhea and no eating and wow we are all fucking miserable. Especially me. Last night she wouldn't sleep unless I was rocking her. So no sleep at all. And my MIL is saving my butt today by taking her because I am a super zombie.

I suck at being a mom. I hit bottom big time Saturday, with tears and freaking out and that wasn't the baby. My mom seriously had to come up and calm my ass down is sad because I am a grown adult. But I couldn't cope at all. And I still can't.

If you are wondering what is happening with me I have a sick baby, am slipping quickly into a depression and am trying desperately to sleep.

Just fine in other words.

The Birth Story

That Saturday we had been out and about doing errands. J's great-grandmother had taken a very bad turn for the worse so I was under orders not to have the baby on the day she died (which I know was meant as a joke but made me cry for hours because I couldn't control that of course and I felt so guilty about everything). I was still having steady contractions and J was harping on me to call triage (I was resisting because it would be the same old verse of no water breakage and no dialation). I had just gotten on all fours in the bed to try to make my back relax when there was this weird popping sound.



J's looking at me, "Jesus, was that your hip?"



And I am bolting for the door, very mindful of our brand new and expensive mattress. I wasn't really sure if my water had broken or if I had lost control of my bladder. J starts running around like a wild beast getting our stuff together while I am babbling about maybe it's just pee and this takes hours can't we stay home and he is on the phone with triage and we are in the damn car careening towards the hospital.



Where there is a wait to get into triage. I am the only one in active labor, and also the only one freaking out because it feels like I am power pissing my pants all over the hospital. While checking in with night security, while in the elevator and again on the bench outside of triage. They take everyone else first because they were there first, even though the sweet girl next to me (who was being screened for pre-eclampsia and just wanted to go home) kept screeching, "But she is in LABOR" when some one else went it.



They put us in a different cubicle this time, one with a door, which seemed like a positive sign that they believed we might actually have the baby. I joke with the nurse about not really being sure about the water breaking even though it is still gushing out of me, but I am not really joking I keep thinking that maybe this is just my bladder going--another humiliating thing about pregnancy. She checks and I am just barely dilated.



The contractions hurt more now. And no one is coming. There is no doctor on the floor. Apparently, every baby being born that night is coming via emergency c-section and there are a shitload of them because it is also snowing. The nurse comes back and good naturedly jokes with me that my water didn't break and I am not even pregnant so get out of that bed. But of course the water had broken and I am not going anywhere.



Hours pass and the doctor still hasn't come. No one checks me again because they don't want to cause infection. I am supposed to go upstairs to labor and delivery but there are no rooms available. Until then it is just waiting. J is pissed. I am just a mess and wondering why anyone does this shit natural.



A nurse appears and I love her immediately. She will be with us all night (and the next night but none of us know that now). She takes us upstairs, gets me settled in and checks me again. My goal is to get to four centimeters and get an epidural. She says that I am close enough that she will call the guy so that I will be first in line. She also gives me something to take the edge off. I am pretty sure I propose to her. I am her only patient, and fortunately she finds J and I hilarious. He really is being a champ. They bring me giant cups of water and juice because after the epidural I can only have ice chips. At this point it has already been nine hours since I had eaten so I gulp them down with a Tums chaser.



The anesthesiaologist comes and scares the crap out of me with the forms you have to sign. Not that I care about dying at this point, I just really want to be able to relax. The pain is a place and I cannot hide anywhere from it. They position me to put the tube in my back and I bury my face in J's waist so I won't move. And suddenly he is telling everyone to stop and is sitting on the ground. Apparently, Mr. Rock Solid is great around blood but iodine outdoes him and he has to sit this part out.



After the epidural I love everyone. I can still feel my legs and the contractions but they don't hurt much anymore. I have a button to push if the pain is intense for more drugs and a continuous dose dripping throughout the night. I love modern medicine. J and I pass out for a few hours after realizing the baby will probably have his brother's birthday.



In the morning I have not dilated much more. A new nurse is with us. She is also lovely. J leaves periodically to eat and usher in various visitors like my parents who have arrived even though we said it would be hours. I am more bored than anything. It still hurts but I am just very aware of time passing and little progress being made. Hours earlier we had agreed to the pitocin, once you have an epidural there is not really a lot of reason to worry about pitocin. My contractions were stronger and closer together but not much was happening.



At seven I am eight centimeters dilated. Our nurse from the night before is back. Just two more until I can push. J sends everyone home because it is still going to be a while. They can come see the baby the next day. Finally I get to ten centimeters. And we realize that the baby probably won't have his brother's birthday after all.



She is transverse and so we try bizarre positions to push from. I hang from a bar, J have my legs in the air. I push until my eyes pop out of my head. I definitely shit on the birthing bed. Probably more than once. She moves forward and then back. After four hours, the doctor comes in and tells me I could keep going for twenty more minutes but he doesn't think she is going anywhere. Most people quit after twenty minutes. I agree to the c-section. The baby is clearly a tough cookie because she hasn't crashed once but we are past 24 hours since my water broke and I am just done. After the decision is made it takes only a few minutes and we are in the operating room.



More drugs. And ioadine. But J isn't with me. I don't care much about what is happening. J does show up and is doing his best to keep me calm. He doesn't seem to realize that this isn't happening to me, it is happening to somebody else. I don't feel anything, I just hear the nurse's talk about "what a big baby!" and then "wait a minute maybe she isn't so big." And she was out.

That is when I started shaking and crying. I don't think I let myself be scared until that moment. She wasn't big, under seven pounds. And she was here.

The rest of our stay in the hospital was a blur for me, now it feels like a vacation with all the pain medication and sleeping. And now we are at home.

And I Don't

This is my daughter tonight. Her jaundice numbers have gotten worse and yes, she is orange like George Hamilton. She doesn't have the other symptoms. She is energetic, she eats well, she is definitely filling diapers. At the ped this morning she was pretty close to her birth weight which surprised the doctor. But as a precaution she is on the lights until they get better.

As far as health problems go, I am keeping positive that she will be fine. But my baby is on a bed of lights, zipped in and I can't take her out at all 24 hours a day except to nurse her and change her diaper. It's a crazy thing to tell some one not to hold their newborn baby. And even crazier that it could be a week or more.

I am grateful that we can do this in our home. And given some of the things that visiting nurse said I am fairly confident she'll be out soon. But she is miserable in there, and I am miserable with her in there. We may have to do this but I do not have to like it.

No Story, Just Plugs

We had a wee bit of a horrific night last night and I am trying to be positive in my thoughts. So I am not going to think about labor or birth or pregnancy and just think happy thoughts.

So I am going to talk about two things that have been fantastic for me (I know, I have been a mom for a week but I am just saying).

Glamourmom nursing tanks. Fucking LOVE. Wish that I had bought more than just two (actually am ordering two more). I bought the long lengths, one in black and one in white. They have a shelf bra which was just BARELY enough for me in my engorged porn star state. I did have to do a little stuffing. But I needed to wear something all the time and these were comfy enough for sleep and supportive enough to wear outside the house (not that I do much of that). They are comfortable, hold breast pads in place easily and cover the belly while you nurse. Although I haven't nursed in public yet, I have nursed in front of my MIL and dad in this baby so that tells you the coverage is good. They are not as shaping as some of the other bras I have seen but they are very good at least for this first week--when you just want to relax and sleep and not have your breasts hit you in the face.

And Kissaluvs cloth diapers (I did buy them at Jillians Drawers that link and got great service BTW). I am not much of an environmentalist. I am really just cheap. And when I figured out that I would save money using these, the baby was likely to be just as or more comfortable, they were super easy and better for the environment it seemed worth a shot. All the diaper boards (yes there are diaper boards, and an alarming subculture that I pretty much am frightened by PLEASE DON'T HURT MY BABY) rated these as the best ones for newborns. She had a couple of blow-outs with the disposables and none with the cloth. Her skin looks fabulous, they are so absorbant and since my MIL is here doing laundry I am THRILLED.

I promise to post more pictures of Gorgeous Baby and the story of her birth (something that should not be read by pregnant ladies even though it is nowhere near the worst thing that could happen but seems all the more likely to happen because we are both fine).

And I am sorry but how fucking fun was it to watch the Patriot's lose the Super Bowl? HEH