Writer (With Children)

Letter to Lucas, 3 Months Old

2011-12-01T13:06:00.001-05:00

(A picture of you at 12 weeks, taken by Aunt Sheri!)

Dear Lucas,

Hello, baby boy! You are three months old today! Where has the time gone? The days slip by even as I try to hold onto these moments, not wanting to ever forget how sweet and soft and warm you are in my arms. It doesn’t seem like it was that long ago when I was holding your brother like this and now he squirms and wriggles away and I know you will too, soon. Too soon!

Aunt Sheri just left after spending nearly ten days with us like she does every year at this time. She was very excited about seeing you and your brother—her “squishies,” she calls you. You didn’t get to have turkey and sweet potatoes at Thanksgiving dinner this year because you’re still too young to enjoy it, but you did stay awake through dinner! In fact, you are quite the alert little monkey for big chunks of the day. I enjoy your two and three (and sometimes even four) hour stretches of being awake. It’s fun to watch you kick and coo on the playmat and see how you stare at your brother with your big intense eyes.

Two weeks ago at your 2 month appointment (which was a little later than it should have been), you weighed 14 pounds and 9 ounces and you were 24 inches long. You are a big baby! You are healthy and strong, already holding your head up well and trying so hard to sit up. Two days ago, you rolled over for the very first time on our bed! I couldn’t believe it. It won’t be long before you’re rolling over both ways and sitting up by yourself.

Your brother has gotten settled into having you around and he loves your very much. He likes to pat your head and say, “Awwwww!” before running off to play. I have no doubt you’ll be running after him soon enough and I think he will be thrilled to have a playmate who is closer to his size. As much as I am enjoying your infancy, I am looking forward to my two little boys playing together! It’s going to be so much fun to take you both places and plan family trips. Soon, baby. Soon!

One thing I would like to enjoy a little more is sleep! Oh baby, some nights you are awesome and sleep 7 hours straight and other nights… sigh. You had a pretty good stretch for about a week and I thought we’d solved your sleep issues by swaddling you tightly and elevating you with a sleep positioner. But the past week or so—oh my! Two nights ago you were awake about every two hours. I thought perhaps it was because you were too hot in your fleece swaddle in your warm room, so we adjusted things last night and it went a little better. I really can’t complain too much, most nights you do sleep at least four hours straight and that’s not so bad. It will be nice when you sleep through the night every night!

You have been smiling for a long time now and your squeals and coos are a prelude to your baby laughs. I can’t wait! You are fascinated by things around you and you even crane your neck to see what’s on television sometimes. This morning I sat on the living floor with you in my lap and Patrick perched on my knee while we watched Sesame Street. These are the moments I will remember, sweet Lucas. I don’t have as much one-on-one time with you as I did with your brother because he is now an active almost-two-year old, but you are precious and patient and enjoy watching whatever we’re doing. I’m grateful for your good nature and easy smiles. I’m so grateful for you!

The holidays are here and this next month will fly by. You will be four months old on January 1 and I imagine we’ll be starting to try you on solids around that time (if not sooner!). There is so much to look forward to, so many more milestones to help you achieve, so many memories to make! One day at a time, baby… here we go!

Mama loves you. Always

A Letter to Lucas, One Month Old

2011-10-01T14:12:00.000-04:00

Dear Lucas,

You are one month old, sweet baby boy! You came into this world weighing almost eleven pounds and with a full head of dark hair. Your hair looked for all the world like a faux hawk we had styled for you, but it was all you, sweetpea. You already have your own style—and such a sweet smile. They say babies don’t smile until they are a few months old, but you do! Your baby smiles come when you are sleepy and full and drifting off to sleep. And you make me smile, too.

I think the universe was sending a message with your birth, dear Lucas. In the week or so before you were born, we had an earthquake and a hurricane! The earthquake was a first for this part of Virginia and Hurricane Irene blew through a few days later. Plus, we’d been dealing with the ongoing smoke from wild fires in the Great Dismal Swamp. I think the universe was reminding me that Mother Nature is fierce and powerful and capable of anything—and here you are!

I’ll let you in on a secret, Lucas—your mama is rather old to be having babies. In fact, I honestly didn’t think I would ever have babies. And then your brother Patrick came along and I thought he was the only baby I would have. But the universe had other plans for our family and you arrived, big and healthy and another miracle in my life that I wasn’t expecting.

You can thank Patrick for being born first—he was my practice baby and everything I learned about taking care of babies was through the trial and error of taking care of him alone while your father was deployed. I am much more relaxed and at peace this time around, baby boy, and I think that’s a good thing for all of us! You make it easy, though. You’re only a few weeks old but you are already sleeping in fairly long stretches of three to five hours and you’re a very good eater, too!

You were born at the end of summer and I pushed for your birthday to be September 1 because I wanted you to usher in my favorite season. I love autumn and the promise of cooler weather and the brilliance of fall leaves and the warmth of comfort food. I look forward to the shorter days and longer nights because there is so much to look forward to in the fall, from starting school to Halloween to Thanksgiving. You are my autumn baby, warm and comforting and familiar and full of promise and magic.

My hope for you, dear Lucas, is the same hope that I have for your brother: that you will grow up to be fiercely independent and full of love and hope and imagination. You are still so new in the world that it’s hard to tell what your personality will be, but I have faith that between your father and me (and Patrick, too), we will help you discover who you are and what you love.

You look at me while I’m feeding you and I feel like you’re studying me. “Hello, baby!” I say, over and over, and you just stare at me with your serious expression. I wonder what you see when you look up at me, if you know how much you’re loved and how amazing it is that you’re my child. You’re probably just wondering why this woman looks so tired and sounds so silly. That’s what two babies does to your mama, sweetheart.

Two babies. I still can’t wrap my mind around that reality. Two babies under two! Two baby boys—though Patrick is nearly two years old and truly a toddler to your newborn status. But the days and weeks and months are already slipping by and you will both grow up before I know it. My hope is you will be the best of friends and always have each other’s back—brothers should be like that, I think. Friends and confidants, looking out for each other in all ways.

Patrick has the distinction of being my first baby, the one who changed my life the most profoundly, but you sweet Lucas have the distinction of being my last baby and the one who showed me that I am capable of more love than I ever thought possible. I knew the odds of having you were unlikely and now that you’re here and I see how beautiful and perfect you are, I am convinced I could not want anything more than what I have right now. Two babies, my first and my last. You are the two little miracles in my midlife—filling my world and my heart with so much joy and laughter and possibility.

It’s a great big world out there and I hope one day to show it to you. I don’t want to wish you older—being my last baby, I am determined to savor these early months despite the interrupted sleep and occasional crying jags (yours and mine)—yet I still look forward to all the adventures we are going to enjoy as a family, exploring what the world has to offer each of us. But for now, dear Lucas, your father, Patrick and you are all I need to make my world complete.

Thank you for coming into my world, Lucas. It was a pretty terrific place already, but you have made it bigger and brighter and wilder. Happy one month birthday, baby boy.

Mama loves you.

Introducing!

2011-09-13T20:58:00.001-04:00

Lucas Donovan Wright

September 1, 2011 at 8:05 AM
10 lbs 15 oz, 21.75 inches

He is a big, beautiful boy with an amazing amount of hair! I am in baby euphoria right now-- and it's only partially because of the pain medication they sent me home with. :)

A Letter to Patrick

2011-09-01T00:28:00.000-04:00

Dear Patrick,

I'm sorry I haven't written you more often-- after you were born I had every intention of writing you a letter every month. But the time slips by and my intentions fall by the wayside even while I marvel at all you have learned and accomplished in the time I have known you. You are just shy of being 21 months old and I cannot believe that in three months my sweet baby monkey will be turning two. I still call you my baby even though you are very much a toddler, into everything and exploring the world. I can see the little boy you are becoming and, because you have your father's features, I can imagine the man you will be. You are everything I could want in a child and so much more than I ever expected.

It is just after midnight on September 1 and these are the last few hours that you will be my only child. Your baby brother will be born this morning! After you, I wasn't sure I wanted any more children or if I could have another one even if I did. You were something of a miracle-surprise and it seemed too much to expect that we could be so fortunate again. But miracle-surprises happen sometimes-- and sometimes they happen more than once. We were very lucky. The time has flown by and in a few days, we'll be bringing your brother home. He will be moving into your old room because it is smaller and much more suitable as a nursery and you've been given a bigger "big boy's" room, which has caused me a bit of sadness because I can't think of you as a big boy. Not yet.

Even though your father and I are excited about our growing family, there is a part of me that will miss these months of it being just the three of us. For the first five months of your life, it was just you and me-- learning about each other and muddling through the best we could until we found a rhythm and routine that worked for us. It was a difficult but amazing experience. And while I was so very grateful to have your father home from deployment, I did miss the time you and I shared alone. This is no different-- it is an adjustment and a very good adjustment at that-- but things are about to change for our family once again and I know I will look back on these weeks and months and feel melancholy for a time when you were my only baby and we were a family of three.

I have no doubt there will be ups and downs in the coming weeks and I will likely count on you to be more patient and well-behaved than I have any right to ask of you (not that you're not a terrific kid, but you are still a toddler!). And yet I suspect you will surprise me in this as you have surprised me in so many other ways. You are so smart and funny-- and so sweet and gentle with animals (real and stuffed) that I know you will be a terrific big brother. Like I said, I can't really comprehend you being a "big" anything-- but I know when we bring your brother home and I'm reminded of how helpless he is and how much we have to learn about him, you will seem to have grown up right before my eyes. And your familiarity will be a comfort when your brother is crying and I can't figure out what he needs. (I'm also counting on you to use your big brother magical wisdom to help guide me!)

I know you won't remember being the only child in our family, but I do hope that you will love having a brother. I hope you will be playmates and confidants and, yes, partners-in-crime in a good natured way. While every change is adjustment, it's hard to see anything negative about this change-- there will be more love and laughter in our house, more fun and silliness and toys. You will have someone to grow up with and your father and I will have two amazing little boys to raise. All good and wonderful things. I will try very hard to remember all of that in the coming months when I'm trying to cope with sleepless nights with your brother and those defiant toddler moments you sometimes have.

Thank you for being my first baby, Patrick. If not for your amazing personality and sweet smile, I might not have even considered going down this path a second time. You have made it all worthwhile and I suspect I will feel the same about your brother. But no matter what, you will always be my first baby-- and for the next 7 hours you are my only baby. Thank you for coming into my life and rocking my world in the best possible way. You are, now and always, my baby.

Mama loves you.

My Boys

2010-09-08T15:53:00.003-04:00

My Summer Love

2010-09-08T14:11:00.002-04:00

In the Bath

2010-09-04T18:02:00.002-04:00

A Letter to Patrick, Nine Months Old

2010-09-04T17:58:00.002-04:00

Dear Patrick,

It’s been three months since I last wrote you a letter. I had intended to write you a letter each month and then missed your 7 month letter because I was crazy busy with my first anthology coming out. Then you turned 8 months old and August slipped away… So here I am, reeling at all of your developments over the past three months. Monkey, you’re growing up!

At six months old, you were just starting to sit up unassisted, didn’t have any teeth yet and were wary of solid foods. Three months later and now you are crawling, pulling yourself up, starting to cruise from one piece of furniture to the next and standing unassisted for several seconds at a time! You have at least four teeth, two top and two bottom, though I think there are at least one or two more that are starting to push through. And solid food! Oh, how you love it. Not only are you eating baby food (and will eat pretty much anything now, including the dreaded peas of three months ago), you also like finger foods—Puffs and Cheerios, bits of cheese, banana and other fruit. I’ve given you bits of whatever food we’re eating, too. So you’ve had chicken salad, spaghetti, broccoli and rice, among other goodies.

After those five months alone (with Ashleigh’s help the last three), we got quite used to having your papa home. And then… he left for Panama for a week, was gone for a field exercise for two more weeks and just returned from another two-week trip to Panama. Thankfully, you’ve become good buddies with your daddy and are happy to see him each time he returns. Hopefully it’ll be a long while before we have to go it alone again, baby! It’s good to have your father home.

Speaking of Ashleigh, she’s been with us for seven months as of next week, baby! I do believe she is your favorite person in the world, even over your dear old mom and dad. Have I mentioned how lucky we are to have her in our lives? And she knits, Monkey. A skill I lack—so hopefully she’ll keep you in knitted hats and other gear this winter!

Your circle of friends has expanded, as well. We’ve had playdates with your friends Sydney (who is 8 weeks younger) and Caitlin (who is 2 and ½ weeks older. Though, in truth, I think you prefer older women like Ashleigh). You even went to your first birthday party, to celebrate Cierra’s fourth birthday. We’ve also had a couple of cookouts and introduced you to a bunch of new people. You seem to enjoy the new faces and all the attention, which is wonderful. I’m kind of dreading the day you are frightened of meeting someone new, but perhaps your good nature will outweigh that particular baby milestone?

The little baby gear has been replaced by the older baby gear. We swapped out your Bumbo seat (which was passed on to Sydney) for a fancy Stokke highchair which lets you sit at the table with us and will grow with you. Which is nice, since you continue to be a big boy. You’ve acquired a new carseat and stroller and a bunch of new toys, as well. But the hardest thing to give up was your beloved, but struggling swing. You’re due for your nine month doctor’s appointment, so I don’t know your current weight, but you are certainly close to 25 pounds now. One day, I just decided to see if you’d nap on the couch instead of needing to be put in the swing. We’d tried off and on for a few weeks to get you to nap in your Pack and Play, but you resisted. On that particular morning, however, you simply fell asleep on the couch and napped for two hours. A week later, the swing was packed away and a week after that you were napping in your Pack and Play! (I hope you potty train this easily, baby!)

You’re now sleeping a solid 12-hours at night, with only the occasional disruption (which I blame on teething). Your napping has decreased, perhaps because you no longer have the swing to lull you or simply because your night sleep is so long, but we’re lucky if we can coax two naps out of you, usually totaling no more than 3 hours. (Some days, and it always seems to be my days alone with you, you might only nap for one hour!) While I’d like your naps to be a bit longer, I can’t complain too much. You are still a happy, smiley, good natured baby who is curious about the world around you. You’re amazing.

You’ve only had one little bout of illness, which may have been a cold but never amounted more than to a bit of hoarseness and grumpiness. It might even have been from your teething, but it came during the 4th of July weekend when you’d been around a lot of people, so I don’t know. In any case, I’m very grateful you’ve been such a healthy baby! Hopefully you inherited your health from your father. I really don’t want you to end up with my asthma and allergies.

Autumn is around the corner and it’s hard to believe we have just three months until we’ll be celebrating your first birthday! I’m not ready for my itty bitty baby to become an independent toddler, but I see signs every day of the big boy you’re going to be. You are nearly fearless—loud sounds don’t frighten you, being pushed way high (by your father) on the park swing only phases you for a moment, splashing about in the bathtub or your new pool is an adventure—and that makes your poor mother worry about the day when you can not only walk and run, but climb! Oh baby, I hope we can keep you from getting too banged up as you make your way through childhood…

It seems like you’re learning something new every week now—sometimes every day! Did I mention you can clap (though you sometimes clap at inappropriate times—like when you’re sad) and you are starting to wave bye-bye? Or that you know how to head butt (thank you, Uncle Nick) and will tilt your head forward to bump foreheads? Or that you will smack the kitchen table with authority to let us know you want more Puffs or Cheerios? Such little things, but you are learning to communicate your moods and needs.

The baby babble has begun in earnest. You started saying, “Ma-ma-ma-ma” about a month ago, though that has now given way to you trying to combine various syllables to form your own words. (And you are very serious about it!) I love your little signals to let me know what you want, but I’m looking forward to those first words, too. In time, baby, we’ll be having some awesome conversations!

Three quarters of a year, Monkey. Those first few months may have been rough because it was just you and me, but these lat few months have flown by in a blur of laughter and sunshine and baby squeals. I’ve taken hundreds of pictures of you, but it’s impossible to capture on film or even in words what an incredible little creature you are. I catch my breath in wonder as I watch you grow and change right in front of me. What an amazing adventure it is, having you in my life.

Happy 9 Month Birthday, Monkey. Mama loves you so much.

Last Weekend of Summer

2010-09-04T16:44:00.003-04:00

Patrick is 9 months old today!

Reflections

2010-08-25T12:48:00.001-04:00

His Name is Patrick, But...

2010-08-24T12:41:00.003-04:00

Here is a list of Patrick's nicknames. There are probably more that I'm forgetting. I'm pretty sure the kid doesn't know his real name at this point.

Monkey
Punkin (by his father)
Honey Monkey
Baby Monkey
Wallababy (because he "wallows" on us)
Finn (by family friends)
Henry (by me, when I'm especially tired and confuse him with the dog-- though his second middle name is Henry)
Chunka Chunka
Monk-Monk
Squealy Dan (when he lets out those eardrum-piercing squeals)
Fuss Monkey
Stink Pot Jones (at particularly grody diaper changes)
Puff Monkey (when he's eating his favorite finger food-- Gerber Graduates Puffs)
Love Monkey
Angel Baby
Little Dude
Hulk Baby (because he does a scarily accurate imitation of the Hulk)

Patrick in the Pool

2010-08-12T14:03:00.002-04:00

Patrick in his pool for the first time. This swimming stuff (or splashing stuff) is serious business.

Mother Raccoon, Human Baby

2010-07-20T14:16:00.000-04:00

A Letter to Patrick, Six Months Old

2010-06-04T17:48:00.000-04:00

Dear Patrick,

You were born six months ago today, changing my life forever. I have come a long way from the woman who had never changed a diaper and didn’t even know how to hold a newborn. And you, sweet monkey, have come a long way from that pink wriggling bundle that only slept, ate and taught me how to change diapers! Half a year is hardly any time at all, but I feel as if you have become a little person, complete with likes and dislikes and an awesome personality, in that short span of time.

You had your six month appointment today, along with the required vaccinations. What an amazing child you are, hardly even flinching until the third and final shot when you voiced your discomfort for all of thirty seconds before returning to your usual good humor. You are weighing in at 20 pounds and 6 ounces and are a little over 27 inches long. Quite a happy, healthy chunk, you are! No teeth yet—the pediatrician said it might be another couple of months for those.

This month has brought many new things to your life—first of all, your father is home from deployment! His homecoming was a wonderful day for us as a family, though I’m afraid the long wait for him to arrive tested the limits of your patience. It was your first—and perhaps last—experience with a Navy homecoming, but you handled it amazingly well. I don’t know who was smiling bigger—you or your father! Now it’s just a matter of the two of you getting to know each other better. It’s going well so far—no doubt because you both share the same mellow temperament in addition to looking so much alike.

I held off on feeding you solid foods until your father got home because I didn’t want him to miss any more of the milestones of this first year. You clearly don’t mind if I hold off even longer—the few solids you’ve tried so far have not impressed you. Rice cereal, bananas, applesauce, sweet potatoes, carrots and peas receive the same initial look of distaste. You seem to be getting used to the idea of eating off the spoon and want to help yourself, with messy results all around. (Truth be told, I’m far messier than you!) I think as you eat each food a few times you’re starting to get used to the taste and hopefully soon we’ll be able to offer you the things you like best. Right now, I think sweet potatoes are your favorite, but you’d still prefer your bottle to anything on a spoon. I imagine all of that will change in just a few months!

You are nearly able to sit up unassisted now. This new view of the world, with just my hand on your back or your hand on my arm for support, gives you the opportunity to grab for the things you want—whether it’s your bottle, your stuffed Tigger or whatever happens to be within reach on the kitchen table. You can roll from your back to your tummy quite easily and are mastering the tummy-to-back roll now. Crawling is on the horizon, but for now you can scoot backwards and spin yourself around while on your tummy. It won’t be long before you’re fully mobile. Heaven help us then.

You are a happy, smiley little guy, able to coax a grin from anyone, even those who aren’t too fond of babies. I think it’s the dark blue eyes and mop of blond hair—and that quirky, shy little half-smile you give strangers that blossoms into an open mouthed toothless grin once they’ve gained your approval. No one is impervious to that combination—certainly not me. (Again, heaven help me when you’re old enough to use your charms to get what you want!) Going for a ride in the truck, visiting new places, meeting new friends, everything sparks your curiosity and amusement. Oh, and you have a particular fondness for dark-haired girls. If they have tattoos, all the better. Oh my!

You’re learning new things almost on a daily basis and I love watching you study everything around you. I had no idea before you were born how entertaining it would be to watch you discover the world. You are just so much fun to be around. It seems I have learned a few things as well in the past six months thanks to my wonderful, good natured teacher. Because of you I’ve learned to slow down, be more patient and forgiving, enjoy the little accomplishments and appreciate the simple moments. Oh, and when all else fails, to smile. Thanks, baby.

Happy half-year birthday, baby. Mama loves you.

Homecoming!

2010-05-12T17:50:00.000-04:00

After seven long months... Jay is home!

A Letter to Patrick, Five Months Old

2010-05-04T22:02:00.000-04:00

Dear Patrick,

Where has the time gone? Here you are at five months old already and your father is just days away from finally being home. He was supposed to be back on May 6, just in time for your mama’s birthday and first Mother’s Day, but now it’s looking like it will be next week. Soon though, baby! And this will hopefully be the last time he’s away from us for an extended period of time. I know that doesn’t mean much to you right now, but trust me—it’s a good thing!

The past month has been the most peaceful since you were born. No major issues at all! You sleep well, you’re hardly ever fussy, you smile all the time (even if you are stingy with your laughs) and you love riding in the truck, meeting new people and seeing the world from an upright position. You are sleeping about 11 hours a night, usually going down around 9 and getting up around 8. Your daytime naps are getting shorter to make up for the longer nights, but I don’t really mind—it gives us more time to play and have playdates.

Speaking of which, you are becoming quite popular with the girls. You have several “girlfriends” of various ages and have gotten to play with three of them just in the past week. Caitlin is two weeks older than you, Sydney is eight weeks younger than you and Cierra is almost four—but she loves baby boys and you certainly took a liking to her! There don’t seem to be any little boys in our circle of friends at the moment, but I’m sure you don’t mind being the only boy for now.

Your babysitter Ashleigh continues to be the favorite woman in your life. I do believe you like her even more than you like me, judging by the way you smile at her whenever she’s in the room. She has been an absolute gift to both of us, monkey. She even adjusted your carseat straps when I couldn’t figure out how to do it. I don’t know what we’d do without Ashleigh! (Hopefully we won’t have to find out any time soon.)

Your big discovery this month has been… your feet! You grab them any chance you get and attempt to get them to your mouth, though your belly gets in the way. Socks are the bane of your existence at the moment and you spend a great deal of your time trying to scrape them off with each foot. Footed pajamas are a constant source of irritation for you as they simply will not come off! I’m sorry, monkey. At least it has warmed up and you can actually go barefoot a bit more now.

This past Saturday, you learned to tug your socks off with your hands. Of course, you only got as far as the one sock before you decided to shove it in your mouth. Oh, monkey. Everything goes in your mouth right now. Your poor Tigger (a gift from Aunt Leslee) spends a great deal of his time soaking wet as you gnaw and suck on his face and limbs. I believe you’re teething and I do hope it won’t be too painful a process for you. I’m not quite ready for you to be growing teeth. You’re still my little baby!

The coming month is going to be filled with all kinds of adventures, baby! You’ll be starting solids soon (I’m waiting on that so your papa can be the first to feed you) and it won’t be long before you’re sitting up on your own. You’ll be needing some new gear to accommodate your developments. Mostly that means you’ll be getting some new toys that will be as much fun for the adults in your life as they are for you!

Well, baby, we did it. That December day we dropped your father off at the airport, I told you it was just you and me kid. Here we are, four and a half months later, and we have survived! Thank you for making the past few months as peaceful as you possibly could on your poor, inexperienced and exhausted mama. I am so very grateful that you are an easy, happy, forgiving baby. You have made me an easier, happier, more forgiving person as a result.

Happy five month birthday, monkey. Mama loves you.

Oh, Baby

2010-04-08T13:49:00.002-04:00

A Letter to Patrick, Four Months Old

2010-04-05T14:19:00.000-04:00

Dear Patrick,

You are four months and one day old today. I didn’t get a chance to write your letter yesterday because your Aunt Sheri was in town for the weekend. She hadn’t seen you since you were 12 days old! It was fun watching you with her, and watching her enjoy you as much as I do. (I often fear I’m a bit biased when it comes to how much fun you are and how easy your are and how beautiful you are. Oh, it’s sad to have become one of “those” mothers!)

Spring has arrived in Virginia and this month has meant more time outside. Sheri and I took you to the Norfolk Botanical Gardens on Saturday. When you weren’t napping, you seemed to enjoy the great big world. The park was certainly bigger than anything you’ve experienced so far! I’m looking forward to many outdoor days when your father gets home. Only five more weeks to go!

You went to the pediatrician on Thursday—your father’s 41st birthday, coincidentally—for your four month checkup and vaccinations. You’re weighing in at a little over 17 pounds now, monkey! Though I honestly expected you to weigh more since you feel soooo heavy to me! You handled the vaccinations like a champ and only cried for about a minute before you were smiling again. Whew! You don’t go back to the pediatrician until you’re six months old, thankfully.

So far this month you have started rolling over front to back and back to front, quite an accomplishment. You don’t do it often, but you’re starting to figure out that the rolling will get you closer to what you want. You’re a clever little monkey and have figured out how to grab onto things to pull yourself from your side to your stomach. Uh oh! The days of leaving you in the middle of the bed unattended will soon be over, I’m afraid.

You’re still sleeping well through the night, which is so wonderful. I was afraid of what they call the “four month sleep regression,” but if such a thing occurred, it only affected your daytime naps. You’re still napping pretty well, but your awake periods have stretched to two hours now. Your naps are all over the place—45 minutes to over 3 hours—but you total between 6 and 7 hours of naps a day.

You love tummy time and hold your head high, a steady stream of drool dripping from your bottom lip. Your usual smiley humor disappears when you’re in the tummy zone, though. Apparently, this is a very serious activity for you that requires intense concentration and maximum drool output. (The drool is all-powerful, I’ve discovered.) You kick your legs furiously, as if you can’t wait to crawl. Slow down, baby! There will be time enough for you to crawl and walk and run….

My favorite moment this month was last Wednesday night. We were talking to your father on the computer and I was making funny sounds to get you to smile and laugh. So far, your “laughing” has been brief a-ha sounds, followed by an open-mouthed grin. But then I hit upon a sound that made you laugh and laugh… It was a wonderful moment, not only because it was the first time you’ve every laughed continually like that, but also because it was already April 1 in Dubai. I think that was your birthday present to your father!

This past month marks the one year anniversary of finding out I was pregnant with you. Those early days and weeks (and months, if I’m being honest) were nerve wracking… wondering whether I’d be able to hang onto you and keep you growing inside me. And here we are a year later, with you growing up right in front of me!

The days are going by so fast, baby. Four months! Winter is a memory and spring is well and truly here. Your father will be home soon and you can laugh and laugh for both of us. Never stop laughing, baby. Life is good.

Happy four month birthday! Mama loves you.

Spring, Baby

2010-04-05T14:05:00.007-04:00

Sheri and I took Patrick to the Norfolk Botanical Gardens over the weekend. The weather was perfect and Patrick enjoyed exploring the great big green world (as much as a four month old can explore, of course).

Baby Babble

2010-04-01T21:17:00.000-04:00

Oh, the cuteness. It breaks my heart sometimes.

Patrick had his four month appointment today. (He'll actually be four months old on Easter.) This picture was taken while we were waiting for the doctor-- and before his vaccinations. (Which he handled remarkably well. I hope that never changes.) We were almost late to his appointment because I-- believe it or not-- overslept. Which is not an entirely accurate statement because I went to bed after midnight and was up at 1:30, 3, 5, 5:30 and 6:40. Technically, I got up way too early. But when I went back to sleep sometime after 6:40, I fully expected Patrick to wake me up with his baby calls somewhere between 7 and 7:30. I woke up on my own at 8:22 and he was still asleep. Which is also not entirely accurate, because I remember hearing him babbling to himself sometime after 5:30. (For the record, I woke up at 1:30 and 3 for no reason, 5 and 6:40 because of the elderly blind cat, and Henry needed to go out at 5:30.) Patrick is very good at putting himself back to sleep if he wakes up too early (translation: before I'm physically able to crawl out of bed). Of course, I was kind of counting on him waking me up this morning. Silly baby.

So, I jumped out of bed at 8:22, checked on him (still sleeping), brushed my teeth and hair, got dressed, put on some makeup, gently woke baby (opened his blinds, made some noise, touched his face), changed his diaper, took him downstairs, got him dressed, slapped a bib on him, warmed and fed him a bottle, called Jay on Skype, cleaned the litter box, let the dog out again, turned the television on for Lola (the bird who gets grumpy if the television isn't on), packed the diaper bag, loaded Patrick up in his car seat and we were out of the house at 9:12 and at the doctor's office at 9:27. Whew. (I wasn't sure if his appointment was at 9:30 or 9:45 and never did find out.) I could have cut 8 minutes off my time if I hadn't bothered to straighten my hair.

It's nice to be so quick and efficient when I have to be. It wasn't that long ago (almost four months!) that it took Jay and me over an hour to get ready, get Patrick ready and get out of the house for his first doctor's appointment. And we were still late.

I have certainly adjusted to life with baby. Funny how that happens.

The irony, of course, is that Patrick sleeps through the night and I still don't. Eight hours in bed last night and I got up five times. Five! People told me that taking care of a baby would be so exhausting that I'd probably sleep better at night. Of course, they forgot about the old blind cat who gets lost in my bedroom and the old deaf dog who is still recovering from his inner ear infection (and still needs help up and down the stairs). Not to mention my own crazy insomnia. But I'd rather Patrick sleep through the night than me. It most definitely works out better that way.

Except now I'm quite tired and it just dawned on me that I haven't managed to take a shower yet today.

Oh, the Cuteness

2010-03-16T16:59:00.002-04:00

This is mostly not a baby post.

2010-03-08T13:29:00.004-05:00

Motherhood has, in a strange sense, fostered a newfound generosity of spirit in me. Let me explain.

Taking care of an infant is exhausting, repetitive, often unrewarding work. Patrick is a good baby, a happy baby, but there's virtually nothing he can do for himself. And so, I do it all for him. I am happy that he rarely cries because it means he is content with his current lot in life. His needs are met-- and I meet them. It is easy to love him, because he is my own child, but I also respect him because he is so helpless and yet still tries so hard to accomplish things. Reaching out for toys, soothing himself with his fingers, seeking me out even when it means having to roll on his side, making his tongue work so he can communicate in his own way-- he does these things despite the great amount of effort it takes sometimes to accomplish them. And because he works so hard and I can see the effort it takes, it doesn't bother me to change his diaper for the second time in ten minutes (at least he didn't pee on me) or to change my shirt for the third time in one day (at least he didn't spit up in my hair). See? I see how hard he is trying and it makes my spirit more generous-- and gentle. And it's so easy to be this way because, even on days like yesterday when I was tired and not feeling well and maybe didn't engage him as much as I should have during play time, he still forgives me and offers me a smile when he wakes up from his naps. Every time, without fail. Maybe that's a bad baby memory or maybe his spirit is generous.

You would think I'd have nothing left to give anyone else after putting all of my generosity (or "work") into a baby. Truth is, I didn't have it to give in those early weeks. I barely had it to give to him. But I found some untapped well of patience and understanding inside me because, well, I had to-- and it doesn't just extend to Patrick anymore. As my confidence in my abilities has grown, so too has my sense of generosity and forgiveness. Patrick has softened me in some ways, ways I didn't really know I had become hardened. More than one person has commented that I seem very "calm" and that motherhood suits me. I laugh it off and interpret whatever calm vibe I'm sending as pure exhaustion, but I sense what they mean. Even when everything is chaos and my brain is racing in six directions at once, there is a calm at my center that wasn't there before. An ability to let go and forgive and reach out and be kind. Because we're all trying, aren't we? Patrick's efforts are so obvious to me because he's a baby, but I find myself looking around and seeing that others are trying, too. Even if their efforts aren't as transparent, even if their work (and suffering) is going on beneath the surface. We're all reaching, soothing, seeking and communicating in our own way.

And I know this sounds all gooey and Zen (and I did enjoy Momma Zen so much that I sent a copy to another new mom friend who I thought would appreciate it), but that's what motherhood has done for me. I'm not one of the "my child is my life" mommies-- I think I will always identify as a writer, first and foremost, over mother, or wife-- but I'm discovering unexpected emotional growth because of motherhood. My goal is not to change my identity to become only "Patrick's Mother" but to help him grow his own individual identity and give him wings. We all need encouragement with that, I think. Whether we're three months old or forty three years old, it feels good to have someone understand us and accept us for who we are.

I still get frustrated with slow drivers and slow lines at the grocery store. I still have no tolerance for rudeness. I still need more sleep, more time to write and more help with baby. But I'm finding it easier these days to reach out, to soothe, to attempt to connect, to try to communicate-- and, when all else fails, to forgive and offer a smile.

A Letter to Patrick, Three Months Old

2010-03-04T17:41:00.001-05:00

March 4, 2010

Dear Patrick,

You’re a quarter of a year old today, baby! I know that’s not very old at all, but the time… it flies! And you have changed so much in the past month. I’m delighted and startled and even sometimes sad because it seems as if I barely get a chance to enjoy one new thing you’re doing before you’ve gone and added something else to your repertoire, practically over night! As I told your father this morning—just when I get used to our routine, something changes. You!

The biggest change in the past month has been your sleeping pattern. A month ago, your longest stretch of sleep was maybe five hours. One short month later and you have graduated from five hours… to seven hours… to nine straight hours of sleep! The first time it happened (two consecutive nights), I was online searching for the phrase “infant sleeping too much.” Yes, your mother is a silly woman sometimes. Even after I realized there was nothing wrong with you, I was a little sad to have missed out on that 5 AM feeding when we were both warm and sleepy and you would go right back to sleep after eating and cuddling with me.

Of course, that third night you were back to sleeping seven hours—which had also startled me, but not nearly so much as nine hours—and I got my 5 AM cuddle time back, but it was temporary. You’re now sleeping eight to nine hours most nights, with the occasional aberration. A few nights ago, you woke up hungry at 3:30 AM and sucked down two 4 oz. bottles. I suspect you simply hadn’t eaten enough during the day.

You’re still napping pretty well during the day, though the times and length fluctuate from day to day. That’s okay, my only goals for you were to get you to sleep through the night in your own crib and you are very successfully doing that. Yay, baby!

After two months of never being away from you for more than a few hours (and six weeks of caring for you by myself), I found a wonderful part-time babysitter. I had been so reluctant to hire a stranger to take care of you, and luckily I didn’t have to! I’ve known Ashleigh for almost nine years and it’s been wonderful having her here, knowing that she is taking good care of you. I get text messages about you throughout the day, keeping me updated on what you’re doing. I’m so grateful for the time to write and run errands (and even have the occasional lunch with a friend), but I’m also happy to come home to you after my few hours away. You seem to enjoy having another person to entertain with your smiles and babble, and that makes me feel good about my decision.

Speaking of babble, you’re talking up a storm these days! You were starting to coo a month ago, but now you are prone to giving lengthy (and serious) lectures. You have “discovered” your tongue and the various sounds you can make when you move it this way and that. I love listening to you, though your best talking seems to occur when you’re getting sleepy and I’m guilty of keeping you up longer than I should just to listen to you talk. Keep talking, baby. I promise one day I’ll understand every word!

Other developments include your growing interested in your toys. Not only are you paying more attention to the colorful toys that dangle from your playmat and the giraffe mobile over your crib, you’re actually reaching out to grab things! The butterfly toy that hangs in the laundry room (which is actually a dog toy bought for Henry, who had no interest in it), is most often your target for capture. You get your diaper changed on the counter in the laundry room, so you have plenty of opportunities to plot your strategy. You can now hit the butterfly with accuracy and manage to catch it in your hand often enough to delight us both. (Failure to hang onto it causes you great frustration, however.)

Your hands continue to be your dearest friends. You suck on them constantly and you do not discriminate—a finger is as good as a thumb is as good as the entire fist. I attempted to give you a pacifier last month when we were going through the last (and worst) of the fussy nights, but you weren’t interested in rubber (especially since it didn’t have milk in it!) when you could have your own hand. Your drool production is increasing exponentially, which results in wet clothes for both of us, but you don’t yet seem to be teething. You can take your time on that development, baby! I know teething will bring pain and fussiness and probably some sleepless nights—and I don’t want that for either of us!

You have started showing interest in rolling over in just the past week or so. You usually get halfway there, laying on your side with your fist in your mouth, then you stop, content to stare at whatever it is that prompted you to roll on your side. But yesterday while we were playing on my bed, you rolled from your back to your stomach—twice! I tried to get you to do it a third time so I could make a video of it, but you decided it was an event best left undocumented (though I do have a camera phone picture). I imagine you’ll be rolling over pretty regularly by this time next month. It’s a wonderful development, but I will miss being able to put you in the middle of my bed while I get ready in the morning. Try not to roll off the furniture, okay?

You still love your swing and your playmat and the ceiling fans remain favorite objects of distraction (as does anything on the television despite my best efforts to distract you from that evil box). Your father has enjoyed listening to you “talk” to him on the computer. Just two more months and he’ll get to enjoy you in person! Spring and summer are around the corner and I’m looking forward to seeing what your new favorite things will be when we venture outside. I suspect the ceiling fan in the gazebo will make the list.

You’re growing like crazy and weigh fifteen and a half pounds now! I packed away all of your newborn and 0-3 month clothes yesterday so I could make room for your growing wardrobe of 6 month clothes. That was a little sad for me, but I’m having so much fun with you now that I can’t be too sad. I did separate the clothes into the “possible future baby/give away” pile and the “keepsake” pile, because I can’t bear to get rid of a few of those precious newborn outfits, especially your brown stripey sleeper with the raccoon on it. Your mother is silly and sentimental, but those are good qualities to have in a mother, I think.

We’re doing really, really well, baby. Everybody says what a happy baby you are and I feel very lucky that you’re an easy, cheerful baby most of the time. It’s still exhausting for me to take care of you alone, even on the best days and even with a babysitter twenty hours a week. I have days where I long for more help and a few more hours to write, to read, to sleep. It is going to be wonderful to have your father home and I know it’ll seem so much easier when there are two of us to take care of you. We’re going to have so much fun! But no matter how tiring and difficult it might be sometimes, I suspect that I will look back wistfully on these early months and have only good memories of when it was just my little baby and me.

Happy three month birthday, Monkey. Mama loves you.

Babes

2010-02-27T19:57:00.003-05:00

Patrick at 12 weeks and his friend Sydney, at 4 weeks. I don’t think Patrick knew quite what to make of the little girl.

Patrick Goes to the Pediatrician

2010-02-18T12:18:00.007-05:00

I'm posting these a bit late. Patrick went for his two month pediatric appointment (and first round of vaccines) on February 5. He handled it like a champ. In fact, he was all smiles and curiosity right up until the vaccines...

Curious: Oh, that's interesting. What is that shiny thing?

Nervous: A needle? Hmm. That looks... sharp.

Shocked: You want to do WHAT with that needle? Oh my!

Time Wise

2010-02-17T14:48:00.000-05:00

Now that I have a part-time babysitter for Patrick, I am finding it frustrating trying to figure out how to best utilize the free time I have. And by "free" I mean, baby-free, since I'm very much paying for this time. (And after two months of non-stop, 24/7 baby care with maybe 10 hours away from him total, it is money very much well-spent.) Ideally, I would spend every single minute of my babysitting time writing. But that doesn't allow for those other things I need to do which are better done without a baby in tow. Errands are so much easier when I can run in and out alone instead of having to heft baby and carseat (or snap baby and carseat into the stroller frame, since baby is now weighing close to 14 pounds and the carseat isn't light, either). Even when Patrick is sleeping or awake and quiet, it makes for a longer trip that's harder on my back.

So far, a balance between errands and writing seems to be working out, though I yearn for more time for both. I'd like to squeeze in a little adult social time, too, but that's secondary to the things that must be done. Today's five-hour block of babysitting time included picking up prescriptions at Target, a trip to Old Navy and writing. Five hours should be enough time for all of that, but... the wait at the Target pharmacy was 20 minutes. I spent half an hour in Old Navy (I'm in desperate need of some cool-weather clothing, but I seemed to have missed the end-of-season bargains because all that was left was crap) and walked out with two baby outfits and a pair of yoga pants for myself (to inspire me to do Pilates). I then went to Barnes & Noble, figuring a change of writing venue would be nice, but everyone seemed to have the same idea because the bookstore cafe was packed. I gave up on that idea and headed to my usual Starbucks, where I am now. I wrote some e-mail (writing related, mostly), chatted with Jay via Skype and have been writing (and blogging) since noon. I need to leave in ten minutes to be home by 3.

Half of my time today has been spent on writing stuff, the other half on errands and driving time. The driving time is annoying, but that's life in the suburbs. I could stay home for my five hours and spend the entire time writing, but I already try to squeeze in some writing time at home while Patrick naps and I like being able to leave the house (alone). Plus, I think hearing him fuss or cry would be distracting (and likely send me downstairs to make sure things were okay-- not because the babysitter can't handle it, but because I'd feel bad). I might still spend some days at home-- especially close to deadline times-- but I don't want that to be the norm. So, it seems that grouping my errands together might be the best way to maximize my time. Perhaps dedicating one block of babysitting a week to errands would make me less frustrated because I could spend all of my time (less driving time) writing on the other days.

The other problem I need to work through-- and I'm trying!-- is actually leaving the house when the babysitter arrives. I have been spending 20-30 minutes (45 on Monday) chatting with her and/or finishing getting ready and gathering my stuff. Ideally, I would be ready to walk out the door when she arrived, but that's not always possible with Patrick's schedule. This morning, however, there really was no excuse. Patrick was napping and I was packing up my laptop when the babysitter arrived at 10, but I still didn't walk out the door until 10:25. Oops. I will get better, though.

It's lovely to have the time to write and run errands and know that Patrick is being well cared for and will be a happy (or napping) baby when I get home. To be honest, it's still difficult to be away from him and I don't think having more babysitting hours would make me happier. I would just miss him more. Instead, I just need to make sure I'm making the most of the hours I have.

On that note, I'm out of here and headed home.

MacBook Pro + Skype = Connected Family

2010-02-16T16:57:00.002-05:00

Patrick talks to his father every day. Technology is an amazing thing.

Momma Zen

2010-02-11T16:54:00.001-05:00

A fabulous friend, who happens to also be a new mom, sent me Momma Zen: Walking the Crooked Path of Motherhood by mother and Zen priest Karen Maezen Miller. (I just Googled her and found her delightfully named blog, Cheerio Road.)

I got Momma Zen in the mail yesterday and have already started reading it. (FYI: I never start reading a book as soon as I get it. This is momentous.) I knew I'd keep reading-- and probably love-- this thoughtful memoir on Zen and motherhood when I read this part:

And then, in a magic moment of old-fashioned fertility, I conceived. I was forty-two. Looking back, I saw that doing nothing to prevent pregnancy was not quite the same as doing something to get there. What I did was simply take my basal body temperature and have sex on cue, but even that required that I discard the ambivalence that I’d long carried about the issue. If it happens, it happens, I had been telling myself with a comfortable dose of confidence that it wouldn’t.

I can totally identify with this. Not only the age at which I conceived (twice, actually) and became a mother, but also the realization that "doing nothing to prevent pregnancy was not quite the same as doing something to get there." Oh, and the ambivalence. I'm a forty-two year old new mom in large part because of ambivalence, not infertility.

I never really knew whether I wanted to have a child or not-- pretty much up until oh, a few weeks ago. I had more or less talked myself out of having children-- thinking it wouldn't/couldn't happen. (And had a couple of people suggest it shouldn't happen.) The fact that I could so easily envision a life without children made it easy to be ambivalent. (Just for the record: I'm happy with the choice I made to be proactive in trying to get pregnant and the very adorable, if currently exhausting, end result.)

I am far from feeling "Zen-like" about motherhood, but I like Maezen Miller's voice of experience. It gives me a sense of calm-- something I could really use right about now.

P.S. to Nikki: You're awesome. Thank you!

A Letter to Patrick, Two Months Old

2010-02-05T21:51:00.000-05:00

Dear Patrick,

You are two months and one day old today, my little monkey! No, I’m not already falling behind on writing your monthly letter, I just wanted to wait until after your two month appointment with the pediatrician. You appointment was this morning and I don’t think either of us was happy to be there. But we both survived your vaccines and you only cried for a little while. Thankfully, you are napping peacefully now.

You’re now in the 90th percentile for weight, length and head circumference. As the doctor said—you couldn’t be more perfectly proportioned. As far as I’m concerned, you couldn’t be more perfect! Of course, I do wish you weighed just a little less. You’re at thirteen and a half pounds now, almost five pounds heavier than you were at birth! My poor back and shoulders protest when I have to haul you and your car seat in and out of your father’s truck. But you’re my big boy and I’m so grateful you’re healthy.

It’s hard to believe it’s been two months (and one day) since you were born. Those early weeks are a bit of a blur of exhaustion, frustration and—when I wasn’t tired or frustrated—moments of quiet joy. It was a roller coaster ride of getting to know you, learning how to take care of you and adjusting to the incredible changes you have brought to my life. After your father left, it was all I could do to take care of you and myself and the pets. I’m happy to say the second month has brought a little less exhaustion, a lot less frustration and more moments of joy.

I’m also getting more sleep at night than I was a month ago because you’re sleeping better. Right now, you sleep four to four and a half hours when I put you down for the night, followed by a two to three hour stretch after a bottle, followed by another hour to hour and a half before you’re up for the day. You nap pretty well during the day, but the naps are getting a little shorter as you are waking up to the world around you and don’t want to miss anything.

You’ve learned a few new things in the past month. First of all, you’re really smiling! It was hard to tell before if it was a smile, a grimace or gas, but now I’m sure of the real smiles. You don’t smile every time you see me, but when you do it melts my heart. I never get tired of those toothless, lopsided grins. So far, you’ve only giggled once while you were awake (and I have to say, giggling in your sleep is a little creepy) and it was while I was putting on your bib. You do enjoy eating! (You take after your mama, I think.) I’m looking forward to hearing your laughter on a regular basis.

You have become more “interactive” in the past few weeks, much to my delight. You coo and babble now, your little fist shoved into your mouth—sometimes both of them at once. Putting your hand in your mouth used to signal your hunger, now you do it just because you can—and it seems to make you so happy. You look at me more often and for longer stretches and, like your smiles, I look forward to the future when you seek me out to watch me instead of looking at me only because I’m right in front of you.

In the past month, I’ve gotten you a swing and an activity play mat, both of which entertain you. I didn’t think you would take to the swing, but after a bit you seemed to enjoy watching everything moving around you. Oh, and it has the added benefit of rocking you to sleep when you’re feeling fussy. You just got the play mat yesterday, but you immediately started wiggling and kicking to the sounds and lights and little dangling toys. You love riding in the truck and looking around (though the motion eventually lulls you to sleep) and I think you’re starting to make the connection between being put in your car seat and going for a ride in the truck.

I feel like you’re growing up too fast right before my eyes, baby. You don’t fit into any of your newborn outfits anymore and it makes me sad. In fact, you are wearing a few 3 to 6 month and 6 month outfits already, though they’re a little big. But despite your growth spurt, you’re still a little baby. You still put your fist in the air—power to the people!— accompanied by the super serious expression you get sometimes, your little mouth turned down at the corners in disapproval. You can’t hold your head up for more than a few seconds yet, but you’re getting better at it ever day (and get soooo frustrated when it wobbles in the opposite direction of where you want to look). You still love to stare at the ceiling fan (I think the fan is as exciting to you as your play mat, actually) and looking at the lamplight or sunlight through the window. I can’t wait for spring so I can take you outside!

As of yesterday, I can finally count on two hands the total number of hours I’ve been away from you—8! I think you’ll be getting a regular babysitter soon, at least part-time. I miss my writing schedule and it’s hard to haul you around on errands. I think I might like to go back to teaching in the fall and even if it’s only online I will still need blocks of time to work. Of course, I don’t know yet how I’m going to leave you with someone else on a regular basis. It’ll be good for both of us and it’ll be harder for me than for you, I’m sure. But I know you don’t really want to go to doctor’s appointments and the grocery store with me, right? (I’ll still take you to Starbucks, of course!)

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but sometime in the past month I fell in love with you, Patrick. It wasn’t love at first sight for me like it was for your father. Is that horrible to admit? By the time I fell in love with you as my baby bump, it was almost time for you to be out in the world. So it’s taken me a little while to get to know you on the outside of my body, but I’m in love with you now, little boy. How could I not be? You are so amazing. We talk to your father everyday on my laptop so he can see you and you can see and hear him—and you do respond to his voice, even if his image is a little blurry on the screen sometimes—and I tell him how you’re doing and how incredible you are. He misses you, but I’m excited for him because I know he’s going to fall in love with you all over again when he gets home.

Two months have flown by and I know that it’ll be December before I know it and you’ll be turning a year old. Don’t grow up too fast, sweet boy. As much as I’m looking forward to all the things you’ll be able to do in the next month, and in six months, and in a year… I want to enjoy what you can do right now and savor these moments with you. The cuddles and the coos and your little hand on mine are all I need right now.

Happy two month birthday, baby. Mama loves you.

Patrick and the Amazing Musical Light Show

2010-02-04T21:24:00.000-05:00

Patrick is two months old today. Doesn't he look happy?

The awesome play mat is the Baby Einstein Around the World Play Gym.

More About Baby, Writing and the Meltdown I Will Have If I Don't Get a Break Soon

2010-02-01T22:53:00.002-05:00

Today was another one of those days when Patrick napped a lot and right on schedule, taking two 3-hour naps, a 1 and 1/2 hour nap and is now taking another short nap before I put him down for the night. Which will ideally mean one 4ish-hour stretch, one 2ish hour stretch and maybe a 1-2 hour stretch in the morning. But experience tells me it'll be less because he's napped so much today. (Which means I probably should have taken a nap myself to compensate for tonight, but a) I don't always know he's going to nap this well and b) I'm so happy to have time to get a bunch of stuff done that I don't even think about sleeping.)

I read somewhere that babies tend to function on a 48-hour schedule and that if they sleep a lot one day, they'll be awake a lot the next. That seems to be true for Patrick. He slept like this on Saturday, but was awake most of Sunday. It's not so bad, especially if he's not particularly fussy. It's tiring, having no one to hand him to so I can get a few things done, which can be frustrating if there are things I need (or want) to do. But he's getting more interactive (for lack of a better word) and I enjoy watching him watch the world. Of course, he often has long periods of fussiness on the days when he sleeps less and that's no fun for either of us. I've also read that young babies shouldn't be awake for more than 90 minutes at a time, otherwise they get overtired and overstimulated. There seems to be some truth in that and I try to put him down for a nap at the 90 minute mark if he's not showing any signs of going to sleep on his own. It doesn't always work.

I got some writing in on Saturday while Patrick napped, but it was impossible to write yesterday since his naps were in the 30 to 45 minute range. That's just not enough time for me to focus on anything. (And I had other things to do during those short naps, like feed the pets, take a shower, do a load of laundry, etc.) What's worse, it's terribly frustrating to think he might sleep for a couple of hours and sit down hoping for a decent stretch of writing time and then have to quit after a few minutes. I've learned that if I get a day like today, with long stretches of time to be productive, I shouldn't waste it. I've also learned that I shouldn't expect to get two days like this in a row. So I know tomorrow will likely be one of those days where he'll be up most of the day and some of that will be fussy time. Sigh.

I keep going back and forth over childcare. I never expected to be the full-time, sole care provider, and that was whether Jay was home or deployed. I need to write and I think I want to go back to teaching in the fall. I can write at home on days when he naps well, but that's not predictable enough for me to have a real writing schedule. It will also get harder as he gets older and is awake more often. I'm not comfortable putting him in daycare, mostly for the health issues that seem to plague kids who are in daycare. He's just so little and I'm not in a hurry to expose him to colds and illness when I don't have to. Plus, I've grown rather fond of our time together-- especially as he's getting older and learning to play-- and I don't want to lose that.

I'm looking at part-time care, in my house. I can't see taking him to someone else's house-- I just don't think I would ever trust a stranger that much. I'm not even sure I trust a stranger in my own house, but I would feel like I have more control over the situation (and could spend part or all of the childcare hours at home writing/working, or drop in and out over the course of those hours). It's expensive, having a nanny. The going rate here is around $10 to $15 an hour, which I know is cheaper than it would be in a big city. That's not expensive out proportion to the work-- I know that even an easy baby requires a tremendous amount of energy and enthusiasm. And I'm a big believer in the adage that you get what you pay for. I have no desire to skimp when it comes to making sure my baby is taken care of. I did balk at the referral fee that a nanny agency charges. I realize that's how they make their money, but... wow. It's a lot.

I wish I could hire someone I know rather than a stranger. I'm dragging my feet on this even though I really, really need the help simply because I'm having a hard time with the idea that a stranger will be in my house, taking care of my son. Whether I'm here or not, that's just hard for me to accept right now. I know it's just new-mommy apprehension, but it's also my personality: I don't trust easily and I don't like having people in my personal space. But for the month of January I had five hours away from baby. That's it. And those five hours (over three different days) were spent getting my hair colored, going food shopping and visiting friends and their new baby in the hospital. All three times, I felt like I was rushing through what I was doing (and driving too fast to get there and back) because I don't like asking people for favors. I hate thinking that Patrick is crying and someone-- a friend-- can't calm him. Not because I'm worried about Patrick (okay, a little), but because I hate inconveniencing others and I know a crying baby is no fun. So, even though I made the most of those five hours and enjoyed the brief breaks away, it wasn't relaxing and it wasn't enough. I need more.

I don't feel like I can ask a friend to watch the baby while I go to Starbucks and drink coffee and write. Or go to a movie. Or get a massage. I feel like whatever babysitting offers I get from friends should be used to run errands and do chores, not write and relax. Don't ask me why. I guess that's another (annoying) aspect of my personality: I don't like asking for favors. If I ask for a favor, it's because I feel like there's something I really need to do. And as much as I really need to have some time to myself, alone with a coffee, a book to read and my laptop, I won't ask someone to babysit so I can have it. (Even if I had a long list of potential babysitters-- which I don't. I barely have a short list.)

So, at some point, when I've hit my wall (which apparently hasn't happened yet, despite the constant state of exhaustion and occasional crying jags and feeling like I have absolutely no life and I'm never going to write again), I will hire someone to take care of Patrick for around 20 hours a week. That seems like so much time, in contrast to 5 hours in 30 days. I can't even imagine it, right now. It would be so much easier (relatively speaking) if I had a job to go to. An office somewhere that was waiting for me to come off maternity leave and get back to work. But the writing and editing, and even the teaching, are flexible and subject only to my own self-imposed schedules and deadlines. I have to write. I just have to. And I know that some of depression-- because that's what it is, no matter how I dress it up-- is because I'm not writing and because I don't have a schedule to do the work that is important to me.

Patrick is waking up from his last nap of the day and it's time for a bottle and a story (and maybe a song) and those happy little sounds he makes while he eats, with his little hand resting on mine. I never get tired of those moments. For tonight, at least, the writing can waiting.

Surprise Package

2010-02-01T20:45:00.001-05:00

Patrick got a present in the mail today and I couldn't resist seeing if he would fit in the box. He did.

Waiting for Snow

2010-01-29T13:57:00.001-05:00

So it seems there is a big winter storm headed in my direction. Every year, we get a couple of these dire winter storm warnings for southeast Virginia and they usually amount to a dusting of snow that melts as soon as the sun peaks out from behind the clouds. But it seems like this time it might be the real deal with a possibility of up to twelve inches of snow. I'll believe it when I see it, but I love the sense of anticipation of a winter storm. A week ago, I was going a bit stir crazy from being cooped up in the house with a baby and a bug (the sickness bug, not the mutant cockroaches I wrote about last weekend). Now, I'm kind of looking forward to nesting for a few days.

It's a been a good week, give or take a couple of late nights of baby fussiness. I've gotten out of the house every day this week-- which didn't seem possible a month ago. Funny how things change. But Patrick has gotten a little older and is a little more predictable, which makes scheduled outings a little easier. I've gotten my coffee fix several times this week, which is lovely. Oh, how I've missed my coffee! Between pregnancy, gestational diabetes and a newborn, I haven't indulged my Starbucks cravings nearly enough in the past six months. (Though I do wonder if Patrick absorbs the caffeine by osmosis while we're there because his fussy nights seem to coincide with a trip to Starbucks.) Getting my coffee, doing a bit of writing and plotting, seeing some friends, feeling like I'm finding a new routine-- it all goes a long way to improving my overall mood.

Patrick is eight weeks old today and weighing in at a whopping 13 pounds. He goes to the pediatrician next Friday for his two month checkup, so I imagine he'll be weighing a little more by then. It's not all sunshine and rainbows (those fussy nights are truly exhausting and my back is in a permanent knot), but it's gotten more manageable. Enough so that when I saw my doctor earlier this week for my postpartum appointment, I mentioned that we might actually consider trying for another baby in the next year. Crazy, huh? Crazier still that my doctor was positively delighted. We'll see how I feel in a few more months. Two babies under two? I think the sleep deprivation is getting to me.

So here I sit on a Friday night, baby sleeping beside me and snow on the radar. I'm soaking beans to make a hearty bean soup for tomorrow and I'm feeling the urge to bake a pan of my kickass brownies. I got a writing check in the mail today and I got to see Jae and Shannon's baby girl tonight. There are things I wish were different, a certain melancholy I just can't shake, but life is good and peaceful and (for the moment) quiet.

Bring on the snow.

Cry, Baby

2010-01-24T14:56:00.001-05:00

The Magic Six-Week Mark

2010-01-18T22:03:00.002-05:00

We've passed it, actually. Patrick turned six weeks old on Friday. I have heard that six weeks is the magic milestone where babies (and life with babies) get easier. Of course, some people say it's eight weeks, others say it's three months. At least one person told me six months, but that balances with the one person who told me two weeks. Still, six weeks seems to be the most frequently quoted age. I'm here to report... they're right. Sort of.

After Patrick's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day last Tuesday, the week took a turn for the better. In fact, every day since Tuesday (knock on wood and whatever superstitions necessary) has been a pretty good day. By pretty good, I mean there have been no extended periods of fussiness or crying, no times when he couldn't be consoled by holding, rocking bouncing, changing or feeding him. After last Tuesday's all-day meltdown, this is a minor miracle not to be taken for granted.

The icing on the happy (or at least content) baby cake is that Friday night was the first night that I was able to put him to bed without a prolonged bout of fussing and crying. Previous to that, every night was a 2 to 4 hour chore of trying to get him down for the night. He's been sleeping in his crib since day 1, but he naps downstairs in his rocker during the day. The transition was a bit of an ordeal, no matter what time I attempted to put him to bed. I thought maybe it was something about his room (too quiet, too warm) or his crib (too big, too flat), but he wasn't having any problems sleeping once he was actually in there. I still don't really know what the issue is, but I've found the fix-- or at least a fix that has worked for the past three nights (and I'm knocking on wood again). Last night was his best night ever in terms of going to bed easily and not needing to be soothed once he was there. Of course, today he's waking up every hour or two and eating more than usual, so I assume it's his six-week growth spurt. He's fussier than usual, but nothing like last Tuesday. This is manageable and I don't feel like I'm losing my mind.

So yes, the six-week mark was a turning point of sorts. But I don't know if it's because Patrick has gotten easier or because I've recovered from having him and gotten a little better at this parenting thing. He is certainly interacting more with me-- smiling occasionally, making prolonged eye contact, snuggling against me-- which helps. But he's also crying and fussing less. Is that because he's six weeks old or because I've figured out what to do to keep him content? I don't know, but I'll take it.

This is not to say that it has gotten easy. Hardly. I'm exhausted and averaging about 4 hours of sleep a night. Part of the problem is how long it takes me to fall asleep-- if he sleeps for 3 hours, I might sleep for 2. Last night, he never slept more than 2 and a half hours, so I never slept more than an hour before I was getting up with him again. Tired. So very tired.

I had a much needed break planned for Saturday, with a massage and a movie scheduled, but my plans were derailed by illness (my generous babysitter, not me). I didn't realize how much I was looking forward to a break until it was taken away. Talk about inconsolable (me, not Patrick). Jay is nudging me to hire someone for part-time childcare. I keep thinking if only I had a few hours to myself I'd be able to forge ahead for another month, but I can't even get that little break right now. So I'm contemplating the options. I'm pretty sure I can't keep going like this until May or June when Jay gets home. The reality is that there are very few people I trust to watch my child and, for one reason or another, the few friends I do trust aren't available. I'm not sure how I can hire a stranger to take care of him, but that may be what I need to do. I've been resistant-- partially because Patrick is so young and partially because it's so expensive-- but I'm starting to think it might be the best thing for my mental health. Falling apart when a friend lets me down (even when it's unavoidable) is not good mental health.

So here we are, at just past six weeks since Patrick was a born and a month since Jay returned to Dubai. It's gotten a little easier and more manageable, to be sure. He's an amazing little creature, which makes up for a lot, including the sleepless nights and the assorted aches and pains associated with carrying a chunky baby for hours every day. I'm even managing to think about writing, editing and book promotion, so that's something. Maybe-- for right now-- it's enough.

Baby Had a Bad, Bad Day

2010-01-13T11:11:00.000-05:00

Patrick had a horrible day yesterday. He cried, he fussed, he screamed, he wriggled and fought the air with his little balled up fists. I have absolutely no idea what the problem was and, as I discovered, I had absolutely no idea how to resolve it except to wait it out. Which I did, but just barely.

With the exception of one one-hour nap in the morning and two or three fifteen-minute catnaps in the afternoon and evening, he was awake from 11:30 AM to 10:30 PM. That is a long time for a little baby to be awake. That is also a long time for a tired mama to be rocking, holding, feeding, cuddling and talking to a little baby. I fed him when he was hungry, changed him when he was wet, held him when he seemed to want to be held, put him down when he seemed sleepy, burped him, bicycled his legs for gas, kept him warm (but not too warm), checked his temperature (no fever), swaddled him, gave him a pacifier, moved him from downstairs (too much light and noise, maybe?) to upstairs, dimmed the lights, sang to him, hummed to him, stayed quiet… and nothing worked for more than five minutes to keep him calm. Finally, for no real reason I can discern except sheer exhaustion, he fell asleep (swaddled) around 10:30 and slept until after 4 AM. Thank god and whichever saint watches over frazzled mothers. Seriously.

It’s not just the crying that sends me around the bend-- though it’s certainly the main problem since I have such a low tolerance for loud noise-- it’s the constant physical contact. I’m not used to having my personal space invaded with such frequency. Yes, I know this is my baby and any idea I have of personal space went out the window when he took up residence in my uterus, but… still. Don’t get me wrong, I love to hold him when he’s calm and sleepy and warm. It’s soothing to have his little head nestled against my shoulder, his fingers clasping mine. That’s wonderful. It’s when he’s fussing and crying, when the arms are flailing about and the legs are kicking and he’s struggling to lift his head and manages to clip me in the jaw that I feel like I’m on the receiving end of a violent attack. It doesn’t seem like it should hurt, but it does. I feel like my body is bruised after yesterday. Swaddling helps a little, but he still manages to wriggle and twist and push against me so hard I have to hang on tight. It’s physically exhausting. Thankfully, my incision isn’t as tender as it was a couple of weeks ago because those belly kicks hurt.

I had my own little meltdown around 9:30 last night, holding him and praying he would go to sleep so I could get some sleep myself. It wasn’t long before he was sleeping peacefully and looking like an angel, but of course I had no idea that was coming when I was melting down. In that moment, after ten hours of constant care of a fussy baby with barely a break to feed the pets and myself, it felt like it was never going to get better. Ever. Like I was trapped in that nursery, in that chair, with that crying baby forever. Horrible, helpless feeling, that.

But today is a new day and so far, so good. He slept last night, I slept last night, the pets and I have been fed well before noon (as opposed to the 4 PM and 9 PM of yesterday), the sun is shining and Patrick is taking his usual morning nap (and waking up, it sounds like). I feel like I can do anything right now. Maybe even write something that isn’t baby-related.

Bought the Ticket. Taking the Ride.

2010-01-08T19:49:00.003-05:00

Pardon the bad picture, it was taken with my phone yesterday evening. I'm pretty sure it was Patrick's first real smile and I wanted to capture it, especially since he hasn't had much to smile about since. This will be a good reminder for those nights (tonight?) when he's been fussing for hours and I'm at the end of my rope. Patrick has been smiling off and on for weeks, but it was those little random baby smiles that appear out of nowhere (sometimes when he's sleeping) and disappear just as quickly. This time, he actually smiled in response to something I did and it lasted for a good minute or two. Until I tried to take a picture of him, of course.

It's been a rough few days of little sleep (for me) and a lot of crying (for him, though I feel like I could cry). Monday and Tuesday were lovely, but it's been downhill since then-- some bad nights with short periods of sleep and a lot of fussiness and crying and seemingly endless hunger and parts of the day that aren't so great, either. He seems to have gas after he eats, but I've done every trick in the book to help him with that and still he cries. Another growth spurt? He's gaining weight at a pretty good clip, but I just don't know. He still wanted to eat last night even after he ate three times in less than 6 hours. He sucked on his fingers, but kept losing them in his flailing, so I gave him my finger and he sucked on it for nearly an hour before falling asleep. Maybe he needs a pacifier? I'm afraid to even say the scary word colic because if this goes on for weeks or months I will lose my mind. More than one person has told me that babies cry more in the 3 to 6 week period (or 4 to 8 week period, the anecdotes seem to vary), but no one said why. Just that it does get better. I'm a fix-it girl and I don't know the fix for this except to wait it out, I guess.

Strangely enough, after fussing and crying for over 5 hours last night, he slept from 1:30 until almost 8:30. That's almost seven hours after two nights of not sleeping longer than two hours and never having slept longer than four and a half. I didn't sleep anywhere near that long, of course. It took me at least an hour to unwind (listening to a baby cry is stressful and I have a low tolerance for noise), then the dog woke me up at 6 and then I was freaked out that Patrick hadn't woken up, so I had to check on him. He was fine, so I went back to bed and did get about another hour of sleep before he started making wake up noises (and I honestly think he would soothed himself back to sleep if I hadn't gone in to get him). There's a part of me that wonders if he did wake up in the middle of the night and I was just too exhausted to hear him and that makes me feel impossibly guilty. How would I know? He didn't seem any more hungry than usual this morning. I figured he was just worn out from the past couple of bad nights.

When you have a baby, his bad days are your bad days, so I'm a bit of an incoherent zombie today. I did get a bunch of stuff done around the house yesterday because his late morning and afternoon naps were peaceful (if short). I was running on some magical reserve tank of energy that I don't want to examine too closely for fear it will fail me when I need it. Despite the previous bad night's sleep, I felt pretty good and positive about the day until around 6 PM when the cycle of fussing, feeding, crying, soothing, fussing started again. (Which was, coincidentally enough, about 20 minutes after the above picture was taken.) I guess that's something, though. A few good hours in the midst of the chaos. And, despite how tired I feel now, I did actually get about five hours of sleep last night followed by another good hour, so that's about twice as much as I've been averaging. I suspect it's depression and not fatigue that's making me feel tired today, since I don't know how the rest of the day and night are going to go. I'll rally, though. I always do.

I'm looking forward to that mysterious time frame known as "it will get better." Hopefully sooner, rather than later. I was spoiled for those two weeks when Jay was home and I was getting a stretch of sleep every night. I even got used to the 2-3 hours between feedings of the past couple of weeks (punctuated by a couple of very bad nights). Can't I have those back, at least? (Yes, I'm whining.)

I'm not complaining, truly. Okay, I am, but I don't mean to. I'd love to write about something else and as soon as my brain isn't foggy and I can think of something else, I will write about it. I know it could be worse (that dreaded colic-- I've heard anecdotes of it lasting nearly around the clock for weeks) and I'm grateful for these little stretches during the day where I do get a few things done and manage to feel somewhat human, if an incoherent human. And I have that little smile above to remind me that it isn't all crying and fussing, even if it seems like it sometimes.

Oh, and in case you're wondering about my blog post title, Alison Tyler has a post today titled "Buy the ticket. Take the ride." It has nothing to do with babies and sleep, but it seems to fit my situation. I signed up for this and I even knew what I was in for (minus the absent spouse, the Cesarean section recovery and the inability to resolve every bout of crying), so I can't complain now. Buy the ticket. Take the ride. Yeah.

It's a hell of a ride, I'll tell you that.

A Letter to Patrick, One Month Old

2010-01-04T19:48:00.000-05:00

My sweet Patrick,

You’re one month old today, baby. On this very cold January day, you and I are at Starbucks—one of the few places I’ve taken you—and mama even brought her computer for the first time. Of course, I’m writing a letter to you instead of getting any real writing done, but it’s still quite an accomplishment right now for us to get out of the house! We are a team, you and I, until your father gets home from his deployment in Dubai. I’m counting on you to be very forgiving as I make mistakes over the next few months. After all, I never changed a diaper before you came along—and even then you were four days old before I changed the first one! Despite your young age, you probably have figured out I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe that’s what those little smirks are that you give me sometimes—I just thought it was gas!

It’s been amazing watching you grow and change this month. You have outgrown most of your newborn outfits and have developed a little round belly and chunky legs. I’m not worried about your weight the way I was in the days after your birth. You no longer feel like a fragile newborn, though you are still so small and helpless and your head wobbles around if I don’t support it. You still have that adorable “startle” reflex where you throw you arms up in surprise (often while you’re sleeping), though it doesn’t happen as often as before. Thankfully, you sleep pretty soundly through the dog barking and the phone ringing and the television commercials that are so much louder than whatever program I might be attempting to watch in between feedings and laundry.

I’m so very tired, baby. I know that’s the way it’s supposed to be with a newborn and I try not to complain, but how I wish I could sleep more! It was certainly easier before your father left—having two people to take care of you made it seem almost effortless. But it’s been just you and me for the past two weeks and the exhaustion is a bit overwhelming at times. I never take it out on you, though I did have to put you down and walk away for a few minutes one particularly bad night when you were gassy and crying, but I can’t say the same about others. Everyone and everything gets on my nerves right now and I know it’s sleep deprivation and hormones. I’m recovering quite nicely from your birth, but I will be happy when you’re sleeping a bit longer at night and my hormones stop careening around out of control.

You’re too little for toys just yet, but you do love to stare at the ceiling fan. You’re also quite fond of lights—whether it’s sunlight through the window or the Christmas tree lights before your father took the tree down. Even the light from a lamp will mesmerize you for awhile. We bought you a swing before your father left, but you didn’t like it very much so we exchanged it for a simple rocker to put in the living room. You seem to like that well enough, especially when I rock you (it’s manual, so I have to do the work). Perhaps when you’re a little bigger you’ll enjoy the rocking and vibrations and music of an electric swing. It’s okay if you don’t, though. I’ll keep rocking you in the rocker for as long as you like it. Sometimes it soothes me as much as it soothes you.

You love your hands and wave them around like a symphony conductor or a painter wielding a brush on an invisible canvas. Sometimes you thrust your fist in the air while you’re sleeping, your lips pursed defiantly like a little rebel. I wonder what you’re rebelling against in those baby dreams? There are pictures of you with your hands in your mouth just moments after your birth. I love that you are a self-soother, even if it means that you resist being swaddled. I hate that you had to self-soothe in the hospital because I was in recovery and couldn’t hold you. But you’re already showing your inner strength, my sweet boy, and you took care of yourself when I couldn’t. I think your fondness for using your hands is a hint that you will end up with some streak of creativity. I can’t wait to find out what form it takes.

It’s incredible how much you look like your father, from the strands of blond and red in your brown hair (which seems to have a bit of curl to it—perhaps that’s my contribution?) to the dimple in your chin. I have always had a hard time telling who babies look like, but I have thought you looked like your father since I saw your sweet face on my 34 week ultrasound. You certainly act like your father’s son—collapsing into a deep sleep after you eat and maintaining a relatively good natured demeanor even when your newbie mother messes up some crucial aspect of your care. If you grow up with your dad’s personality as well as his looks, I’ll consider myself the luckiest mother in the world.

Recently, you’ve been giggling and smiling in your sleep, giving me a taste of what’s to come. I’m looking forward to that first real smile you give me. It will be a hard won reward, I think! I’m in no hurry for you to grow up though, baby. I know that as much work as it is to take care of you now that it will be even more demanding when you’re mobile! I’m very content to wait for those big milestones until your father comes home and can experience them, too—and give me a break! Your mama is a bit of a free spirit and it’s been a big adjustment having to give up my freedom. You’re worth it, no doubt, but I look forward to leaving you in your father’s capable hands for a few hours—or a few days.

I’m sorry your father isn’t here to experience all these newborn moments. He wants to be, I promise you that. And, with luck, this will be the only time in your childhood that he won’t be home with us. The Navy has given us a good life, but this is not at all the way I wanted it to go, with your dad only here for the first eighteen days of your life. He will be home in June, if not sooner, and everything will seem a bit easier. He’s very good with you and has more patience than I could ever hope to have. That will come in handy when he’s teaching you to swim—and to drive.

Most of the time, you are an easy baby and I’m so grateful for that. You have only had a handful of bad nights in the past month—four, I think, including one night in the hospital. New Year’s Eve was pretty bad. You stayed up longer than you ever have—nearly eight hours!—and I decided that you just wanted to ring in the new year with me. Of course, I could have done without the crying (and on the one night when I actually had people over—such is the way of babies, I suppose) and bottomless hunger. Perhaps it was a growth spurt rather than a need to see the ball drop, hmm? I have no experience with babies, but I hear that some of them cry a lot and, with those few exceptions, you certainly don’t. I’m especially grateful for that, sweet Patrick. I love you dearly, but your inconsolable wails on those bad nights broke my heart. I hope nights like that are few and far between. I’ll try my best to make sure you never have a reason to cry.

I bought a bunch of books when we were expecting you so that I would know how to take care of you. Unfortunately, I’m so tired most of the time I can’t do more than look at them sitting on the bedside table and hope I’m not scarring you for life as I bumble onward. But I do have friends who give me bits of advice here and there, and that helps. And there are some things I just seem to know about taking care of you—like how to hold you when you’re fussy or to start a bottle when you make certain little grunting sounds and start gnawing on your hands. I’m starting to gain confidence that I can take care of you by myself, which means we’ll be getting out of the house more (once the weather warms up—you are only a month old, after all). My strength is coming back and I’m probably gaining some muscle in the process of lifting you and your carseat in and out of your father’s truck! How I wish I could put you in my Miata—I think you’d enjoy riding in a convertible when you’re older. (I’m not-so-secretly hoping you have a bit of your mother’s free spirit in you!)

At some point, you’re going to realize your parents are not like your friends’ parents. In the first place, we’re terribly old. In the second place, not only are we still married, but we’ve been married forever! Hopefully these attributes will count in our favor, even if we did name you after the dog. (But you have two middle names, so you shouldn’t mind if we gave you Henry’s name as one of them. He’s a pretty wonderful dog, after all.) We may not be traditional parents (and I’m most definitely not going to be a traditional mom), but we have big plans to show you the world and make sure you have a wonderful life. I think you will inspire both your father and me to take better care of ourselves so we can keep up with you. What adventures we’re going to have!

There was a full moon on December 31—the second full moon of the month, which makes it a blue moon. I wanted to remember that so I could tell you there was a blue moon in the month you were born. You are the kind of baby that comes along once in a blue moon and I am lucky you are mine. It’s getting late now and it is bitterly cold outside, so I better get you home before you wake up again and wonder why your crazy mother still has you out at Starbucks.

Happy one month birthday, Patrick. Mama loves you.

No Rest for the Wicked (or Me)

2009-12-30T19:46:00.000-05:00

I want to blog, but I find myself staring at a blank screen with not a single coherent thought in my head. All I can think about is sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep.

Patrick is, in fact, sleeping and I should probably try to lay down and sleep a bit, too. But I know he will be awake again in less than 2 hours, probably less than an hour, and that just isn't enough time for my insomnia to let me fall asleep. Plus, I'm downstairs on the couch and he's in his little rocker next to me and that's all fine and well for his napping, but I have a hard time sleeping on the couch and prefer to be in bed. But going to bed entails turning off the lights and television, covering the bird's cage, letting the dog out, carrying Patrick upstairs to his crib so I can hear him when he wakes up, taking my laptop, cell phone, a glass of water for me and a bottle for Patrick upstairs, brushing my teeth, washing my face and taking my meds. And probably doing two or three other things along the way. All of which will take close to an hour, at which time Patrick will be awake again. So sleep is but a wishful dream on the horizon because I'm too damned tired at this moment to do everything I need to do to actually go to sleep.

I'm not alone, though. Mary Anne blogged about being tired this morning. She has a new baby and a toddler, so I weep for her. Of course, she also has a partner and child care, so perhaps she should weep for me. I suspect we are both too tired to waste tears for each other when we can simply weep for ourselves. But I'll quote this part in place of offering anything creative or new or interesting of my own. Because, dear readers, I'm simply too tired to be original:

People keep asking me how I'm doing, especially this week as I see lots of old friends in concentrated doses. And I say terrible and they laugh uncomfortably and I say no really the last six months have been pretty much sheer hell and they say but at least your children are adorable and I admit that this is true but how is that relevant? Cute and hell are not measured on the same axis. My children, you are overflowing with cuteness, your adorability quotient is sky-high, especially when dressed in the little butterfly and alligator outfits that aunty and grandma got you for Christmas but that has absolutely nothing to do with the hellishness. Which also has nothing to do with your personalities, I must note, which are, as children's personalities go, pretty good. (Oh look, my commas have come back, how I love, them.) It is really all about the sleep, or lack, thereof. Comma, stop.

I know new parents are supposed to complain about lack of sleep and we are all supposed to nod and smile and change the subject because that is the social contract but this is truly maddening. I read an article although probably it was just a summary of an article now that I think about it because I can't remember the last time I had the time to just read an article for fun but anyway I read an article about how new parents and interns on call had similar sleep patterns -- being woken up at unpredictable intervals far too often and for far too long. The article said the human brain was not well suited to handle that kind of unpredictability and given that maybe we shouldn't be so quick to put patients' lives and fragile babies into the hands of those who are being slowly driven mad by the interrupted and inadequate sleep. Which all makes total sense to me but doesn't appear to be stopping this from happening.

Now I will begin the slow process of making my way to bed-- hopefully by midnight or 1 AM, depending on how long it takes for sweet, drowsy Patrick to eat when he wakes again shortly-- for my two (maybe two and a half) hours of sleep before he wakes yet again. Tomorrow when someone asks me how I'm doing I will say I'm tired (I don't say terrible because I figure it could always be worse) as I have said every day since he was born (and before, since pregnancy was also exhausting, but in an entirely different way) and I will try very hard not to think about how much actual sleep I got because that only makes me more tired. And I will be grateful that Patrick is a good, sweet, cute, easy baby, even if I'm so tired that I sometimes forget his name.

Off Balance

2009-12-27T19:34:00.000-05:00

One of the persistent themes I've blogged about over the past five years is finding balance. Balance is everything, at least for me. When my life is out of balance, it's hard-- sometimes impossible-- for me to be creative. I have found myself more off balance this year than I have ever been in my life. When the writing has come, which has been rare in 2009, it has not come easy. And now Patrick is here and the concept of balance has gone completely out the window.

Granted, I know that's how it's supposed to be right now and in some ways I don't mind at all. I'm only three weeks into motherhood and it's been an incredible learning experience already. Not all of it good. We went on our first mother/son outing to Starbucks yesterday and something that seemed so simple a month ago was suddenly a production. I wasn't surprised by that-- I may have little experience with babies, but I do know how much work they are and I was/am at least mentally prepared for that, even if I was never prepared to do it alone. I know it'll get easier as I gain experience and get my strength back, but I'm just so impatient for that to be now.

Thankfully, in addition to being devastatingly handsome, Patrick is a pretty easy baby. Of course, I have no basis for comparison to know what an "easy baby" is, but so far he rarely cries except when he's hungry or gassy. That's pretty easy, right? He does get fussy sometimes-- flailing his arms and getting red in the face without ever really breaking into crying. Sometimes in the afternoon and evening it's hard to get him to nap after he eats, but even then he's not really hard to calm. Of course, I'm constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop as everyone warns me it can change in a heartbeat. God, I hope not.

But as beautiful and easy as Patrick is, I'm acutely aware of the lack of balance in my life. Technically, I'm still recovering physically and I'm trying to cut myself some slack when I get frustrated over the fact that I'm not charging full speed ahead. I should be writing, I tell myself. I should be working on ideas for my next anthology. Planning events and promo for Fairy Tale Lust. Etcetera. I can't do too much physically yet, but I'm anxious to get the baby weight off. (Yay for Wii in the winter months!) Even in that I'm trying not to be too impatient. As someone pointed out, it took nine months for my stomach to get that big (lord, was it big!) and it'll take at least that long for it to go away. But even though I wasn't a size 6 when I got pregnant, I'm anxious to have my body back. I'm able to wear some of my jeans already, which is a good feeling. It's a start. Baby steps. Ha.

I am profoundly grateful for this beautiful, healthy baby. I don't need to say that, do I? I'll say it anyway-- taking care of a baby might be new to me, but I feel like I was born with mommy guilt. I am grateful and I'm looking forward to so many things with this little boy. But right now-- in the midst of the feeding, diapering, cuddling, attempting to sleep before I start it all again routine-- it's hard to sit on the ground on one end of the see-saw when I feel like I'm never going to get airborne again-- at least not for several months. I was talking to my neighbor yesterday about traveling-- he and his wife are going to Vegas next month-- and he said my "wings have been clipped" now. At the time, I was sitting in the truck with Patrick on our way to Starbucks, mentally calculating how long I could stay out before he would wake up and need to be fed, so I suppose my wings have been clipped. But I bristled at the comment-- stumbled over my words and said not at all, we plan on traveling with Patrick (and I plan on traveling alone, too, but I didn't even think to say that)-- and it stuck with me. Clipped wings. Grounded. Shudder.

I keep reminding myself that I don't do things like other people. I never have. I have proven people wrong, I have gone against expectations and norms and I have made people cock their heads as they try to figure me out. Beneath the fatigue, the circles under my eyes, the baby spit up on my T-shirt and the lack of a decent meal despite a freezer full of food because I haven't had much of an appetite in nearly a week, I'm still that same person. I know that and I don't have to prove it. Except to myself.

And a Creature was Stirring...

2009-12-24T18:53:00.005-05:00

Life With Baby

2009-12-23T18:31:00.002-05:00

Hello there. Have you missed me? I apologize for the silence. It's been a hectic few weeks around here (quietly hectic, of course-- you should never wake a sleeping baby!). Let me catch up...

After celebrating Christmas on Monday, Jay left yesterday to return to Dubai. He was originally given 2 weeks of leave, but was granted an additional 6 days when I ended up with a Cesarean section and wildly high postpartum blood pressure that carried over from the last few weeks of my pregnancy (which is what necessitated the attempted induction that resulted in the Cesarean). I was grateful that Jay was here for Patrick's birth and had nearly three weeks at home even if his command couldn't see fit to give him more leave despite my doctor saying my recovery would be 6 to 8 weeks. (I'll save the eye-rolling and snickering for another post.)

I'm also grateful that I'm recovering more quickly than anticipated. Even my doctor and the nurses were impressed with how well I'm doing. Good thing, eh? Though it wasn't the birth experience I wanted-- and that's something I'm still coming to terms with-- the end result was a very perfect baby. I have no regrets in sticking to my guns and refusing to be induced before Jay came home or for opting to be induced rather than go with a Cesarean section first. The induction was hell on earth and I wouldn't wish that kind of artificially induced pain on anyone, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it would work. (Also to be saved for another post: the evils of being induced with Pitocin before a baby is ready to be born.) I'll be analyzing the situation for a long time to come, wondering what I could/should have done differently and whether anything would have made the difference between a natural birth and a Cesarean, but I imagine the disappointment and sense of disconnect will fade in time as I settle into motherhood.

It's hard to believe-- and scary, if I let myself dwell on it-- that I am the sole care provider for a newborn. Me, who had never changed a diaper before this little one came into my life. Even then, I didn't change my first diaper until he was 4 days old. (I spent 4 days in the hospital and was more than willing to let Jay take care of the diaper-changing duties.)

In some ways, the next few months will be worse for Jay. It's hard for me to imagine leaving Patrick for even a day right now, so I can't imagine what this experience is like for Jay. I'm grateful this should (hopefully) be his last deployment. We'll all get through it, somehow. Patrick will do better than either of us, I think-- which is as it should be.

So here I am, a new mother alone with a baby until June (maybe May, but I'm not counting on it), wondering how this all happened and grateful this amazing creature came into my life...

Birth Day

2009-12-11T18:26:00.001-05:00

Just a few pictures from Patrick's birth day. More to come...

Big Baby Boy

Proud Papa

Mama and Baby

New Arrival

2009-12-07T18:25:00.002-05:00

Patrick Finnegan Henry Wright was born on Friday, December 4, 2009 at 6:32 PM. He weighs 8 pounds, 10.5 ounces and is 20.5 inches long. He is perfect in every way.

39 Weeks

2009-12-03T23:24:00.003-05:00

This is my last pregnancy picture-- I'm being induced tomorrow at 39 weeks 2 days. It's not my preference and I'm still hoping to do it without pain meds (or a Cesarean section), but the baby is measuring over 9 pounds and my blood pressure has crept up enough to be troublesome. I will update as I can. Thanks for all of your good wishes and support!

38 Weeks

2009-11-25T22:21:00.000-05:00

Almost there...

Full Term (37w0d)

2009-11-18T20:20:00.004-05:00

Well, I've finally reached the next to the last milestone in pregnancy: I'm officially full term. After all the other milestones-- the pregnancy tests, making it through the crucial first trimester, the genetic tests, the half-way point and the 20 week anatomy scan ultrasound, getting through the second trimester, reaching the point where the baby had viability outside the womb, getting the nursery set up, and all the rest-- it's hard to believe I'm here, with three weeks (or less) to go. I'm going to be somebody's mother. That's just crazy.

There is only one milestone left to go: birth! Then the real adventures begin...

37 Weeks

2009-11-18T13:01:00.000-05:00

Time Goes By (36w1d)

2009-11-12T22:25:00.003-05:00

Somehow, it's gotten to be November. Autumn, my favorite time of year because it means fall leaves and cooler weather and Thanksgiving and Sheri. I think back to March and knowing I was pregnant even before the pregnancy test came up positive. Then June, when I knew it was a boy even before the CVS test results confirmed it.

What I didn't know was that Jay would be deploying this year. There were a couple of precious months over the summer when we thought he'd be able to stay behind. Then August came and the plan changed and my world started to fall apart and then fell apart completely when he left October 1.

I can't really even describe the feelings associated with Jay leaving because I'm still going through it, still processing it, still living it. Depression doesn't quite begin to describe it, though. It's more than that. It's sadness and loss and feeling like the weight of the world-- not just the weight of a baby-- is on my shoulders. Which sounds hopelessly clingy and pathetic to my independent brain, but it has nothing to do with dependence and everything to do with a sense of how things should be. And this isn't it.

So, I haven't blogged during this pregnancy as much as I thought I would. I haven't been as happy or excited as I should be-- or at least as happy and excited as others think I should be. I don't know that it's entirely because Jay is deployed and I will be taking care of the baby by myself for six months until he's home, though that's a huge part of it. Hard to be happy and excited when I know how hard it's going to be to do all of this on my own. But I also think it's my nature to be a bit subdued with big changes-- even changes I want-- until I see how it goes. I'm mentally gearing up for this experience, knowing it will be demanding and exhausting and at times scary (having no one to offer a second opinion when it seems the baby is sick or feverish or morphing into Rosemary's Baby, for instance) and that doesn't leave a lot of room for excitement. Do I sound terribly cynical? Probably.

But when it comes to the pregnancy itself, I have no real complaints. Even with the gestational diabetes complication, it's been relatively easy. The GD is a bit of an annoyance, but it's manageable through diet. I had my followup on Tuesday and my numbers are good enough that I don't need medication. Other than the occasional freak out by my doctor when my blood pressure went up (stress will do that to a person, you know-- especially one who internalizes her emotions the way I do) and the early genetic testing because of my age and previous miscarriages, everything has gone beautifully. (The "so far" is assumed, right?)

I had my 36 week appointment yesterday. Everything is great except my iron-- baby seems to be sucking it out of me, despite an additional supplement. He also hasn't dropped yet and my cervix is still closed and firm-- not unusual for a first baby, but I was kind of hoping for some progress. Of course, I have been joking that this baby isn't coming until his father gets home, so maybe on some level he understands that I don't want to do this alone. I love that Sheri will be here and having a doula gives me some peace, but I will still feel alone if Jay isn't here. And if that makes me clingy and pathetic, so be it.

36 Weeks

2009-11-11T20:34:00.001-05:00

Sometimes it's hard to notice that I'm actually getting bigger until I compare pictures where I'm wearing the same outfit. Case in point:

36 weeks:

And 4 weeks earlier at 32 weeks:

Who knew a belly could get so big?

35 weeks

2009-11-04T22:04:00.001-05:00

(And new glasses!)

34 Week Ultrasound Photos

2009-10-30T23:27:00.000-04:00

Three photos from my 34 week ultrasound on Tuesday. (Now that I've been diagnosed with gestational diabetes, they're going to be monitoring me more closely-- which means more ultrasounds.) I would swear the middle picture looks like a miniature Jay. But maybe that's just my pregnant imagination.

34 weeks

2009-10-28T21:30:00.000-04:00

I hired my doula this week. When we met for the first time she said: "You're so cute. You're all belly!" And so I am...

(Pardon the crazy hair.)

Not Exactly Mother of the Year (33w5d)

2009-10-26T23:24:00.002-04:00

It has struck me on several occasions in the past few months that I should be more excited-- or, more accurately, that I'm expected to be more excited. The nagging notion that I'm not quite as delighted by the prospect of impending motherhood as others think I should be has caused me a bit of concern-- and some guilt. Other people-- strangers, even-- seem more excited about me being pregnant than I am. If I hear the phrases precious gift or blessing from God one more time, I might vomit (except I refuse to vomit while I'm pregnant because it's automatically attributed to "morning sickness"). If one more woman gets a little misty eyed over my big belly, I might hit her (unlike vomiting, I have no reluctance to use violence as a response). And if one more man beams at me and tells me how wonderful it is to be a dad, I might give him an earful-- starting with, of course being a dad is wonderful-- you not only get to keep your body, you get to keep your identity, too. Society is simply kinder to fathers, so what's not to love about the experience? No pain, no guilt for having your own life, and women think you're a freaking hero if you take care of your own kid for a few hours.

I know how shocking this will sound to some (many?) people, but it's the truth: I don't think motherhood is the end all, be all of my existence. I do not think of my child in strictly fuzzy wuzzy lovey terms. I don't cry over diaper commercials. I loathe minivans. If I see a couple with a baby and a dog, I'm going to look at the puppy first. I might not even look at the baby. I do sometimes check out strollers and I always pay attention to the division of labor-- and it's almost always the mother who is doing the feeding, the soothing, the carting the kid to the bathroom for a diaper change. All the while, dad is grinning broadly and telling anyone within earshot how wonderful it is to be a dad.

I realize, of course, that for many people-- more women than men-- parenthood really is their one and only calling in life. I know some of those people. I didn't understand it before I was ready to have a child and I don't understand it now, in the weeks before I have my baby. I certainly don't anticipate understanding it once I have this baby. It's just not the way I'm made.

It's not that I'm dreading motherhood. Well, not entirely. I'm dreading these first few months and for one glaringly obvious reason-- I will be the sole care provider for an infant. Does that sound like fun to anyone? If it does, do you want to be my nanny? But even if Jay was going to be here, I would still be looking at the next few months as a very difficult, very trying time in my life. Probably the most difficult and the most trying (and that's saying something). I have no rose colored glasses to put on, no illusions to shatter. I know that taking care of a child-- especially an infant-- is demanding, exhausting and almost without reward. (I know, I know, the baby is his own special reward, right? Please.) I know what I'm in for-- or I know as much as anyone who hasn't had a child and has very little experience with babies can know. And it scares the hell out of me, even while I'm mentally preparing myself for the sleep deprivation, the sense of isolation, the pain (of childbirth, recovery and breastfeeding) and the loss of identity, at least temporarily.

Maybe it won't be as bad as all that. Maybe it will. It's funny, but the same women who tell me horror stories about their childbirth experiences are the ones whose babies are little golden angels who bring nothing but sunshine and rainbows and dirty diapers that smell like bouquets of roses. It makes me wonder what drugs they're putting in those epidurals, to be honest. Some would call it unconditional love-- but I think it's more the fear of admitting that it isn't all sunshine and rainbows and rose smelling diapers. Or wanting others to suffer as much as they have suffered.

I do believe in unconditional love, but I don't necessarily believe in love in first sight. It may take some time to grow to love a crying, smelly, demanding bundle of joy. By the way, where is the joy they're talking about? But no amount of unconditional love is going to make me leap for joy when I have to clean up projectile vomit (or worse). No amount of unconditional love is going to make me think my baby is the most beautiful baby in the world if he looks like a troll. Some babies are ugly babies. It's a fact of life. And, for the benefit of my own sanity and self-respect, I'm not going to try to polish a turd just to make myself feel better about the whole thing.

So, I'm dealing in reality here, trying to be as pragmatic as I possibly can about an experience that I've signed up for. It's a bit like joining a gym (not that I've ever joined a gym)-- you know it's going to hurt and you know you're going to suffer, but somewhere down the road you'll be glad you did it. I like babies at a comfortable distance and toddlers not at all, so the first few years of this kid's life will certainly be an interesting experience for me. When I think of motherhood, I most often see myself with him when he's older-- when he has his own mini-life of school and friends and interests outside of home. When I can talk to this human being I've created and admire him for the person he is becoming and not just for the cute little outfit I've dressed him in. That appeals to me, that makes me smile. But it's going to be a long haul getting there.

Who Knows? (33w1d)

2009-10-22T18:49:00.011-04:00

With less than seven weeks to go, it feels like the clock is ticking even louder and faster these days. I have lists and more lists, trying to get as organized as possible. Is it possible? Who knows, but it makes the days fly by to live by a list.

I'm tired all the time now. I'm sure it's a combination of factors that make me feel like I'm walking through molasses most of the time, but the afternoon naps of the first trimester are baaaack. I don't mind too much-- except when it interferes with getting those lists crossed off.

Every piece of advice I'm given gets filed away for future reference. People I hardly know offer their help in the form of phone numbers on slips of paper and e-mails and Facebook messages. It's hard to imagine me calling on anyone for help (and if you know me, you're nodding in agreement), but I take all of the offers seriously. Again, who knows what the future will bring? I might very well find it necessary to call the wife (whom I've never met) of the guy who comes Starbucks to work on his classwork for his graduate program. God, I can't even imagine how bad things would have to be for that scenario to come true. But I appreciate the offer of assistance.

Everyone asks if Jay will be here for the birth. Um... who knows? My life, at least this portion of my life, is a great big neon question mark right now. I smile and shrug and say we hope so. There's not much I can do about that right now. Baby is on his own schedule and will be here when he gets here (unless my OB has his way and induces me-- which I'm fighting). Hopefully he'll be kind enough to give me a warning-- or take his sweet time once he starts his journey (though I'm not sure how I feel about being in labor for a day or two)-- and Jay will be here. If not, Jay will be here shortly after. In either case, I will be here and baby will be here and really, no matter what I might want, that's all that's required for this particular equation.

So I work on my lists and nap as my body demands and rub my stomach and tell baby to hang out for awhile and not arrive early. All of the questions will be answered soon enough-- at least the ones about his birthday and the guests in attendance. For a little while, everything will seem clear and then all of those parenting questions will start and I'll be back to saying "Who knows?" soon enough.

Getting There (32w2d)

2009-10-16T01:20:00.003-04:00

Just a little update on the rest of the pregnancy goings-on:

My OB appointments are every 2 weeks now. That will change to every week at 36 weeks. I meet with the diabetic counselor on the 23rd and I have a growth scan (ultrasound) on the 27th. Hopefully baby isn't a 10-pounded already. (Scary thought.)

I am in the process of hiring a doula. I've spoken to a couple of midwives and childbirth instructors and I have a few referrals. I spoke with one of the doulas today and I really liked her, so we're going to meet on the 28th. (I also like that she's a former English teacher-- completely irrational, I know.)

My stack of reading material has grown. I bought Your Best Birth last week and got Hypnobirthing: The Mongan Method today (yay Amazon!). Suzanne is going to bring me a few more books when we meet on the 28th. I know I won't remember everything I'm reading, but hopefully enough of it will stick so that when the time comes I won't be completely unprepared.

My pregnancy and childbirth books will soon give way to the new parenting books and that stack is growing, too. So far, I have Secrets of the Baby Whisperer (my second copy-- I loaned my first copy out a few years ago and never got it back), On Becoming Babywise and What to Expect the First Year. Now I'm looking for a good resource on breastfeeding.

I have pre-registered at the hospital and I'm going to start packing my hospital bag this week. I still need a few things (baby's coming home outfit, a diaper bag), but packing what I have will make me feel better. I can handle just about anything if I feel like I'm prepared-- or as prepared as I can be. Having a bag packed and waiting makes me feel prepared. At least for now.

I am working on a contact/information page for anyone who needs it. It includes Jay's contact information in Dubai, the number for the Red Cross and the information they would need to get Jay home, Sheri's phone number, as well the numbers of my obstetrician and a few friends. I'm still hopeful Jay will make it home before the birth (and if I end up needing to be induced because of the GD, he should be), which means I'll have Jay, Sheri and my doula in the delivery room with me. That's the best case scenario. Worst case is I go into labor early and I only have the doula. (Actually, worst case would be going into labor before I've actually hired the doula, but I won't think about that.)

The baby announcements have been pre-ordered and the envelopes should be here in a couple of days so I can address them (and my holiday cards) over the next few weeks. The actual announcements will include a photo of the baby (which I'm going to put in Sheri's capable hands) on a snowflake background. Of course, if baby comes in November I'll have to change the design, I think. November isn't really snowflakey, at least not in Virginia.

And even though it's not pregnancy or baby related, I am almost finished with my holiday shopping. The goal is to be finished by the end of this month (readjusted from my goal of being finished by the end of September) and get everything wrapped and out-of-state presents packaged. The helpful postal worker at the post office informed me that I can order holiday stamps now online rather than waiting until they're in the post office (not until after Thanksgiving). Good to know. It's funny that I complain every year about how early the retail holiday season starts, but I'm frustrated this year because it seems to be taking them forever to put out the Christmas decorations. Baby needs a Christmas stocking! (As of tonight, baby does have a little red sleeper that says My First Christmas.)

So, that's where I am at 32 weeks, with hopefully 8 weeks to go, but likely a little less. My doctor would prefer I not go past 39 weeks, but he's agreed to wait and see what the growth scan reveals about baby's size-- and conceded he'd let me go until my due date as long as we're not having problems.

Just a few more weeks to go. I don't know that I'll ever be ready, but I can try.

Gestational Diabetes Update (32w2d)

2009-10-16T00:08:00.005-04:00

I failed my one-hour glucose tolerance test the week before Jay deployed. I was hoping I'd pass, but I wasn't that shocked about failing. I went through the arduous three-hour glucose test last Monday, after putting it off for almost a week so I wouldn't have to prep for it while Jay was still home. The three hour test involves a three-day carb-heavy diet, 12 hours of fasting prior to the test, a blood draw followed by 100 grams of Glucola (super sugary beverage and twice the amount as the 1 hour test) and then three additional blood draws at 1 hour intervals. If you fail two of the blood draws, you fail the three hour test. I failed three of the four. I have gestational diabetes.

Rubbing salt in the wound was the fact that I didn't find out I failed the three hour test for a week. The results of the one hour test came back in 24 hours and I had been told "No news is good news." So when they didn't call the day after my three hour test, I thought I passed. But no, it just took longer to get the test results.

I was pissed off when I found out. Through this whole pregnancy, I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop-- meaning, I was waiting for it to be over. The pregnancy itself has been going well, but it feels like a whole shoe store has been dropped on my head in the past couple of months (with Jay's deployment being the equivalent of a steel-toed boot to the head) and this diagnosis of gestational diabetes was One More Thing to Deal With. Ugh.

Of course, part of me feels like a failure. I thought I knew my body and I really didn't think I had gestational diabetes. I wasn't surprised when I found out I was anemic (the day I took the one-hour glucose tolerance test), but I argued with my doctor over my blood pressure-- I knew it was spiking because of stress and I was right (though I still had to indulge him and go through the tests to prove it). But I was wrong about the GD and it's a lousy feeling, all the more so because it doesn't just affect me, it affects baby. And I feel rather protective of baby, you know?

Gestational diabetes supposedly goes away once the baby is born, which means I only have to deal with it for the next few weeks (although I am at greater risk of developing diabetes later in life). In the meantime, I have to do something I haven't done since I was 19 years old-- follow a diet. Never mind that it seems absolutely cruel to put a pregnant woman on a diet, I have spent my entire adult life resisting restrictions and limits of any kind, and developing a fairly healthy body image in the process. And now, when I've happily embraced this beach ball belly I'm carrying around, I have to follow a diet. Ironic, huh?

It's been a couple of days since I got the test results and I'm okay with it now. Only 3-5% of women develop GD, but it doesn't have to be a serious issue as long as it's controlled (the side effects of uncontrolled GD range from a big baby to stillbirth). Hopefully diet will be enough to control it and I can avoid insulin (oral wouldn't be so bad, but I can't even imagine giving myself injections). So I will embrace the diet! It's not a weight loss diet (but I will probably lose a few pounds), but a diet for health. And even though I have to give up dessert and chocolate and-- gasp!-- Halloween candy, it's really not so bad. I don't meet with the diabetic counselor until next Friday (which seems ridiculous since there is such a big deal made about uncontrolled gestational diabetes), so I'm trying to preemptively adjust my diet now. Of course, it's difficult to know if I'm on track since I'm not testing my blood sugar. But I'm doing what I can-- and avoiding the bowl of Halloween chocolate and the pint of Ben and Jerry's in the freezer.

This may be the first time I've felt like a failure as a mother, but I suspect it won't be the last. So, lesson learned: get up, dust myself off, and do the best I can to correct my shortcomings.

32 weeks

2009-10-14T17:00:00.002-04:00

(Posted on time for once.)

The Sleep Pattern of a Pregnant Insomniac

2009-10-13T12:00:00.001-04:00

There is an app for the iPhone called Labor Mate. Basically, it acts as a stop watch to record labor pains. Instead of having to track the duration and length between contractions, Labor Mate does it for you. I don't need Labor Mate quite yet, but I did find another use for it: tracking how little sleep I get in a typical night. Last night, I opened the Labor Mate program and began tracking how often I was awake in the course of the night. Every time I got up to go to the bathroom, get a glass of water, let the dog out, redirect the blind, disoriented cat who can't find his bed, was awoken by a noise or a hip pain or the baby kicking or my arm falling asleep or the lawn service mowing the lawn, I tapped the Labor Mate.

Here are the results:

2:15 AM -- In bed, lights out.

3:01 AM

4:17 AM

5:31 AM

5:57 AM

7:26 AM

8:15 AM

8:35 AM

9:03 AM

10:12 AM -- Up for the day.

I was up 8 times from the time I went to bed until the time I got up. I did skip a couple of taps because I went back to sleep pretty quickly. The longest I went between tapping was 1 hour and 28 minutes. Which is not to say that I actually slept for 1 hour and 28 minutes because what I can't track with this application is how long it actually takes me to fall asleep. Figuring an average of at least 10-20 minutes to fall asleep after every tap, the longest I might have actually slept is an hour and 18 minutes. The longest I slept. Wow. I mean, I i know I'm an insomniac and I know pregnancy has made it that much worse, but to actually see how many times I'm awake, up, moving around, trying to fall back to sleep-- well, it's startling. And this is what most of my nights look like. Non-pregnant isn't much better. I wake up fewer times but I'm awake much longer in between (an hour or more).

So what does a good night look like? Same as above, except there will be a 2 (or if I'm really, really lucky 3) hour chunk in the mix. A 2-3 hour chunk and a few of the one-ish hour stretches like above and I feel like I can function pretty well. I have no idea what sleeping 8 hours straight right now would do for me. I could probably solve the world's problems and find a cure for cancer.

Between anemia and gestational diabetes (which I just discovered I have and is another blog post in the making) causing fatigue and my erratic sleep schedule causing fatigue and not being able to have caffeine to counter all of that fatigue-- I'm pretty damned tired most of the time. All I can hope is that once the baby is born and I'm not dealing with the physical stuff and I can actually have caffeine again, maybe being the sole caregiver to a newborn won't be all that exhausting for me.

I can hope.

31 Weeks

2009-10-07T21:42:00.002-04:00

Where Have I Been? (31w0d)

2009-10-07T00:51:00.002-04:00

(This is not entirely baby-related, but for readers who don't also read my primary blog, this will catch you up on my life in general. I will try very hard to get back on the baby track and update more regularly.)

Well, hello there. So nice of you stop by and see if I'm still alive. I am, thank you very much. Though there are days when proving that biological fact (breathe in, breathe out) is about all I manage to accomplish. Rough week or so. Very rough. I mean, not death rough or finding out you have cancer rough or being diagnosed as allergic to chocolate rough, but pretty damn rough. And I'm tough, so you'll just have to trust me on how rough it has been.

Jay is in Dubai, UAE. If you don't know where Dubai is, you can visit their Department of Tourism and Commerce. Or, you know, visit Dubai. I've always been a bit geographically challenged, so I did have to look it up initially to get a better sense of where it was. Geography wasn't offered my senior year of high school because of low enrollment. I bet many of my former classmates don't know where Dubai is, either.

Anyway, Dubai. A far cry from Iraq, though I've had people ask me if it's like being in Iraq. From what I understand, it's like being in Las Vegas, if Vegas were owned by sheiks. Of course, you can't ski in Las Vegas (I don't think?), but you can ski in Dubai. Rich, exotic, ostentatious, decadent. That's Dubai. And that's where Jay is. Strange, huh? But this is a very strange deployment. First, he's in a hotel and not on a ship. I mean, who stays in a hotel for eight months? The Navy, that's who. That's your tax dollars at work, folks. Though his hotel is not exactly a palace, it's certainly better quarters than a naval ship and it has room service. No complaints there. Second, there's per diem-- and it's enough for three very nice meals and plenty left over for a plane ticket home when baby comes. Third, it's eight months-- the longest deployment he's ever been on. Very different for us.

All in all, it's a good deployment for a lot of reasons, including that he's relatively safe. (As safe as one can be in the Middle East, of course.) Plus, we have Skype. Skype is a wonderful and amazing thing. I think back to that first deployment after we were married (19 years ago today) and there was no internet, no e-mail, no phone calls unless he was in port and then it was ridiculously expensive. Now we have free internet video calls via Skype. The world has changed a lot in nineteen years. If not for the timing, this might be an awesome deployment (hopefully his last) and I might be visiting Dubai and learning to ski on a fake ski slope. Oh, but the timing... Timing is everything, folks.

So, while Jay is in Dubai, I'm counting down the weeks until this baby arrives. The days are flying by-- which is contrary to what most other pregnant women seem to experience in their third trimester. I've heard time drags and it seems to take forever before the baby comes, but for me it's as if the days are a blur and I went from July to October with no memory of August and September. I'm 31 weeks today. Only nine weeks-- at most-- to go. And it's flying. Whoooosh! See, there it goes. Perhaps if Jay were home and I knew I wasn't going to be alone when the baby is born, the time might be going slower. But not knowing if-- well, actually assuming-- I'll be alone makes it all so much bigger and scarier-- and go by faster.

Where have I been? I have been trying to hold it together. I have hyperventilated myself into more than one panic attack in the past couple of weeks (most recently when I took Jay to the airport) and I know that's not good for me and can't possibly be good for baby, so I'm trying to get that under control. So far, so good. I've been dealing with my over-cautious, liability-fearing doctor. Despite his concerns, I don't have pre-eclampsia, thankfully. (C'mon, whose blood pressure wouldn't have skyrocketed after the weeks I've had lately?) Apparently no gestational diabetes, either, though I did fail my one hour test. (I haven't heard about my three hour and they said they'd only call if I failed.) Baby seems to be doing very well and is very active (to the point of painful sometimes), so I'm glad for that. Me, I could be better. It is what it is, though.

I'm looking for a doula. I'm reading up on natural childbirth. I'm working on my to do list(s) and trying to take care of the things we didn't do while Jay was home. (Though he managed to do quite a lot before he left.) I still have a birth plan to write and a hospital bag to pack. I figure I need to pack that hospital bag sooner rather than later because I keep hearing of women having their babies early. Two so far-- 26 weeks and 30 weeks. I'm hoping for nine more weeks, for baby's health and my sanity, but I know it really could happen at any time. Packing the hospital bag will make it all the more real. I'm not ready for real. I'm ready for a great big dish of creamy denial smothered in rich blissful ignorance syrup. Please.

Mantra of the next twoish months: I can do this. It will be fine. Jay will be here before the baby is born. Even if Jay is not here, I can do this alone. I will be fine. Baby will be fine. All will be fine.

Song playing in a continuous loop in my brain: "Help!" by the Beatles.

Oh, the dichotomy that is me.

So, that's where I've been and where I am now. Sleep deprived due to various aches and pains and restless pets and 2 AM panic attacks (me, not the pets). Relieved that I got Fairy Tale Lust in by my deadline, but now anxious to hear what my publisher thinks so I can write some lovely acceptance letters (and a whole bunch more not so fun rejection letters) and promote the book. Worried about myself, Jay, the baby. Blue, edging into depression. Trying to stay busy (not difficult) and keep my brain off the scary stuff (impossible). Pampering myself in some small ways (naps, taking myself to lunch, new books that have nothing to do with babies, breastfeeding or parenting). Trying to make time slow down so Jay has time to catch a plane from 7,000 miles away to be here for his son's birth. Looking to the future, when things won't be so scary (whenever that is). Planning some trips for next year to promote FTL (Nashville, Chicago, New York... ?). Surviving. Doing the best I can. Hanging in there.

It feels like I should be happier, excited. I'm not. I'm just in limbo, anxiously waiting and hoping for the best. Hopefully baby won't hold it against me. If he does, I'll buy him a pony.

30 Weeks

2009-09-30T12:49:00.001-04:00

29 Weeks

2009-09-23T14:37:00.000-04:00

The Quest for a Natural Birth (28w5d)

2009-09-21T16:06:00.009-04:00

My birth plan, the rough draft version: I want my birth experience to be as natural as possible. I do not want an epidural. I do not want an episiotomy. I do not want drugs of any kind and, to that end, I do not want an IV. I want to be able to move freely, therefore I do not want to be constantly on monitors. I certainly do not want to be induced or have a C-section unless it becomes necessary (and "necessary" is subject to debate). I want to be able to eat and drink as I desire and not limited to ice chips according to the doctor's or hospital's protocol.

I would deliver this baby at home, if I could. Honestly, I'm still having fantasies about doing just that. But wisdom prevails and suggests having the baby in the hospital will be the safest course of action. But I still want this birth to be as natural as possible.

Jay and I went to the first of our hospital-sponsored childbirth classes over the weekend. I think the childbirth educator is probably pro-natural childbirth, but does try to be neutral in her presentation. However, I found myself growing increasingly frustrated with "the way things are" and "hospital policy" as our 5 hour class progressed. The instructor made several comments that lead me to believe that I might have some battles to fight once I am admitted to the hospital. Comments such as, "Once you're admitted, the nurses will want you to do X, but we know that Y is better for you/baby/labor, so tell them that is what you want." Things like that make me see red.

They (the medical community) knows that laying in a bed is not conducive to productive labor, yet I will be encouraged to do just that.

They know that skin-to-skin contact immediately following birth is best for both mother and child, yet the baby will be placed on a blanket on my chest.

They know that labor can last for many hours, yet they will deny me food and water. However, if I become dehydrated, they will give me fluids through an IV. Where is the logic there? The IV fluids become unnecessary if I'm allowed to hydrate on my own.

And so on.

After our hospital tour yesterday, I bought the book Homebirth in the Hospital: Integrating Natural Childbirth With Modern Medicine . I'm trying to be a rational person and embrace this idea that having a hospital birth is safest for me and baby, despite the statistic that over 30% of babies born in hospitals in this country are delivered by C-section, as opposed to 4% of babies born outside of hospitals. For one thing, I don't think most midwives in this country will deliver me at home because of the "high risk" label. For another, I wasn't able to find a ob/gyn practice that has both a midwife on staff and also accepts my insurance. So, for better or worse, it seems I'm stuck with the hospital.

So now I have this handy little book with different birth experiences and advice on how to have the natural childbirth I want in a hospital setting. Except much of it is contingent upon my doctor waiving certain protocols. And that means every doctor in the practice (there are five or six, I believe) has to also agree to waive those protocols, since any one of them could end up delivering me. Sounds daunting, doesn't it? It is.

I am tired of the eye rolling and snide comments about my preferences. Yes, no matter how it happens, I still get a baby in the end. But I have my reasons for wanting a natural birth. Not the least of which is the fact that I can't afford to have a bad start. Jay may only be here for days-- at most, only a few weeks-- and then I'm on my own. I need to heal and be 100% physically just as quickly as possible because I will be the sole caregiver to this little baby.

From what I've read and heard anecdotally, medicated births (as well as episiotomies) do not lead to quicker recoveries-- often the opposite. Medicated births can also inhibit breastfeeding. C-sections certainly require a longer recovery time. But natural childbirth means no drugs in my system-- or the baby's-- which means my body is already ahead of the game in the healing process. I need that. The baby needs that.

I know I'm not typical and I know I'm rebelling against the current norm (at least in this part of the world). I'm not trying to be a martyr-- I'm simply trying to do what's best for me and my baby. The medical community won't even let me take Aleve for back pain while I'm pregnant, yet they're all for pumping me full of drugs to bring this child into the world. Where is the logic in that? (Yes, I know, not taking drugs during pregnancy is about preventing developmental problems, but still.) I keep asking myself that question when it comes to the medical model of childbirth versus the natural model: Where is the logic??

I don't knock anyone who embraces the current trends in childbirth, it's just not my choice. For those who think the medical community knows best how babies should be born, remember that it was also the medical community who once thought infant formula was superior to breast milk. Despite the fact that the American Association of Pediatrics now recommends exclusive breastfeeding for the first six months of an infant's life, over 70% of hospitals in the United States dispense formula to infants. Once again I ask: Where is the logic?

So, I'm doing my research and preparing myself for battle. As if bringing a child into the world wasn't hard enough, right? But this is definitely a battle worth fighting-- at least to me. And from the stories I've heard from women who have had the natural childbirth I want, I won't regret it.

28 Weeks

2009-09-16T21:23:00.003-04:00

The 28 week bump. I'm officially in my third trimester (seventh month!) now. Eek!

Contradictions (27w6d)

2009-09-15T15:11:00.004-04:00

Oh, crap. Just when I think maybe I know one or three things about what to do once this kid is born, I read a contradiction to one piece of advice that has been consistent. I could dismiss this contradiction if it came from someone less trustworthy, but it's Dooce! You know Dooce, also known as Heather Armstrong. She's famous. She has had two babies. She's written books about her experiences. She knows stuff. So, now I'm panicking because she wrote this:

Worst advice you can give to someone with a newborn? Sleep when the baby sleeps. That is total and utter crap. Because one nap can be three hours and then the next nap is like fifteen seconds, and when that latter naps happens and you've just put your head down to go to sleep, oh Lord, the agony. And the pain. And the ANGER. And of course it's never healthy to be angry at a newborn, bad things can happen, like suddenly you start drinking tequila at 10 AM and are calling your husband at work JUST SO THAT YOU CAN HANG UP ON HIM.

Hmm.

Crap.

Reading Up (27w4d)

2009-09-13T23:28:00.000-04:00

A sample of my current reading list:

Having a Baby... At Any Age? (27w2d)

2009-09-11T23:18:00.005-04:00

There is an article in this month's More Magazine called Having a Baby Over 50. Yes, you read that right: over 50. Of course, that's what you can expect from a magazine whose tagline reads "Celebrating Women 40+."

I love More because it doesn't make me wish I were younger. I've been reading it since I was in my late 30's and it's nice to be reading about women my age and older doing all the thing that I want do-- and, well, more. But I"m not sure about this having a baby over 50 thing. I mean... wow.

The article profiles six different women who, for varying reasons, took on motherhood at 50+. Some already have older children (children who are over 30, in one case!), while for some this is their first child (or children-- at few women had twins). I should note that only one of the six women conceived naturally-- the others were IVF using donor eggs and/or sperm and one used a surrogate. Though I don't discount surrogacy or adoption as valid ways of starting or enlarging a family, in this instance I'm rather fascinated-- and a bit horrified-- at the thought of taking on pregnancy over the age of 50.

Honestly, pregnancy hasn't been so hard for me. All thing considered, I've had it pretty easy. Hell, even getting pregnant wasn't all that difficult. At the time, the process seemed a bit tedious and tragic, but in retrospect, I didn't have any more difficult a time getting (and staying) pregnant than women 10 or 15 years younger than me. I was off the Pill for 14 months and got pregnant twice. Of course, Jay was gone for over 6 of those months, so two pregnancies in 8 months and the second one took. Really, those are pretty good odds at any age. The only medical intervention I used for this pregnancy was a progesterone supplement. No fertility drugs, no herbs, no accupuncture, no special diets or exercise or meditation. Prenatal vitamins and sex to get pregnant, then the progesterone supplement starting at 8 weeks to help me stay pregnant. That's it.

But still. There is a difference between being 42 and pregnant and being 52 and pregnant. I have never felt so old as I do right now. When it comes to energy level, stamina and flexibility, my 42 year old body (non-pregnant) doesn't feel that much different than my 32 year old body did-- and maybe only a little older than my 22 year old body. I notice more of a difference emotionally-- I feel more grounded, for lack of a better word, now than I did a decade or two ago. More like I've grown into the person I'm supposed to be. However, for me, being pregnant feels like I've physically aged at least a decade in just a few months. This, I think to myself as I eyeball the vast expanse of the Home Depot and contemplate hitching a ride on a passing forklift, is what old age must feel like.

There is also the mortality factor to consider. I don't have any desire to be a grandmother, but I would like to see my child reach adulthood and achieve his goals. That's doable at 42. At 52, I'd worry that I wouldn't be around much past college. Of course, people die at every age and I recognize the need for a certain pragmatic attitude when taking on parenthood in later life. The good thing is I'm likely to take better care of myself because I'm having a child at this age. I'm also more likely to encourage him to be independent and self-sufficient (no mama's boys here!) in the event that I'm not always around for him to fall back on. That appeals to me simply because I was an independent and self-sufficient teenager/young adult (for different reasons than death, but certainly just as valid).

I think I can make a very good case for having children at 42 as opposed to 22. Granted, I'm a bit biased. But having a baby at any age is fraught with worries and second-guessing. Far be it for me to say the cut-off for motherhood should be 42. (Though I do think there should be a minimum age requirement.) I just don't think I could (or would want to, rather) do this again at 50. Then again, who knows how I'll feel in 8 years? Maybe I'll be happy the technology exists to assist me in having additional children at that age. Or maybe I'll be the rare 50+ woman to get pregnant without medical intervention. I don't see that as part of my future, but I learned a long time ago never to say never. It wasn't that long ago that I didn't see this experience as part of my future.

The part that annoys me most about women having babies over 50 is that here I am-- thinking I'm being all progressive and cutting edge-- and it turns out I'm not even close to pushing the boundaries of motherhood. In some circles, I'd practically be considered a young mom. Then again, that's not such a bad thing, either.

27 Weeks

2009-09-09T19:36:00.007-04:00

Oh, The Agony (26w4d)

2009-09-06T01:58:00.003-04:00

It is two o'clock in the morning and I am awake and sitting upright in bed. Why? Because if I lay down, I will die of acid reflux. You probably didn't know acid reflux will kill you, but trust me, it will.

I never had acid reflux before I was pregnant and didn't think it was anything to be concerned about. I was wrong. It's horrible. Awful. Searing pain from stomach to throat to nasal passages. A feeling of suffocation if I'm horizontal, followed by coughing and gagging. My throat feels raw. I'm afraid to lay down. It will kill me.

(I'm trying to avoid spicy foods and eating too close to bedtime, but I think I ate too late tonight. My fault. I will learn this lesson the hard way, it seems. Good thing I have three more months to get the hang of it, right?)

Thus concludes my public service announcement on the deadly dangers of acid reflux. That is all.

26 weeks (26w0d)

2009-09-02T14:18:00.000-04:00

A little blurry around the edges... much the way I've been feeling lately!

Overwhelmed (25w6d)

2009-09-01T23:29:00.002-04:00

That one word sums up my life quite nicely at the moment. Overwhelmed. Pregnancy takes a lot of energy. Anyone who says otherwise is lying. Even though I've had an easy time of it (so far-- lest the pregnancy gods think I'm being cocky), there are days when I would very much like to detach this weight growing around my middle and pass it off to Jay to carry. Or the mailman. Whomever.

But I really am doing well and I try to take it all-- the insomnia, the various weird aches and pains, the awful heartburn and even awfuler acid reflux-- in stride and with a sense of humor. After all, it could always be worse. And I know it. And I'm grateful that it's not. I truly, truly am.

But on top of pregnancy and the hormones that stay on an even keel most of the time only to send me careening off the deep end when I least expect it, there is the husband who is deploying for over seven months. The husband who I'm not even sure will be here when this baby is born, no matter how he tries to reassure me. There is that and the overwhelming (there's that word again) feeling that I cannot do this alone. And by "alone" I mean without him.

I know I won't be technically alone. There will be Sheri, the closest thing I have to a sister, and there will be friends, the closest thing I have to a family. But it is not the same as the father of my child being there, you know? As grateful as I am to those who will be here even if Jay can't (and I am grateful in ways I will spend the rest of my life trying to express), I feel like I'm drowning when I think about the fact that he might not make it home from Dubai in time for the birth. That he might not be able to leave Dubai before the deployment is over-- next May.

So, I do what any good pregnant woman would do: I try not to think about it. What else can I do? I have my lists and my Plan A and Plan B and Plan C (I'm still working on Plan D) and I'm taking care of myself physically and mentally as best I can and sometimes that involves just not thinking about all of the worst case scenario stuff. (Even though I am trying to have a plan for all of it.) I'm trying to keep my blood pressure within the range of normal and the only way I can do that is not to let my mind wander too deeply into the realm of the Bad Stuff. I'm not actually in denial (since I'm clearly aware of all the possibilities), I just can't think about too much at once. One thing at a time, one day at a time, one plan at a time. That's my goal.

Three more months of pregnancy and who knows how many months alone with a baby. I can do it. I have to. But right now I really, really don't want to think about it.

25 weeks! (25w0d)

2009-08-26T15:21:00.000-04:00

I really don't know where the time is going, but it's definitely going fast. There are so many things I've wanted to blog about and they keep slipping through my mind. The next thing I know, I'm posting yet another bump picture without having written anything about what I'm thinking or feeling. As if anyone wants to know, right? ;-) More to the point: as if I'm the only one who has ever gone through this experience. Ha!

There is definitely a sense of wonder at all that pregnancy entails but I've been too busy just dealing with the practical stuff to spend much time waxing poetic (not that I'm the waxing poet type). I do spend a fair amount of quality time with my belly: talking to it, rubbing it, watching it wriggle. I know "it" is the baby inside, but there's still a feeling that it's my own body that has become possessed. I suppose in a way it has.

My 25 week bump picture. Maybe I'll have more to say before 26 weeks, hmm?

24 Week Bump (24w0d)

2009-08-19T20:40:00.000-04:00

(Posted a bit late, as I was in Chicago at the time.)

One Last Trip (23w4d)

2009-08-16T01:42:00.002-04:00

I'm heading out of town tomorrow (well, today) for one last trip before impending motherhood. At least, I think it will be my last trip. I'm longing to go to London, but that probably isn't wise in my third trimester. Right? Right? Then again, baby boy could have dual citizenship... Hmm.

I'm Chicago bound, to spend some quality time with Sheri (and her sister, niece, mother and assorted friends whom I've either heard about or read about via their blogs or Facebook). Honestly, right now I'm just tired and want to sleep for a week and can't even imagine getting on a plane tomorrow evening. I'm going to miss Jay, miss the animals, miss my bed and miss the luxury of going everywhere by car. (Normally I love being able to walk everywhere, but the heat is killing me this summer.) Despite all of that, I know I will wake up Monday morning happy and ready to go exploring, after we stop for coffee.

There is a lot on the agenda, including afternoon tea and trips to baby stores and a girls' night dinner. I'm looking forward to chocolate and cupcakes and decaf coffee and lots of good conversation and much needed laughs. I want to go shopping at the Land of Nod, Anthropologie, Lush and the Container Store. And no trip to Chicago would be complete without a coffee break at Julius Meinl. I'll take a million pictures, check e-mail, Facebook and Twitter via my shiny new iPod Touch (which couldn't have come at a better time). I'll stay up too late talking to Sheri and get up too early, anxious to squeeze as much in as possible.

In a week I will wonder where the time went. And by this time next year, I will have an eight month old baby boy and we will be planning his first trip to Chicago to hang out with Aunt Sheri.

23 Weeks Along (23w0d)

2009-08-12T13:51:00.004-04:00

Looking almost as tired as I feel...

I have a lot to write about, but my brain is just consumed with other things right now.

Week 22 Bump (22w0d)

2009-08-05T19:37:00.003-04:00

Growing bigger every week...

Baby's heartbeat was a healthy 152 at my doctor's appointment today. We're both doing well, all things considered.

Wherein the Expectant Mother Freaks Out (21w6d)

2009-08-04T00:04:00.004-04:00

Actually, the freaking out started a week or so ago and comes and goes in sporadic fits of heart palpitations and feeling like I can't catch my breath. What am I freaking out about? Well, it seems that the reassurances that were made in June that Jay wouldn't have to deploy with his unit have turned out to be empty promises. Now it seems almost certain that he will be deploying. In September. He won't be home until May 9.

Tell me, wouldn't that make you freak out, too?

So, here we are, mere weeks before he is most likely deploying for seven and a half months. To add insult to injury, it still doesn't seem to be 100% certain-- more like 99.5%, which is enough to give me false hope I can't afford to have after having false hope for nearly two months. I already felt as if we were running out of time when the only date I was counting down to was my due date. Now... now I feel as if someone stole months away from me. And that isn't all that is being stolen. My peace has been stolen just as surely as all those months.

I am trying desperately to be pragmatic about it all. They are saying Jay can come home before I'm due so he won't miss the birth. Of course, this is the same "they" who said he wouldn't have to deploy in the first place. Do I believe them? Not especially. Do I want to believe them? With my whole heart.

Jay shouldn't miss this experience and I shouldn't have to go through it alone. But what should be and what is are not always the same, especially when you're a military family. So we're trying to reassure each other it will be okay. If we're lucky, he'll get home a few weeks before I'm due and get to stay for a few weeks after the baby is born. It isn't much-- not to this never-changed-a-diaper expectant mom who will be looking at 4+ months of caring for a newborn all by myself. But I have to believe it will all work out all right. What else can I do?

I won't be completely alone for all of this. I don't have family and Jay's family lives elsewhere (and I don't think I'd feel comfortable having them here anyway). But I have Sheri, who is as close to a sister as I'll ever have. She has assured me she will be here for the birth and after. Believe me, I need that reassurance right now. I also have a few friends here who will do what they can. I can't really expect too much though, since two of my friends are expecting babies as well and everyone has work and family and other commitments. There's only so much anyone can do for me and I just need to wrap my mind around the idea that I'm going to be on my own for a lot of it.

Freaking out commencing now...

I'll survive this. Of course I will. I am tough, which is probably what should be engraved on my tombstone for the number of times I have heard it over the years. Yes, I am tough. But why, oh why do I have to be tough for this? I was only counting on having to be tough enough to go through natural childbirth. Now I have to be tough enough to do a lot more than that. It feels like I can't catch a break. I know I'm whining-- believe me, I know. I try not to complain. The Navy has mostly been good to us and we have a wonderful life. Still, right now it's hard not to whine and feel sorry for myself. I'll snap out of it. I'll do what I have to do, even if I don't have a clue what that is right now. I'll be fine (and so will Jay and so will baby). But not today. And not tomorrow. And not September 21, when he's supposed to deploy. I will most definitely not be fine then.

I think what makes me bitter is the fact that I shouldn't look at the next year as something to survive, but as something to look forward to. I never thought I'd be here and I have been enjoying it. Now, the happiness is mixed with sadness and anger and outright terror. I'm trying very had not to let this news of Jay deploying suck the joy out of being pregnant and all of the planning that I'm finally allowing myself to do, but it's hard. I alternate between full out panic (which wakes me up at 3 AM and keeps me from going back to sleep for hours) and feeling like I have to live up to my tough reputation-- for Jay's sake as well as my own.

So this is where I am now and I have to say it sucks. Probably not as much as it's going to suck in January when I'm actually living this worst case scenario instead of just imagining it, but it sucks just the same. It doesn't feel fair. And before someone reminds me that life isn't fair, let me just say I'm fine with taking what life throws at me. God knows, I've experienced my share of crap and have taken it all in stride and come out a stronger person for it. But this one time... couldn't it just be happiness and peace for me? Damn.

21 Weeks (21w0d)

2009-07-29T23:26:00.001-04:00

Oddly enough, I think I look smaller this week than last week! Must be the white shirt, because I'm definitely getting rounder.

Thoughts on Pregnancy, Part 1 (20w3d)

2009-07-25T23:58:00.004-04:00

Things I've learned in the first half of my pregnancy:

--It's not as bad as I thought it would be. In fact, with very few exceptions, it's been pretty easy.
--Not every woman gets morning sickness.
--I never thought I could be as tired as I was that first trimester.
--Tums are my friend. So are naps.
--Ultrasounds never get old.
--Not being able to write is a side effect of pregnancy no one told me about.
--Feeling the baby kick for the first time is weird, incredible, strange and startling.
--Right now, feeling the baby kick is just awesome.
--I've never known insomnia like this.
--Maternity pants are both hideously ugly and amazingly comfortable.
--My mood can shift from, "Wow, this is going to be a great experience!" to "What the hell have I done?" in a matter of hours. Sometimes minutes.
--Sometimes I feel too old to be doing this. Most of the time, I feel a lot younger than I really am.
--It's nice to have friends who are pregnant at the same time.
--It's very nice to have an amazing, supportive, pampering husband.
--No two pregnancies, or baby bumps, are alike.
--Breast pumps are scary things, but the idea of breast feeding is kind of scary, too.
--In fact, a lot of things about this experience are kind of scary.
--I'm not afraid of labor and delivery.
--C-sections, episiotomies and epidurals scare the hell out of me.
--I really hope I can experience natural childbirth without drugs.
--In the end, all that matters is getting the baby into the world.
--I am not one of those pregnant women who coos over every baby she sees, pops into BabiesRUs every chance she gets and already has a name-- and coming home outfit-- picked out.
--I am not the typical pregnant woman, I don't think.
--I have fears that I will lose myself. I don't even really know what that means, but I'm afraid of it.
--I suspect the second half of this pregnancy will go even faster than the first half.
--I'm really, really happy I didn't miss out on this experience. (That one kind of surprises me.)

20 Week Ultrasound (20w1d)

2009-07-23T15:00:00.003-04:00

The ultrasound went beautifully and everything looks perfect! Despite being late to the appointment (hmph), we didn't have to wait long to be seen. Baby was very active, which made it very easy for the ultrasound technician to take measurements. Because he was so cooperative ("photogenic," the tech said) we were in and out in less than thirty minutes.

It's funny that I could only feel about half of the actual movements he was making. I don't suppose that will be true much longer. I already feel like I'm so much bigger than I was a week ago, but baby is weighing in at a very healthy 13 ounces, so I'm not too concerned about looking like a beach ball this early. After all the data was plugged in, the computer gave us a due date of December 6, which is only three days off from my original December 9 due date.

The technician said all of the organs and the umbilical cord looked good. We could see the four chambers of his heart pumping normally, his developing brain and his long, straight spine. Oh, and we could also easily see his penis, but just in case there was any doubt he's a boy, the tech sent us home with two pictures of the equipment.

My fibroids seem to be staying out of the way of anything important and I'm still hoping for a vaginal delivery (drug free!). I have a few more months before I'll know if that will be possible.

Unfortunately, we didn't get a profile picture this time as baby seems to prefer the forward-facing position. But I still think this is a pretty terrific picture:

When turned right side up, I think he has Jay's jaw line:

I don't know when I will have another ultrasound, but I couldn't have asked for a better experience this time around. It's so nice-- and such a relief-- to be told everything looks perfect.

Twenty weeks down, twenty more to go!

20 Week Bump (20w0d)

2009-07-22T10:52:00.001-04:00

Half-way there! I feel like I'm a lot bigger this week than I was last week. And I still have 20 more weeks to go. Oh my...

Sweet Moments (19w4d)

2009-07-19T23:27:00.005-04:00

I can feel the baby moving daily now, stronger flutters and rolls at periodic intervals throughout the day. Tonight I was sitting on the bed writing on my laptop and he was just wiggling like crazy. It went on for so long, I was sure Jay would be able to feel it.

Of course, as soon as I stood up and gave baby some room he stopped flopping around. But I put Jay's hand on the spot anyway and after a couple of minutes the baby started moving again. Then... Jay felt it, too. The look on his face was priceless. It was probably similar to the look I had the first time I felt it.

It has become more reassuring to feel the baby move, but it's still a little strange and startling at times. Being able to share it with Jay makes it so much more real... and so much sweeter.

Oh, and we picked up the crib today. I think we're starting to feel like expectant parents-- and that in itself is a sweet feeling.

Week 19 (19w0d)

2009-07-15T21:48:00.001-04:00

Almost half-way there...

Tales from the Crib (18w5d)

2009-07-13T22:25:00.010-04:00

We bought the book Baby Bargains a month or so ago based on some recommendations I read. It's a comprehensive-- and overwhelming-- book about everything you need for a baby. It is an awesome book and very helpful when facing the even more overwhelming task of having to start buying those much needed things for baby. That is, if you remember to bring the book with you when you go shopping.

We went crib shopping on Saturday (which was preceded by paint shopping) and forgot the book. We picked out a lovely crib and I felt very good about our choice... until we got home. The Baby Bargains ranking for our choice was an F! Oh my! Bad parents.

So... back to the store we went on Sunday-- with book in hand, this time. Now we have this crib on order:

Baby Bargains gives it an A-. I feel much better now.

Boy Parts (18w4d)

2009-07-12T12:15:00.000-04:00

I keep having this bizarre thought:

I'm growing a penis inside me.

I told you it was bizarre. But no more bizarre than the miracle that is creating life.

Frustrations (18w2d)

2009-07-10T20:48:00.001-04:00

So, I've been going along quite swimmingly with this pregnancy until a couple of weeks ago. First there were headaches, then there this whooshing-pounding started in my ears any time I moved or sat up, then I saw my general practitioner on June 26 and she was concerned about my blood pressure because it was 134/88. She made a bunch of adjustments to my meds (asthma and allergies) and recommended I see my obstetrician sooner than my already scheduled appointment.

So,I went to my obstetrician last Monday (June 29) and my blood pressure was completely normal (121/79). He was concerned about the headaches and has me taking my blood pressure 3 times a day to find out if there is a connection. There isn't. My blood pressure isn't higher when I have a headache and the numbers are all over the place from one reading to the next. Frustration.

Until we work out this problem with the headaches and blood pressure , my ob doesn't want me traveling. Which meant canceling the RWA conference (which I was waffling over for a variety of reasons already) and postponing (again) a trip to Chicago to see Sheri. More frustration.

I go back to my ob on July 20th. I had hoped to have a solution to this problem by the time I saw him. The good news is that the headaches and the blood pounding in my ears has mostly subsided. I'm still getting the occasional headache, but it's not the horrible debilitating pain it was a couple of weeks ago.

The bad news is that my blood pressure is still all over the place. My big fear is that it will be an ongoing problem and I'll end up on bed rest. I can't even imagine that and I'm quite willing to do whatever it takes to prevent it, but we don't know what's causing the high blood pressure. I had hoped it was the overuse of my asthma meds, but now that seems to be better controlled but the bp numbers aren't falling. Sigh.

My ob had mentioned referring me to a neurologist if the headaches persisted, so I don't know if that's still a possibility or not. I'm hoping for some easy fix-- a prescription that won't cause any side effects that will lower my blood pressure and let me avoid bed rest in the coming months. Maybe that's wishful thinking.

So, we'll see. Stressing over it isn't going to help my blood pressure, but I had hoped to avoid any bumps in the road with this pregnancy-- other than the one I'm carrying around, of course.

18 Week Bump (18w0d)

2009-07-08T15:05:00.002-04:00

I don't think I've actually gotten bigger in a week.

.

T-Shirt Fun (17w5d)

2009-07-06T14:55:00.002-04:00

Just some fun pregnancy T-shirts I've found. I don't have any... yet.

Because his father is and I imagine he might be, too:

Because it sounds better than what I really do some days, which is nap, try to work, eat and nap some more:

I'm not, but I love Rosie the Riveter and this shirt cracks me up:

Because I can't be held responsible for what I might do:

Flutters (17w4d)

2009-07-05T22:44:00.005-04:00

I have been feeling flutters for a couple of weeks now. At first, I wasn't sure if I knew what I was feeling or if I was imagining it. The first time (and most times since then), I was laying on my stomach and felt these little tap-tap-taps where my belly was pressed to the mattress. I guess I was squishing baby. Hmm.

Since then, I've felt it almost every day. Usually when I'm in bed, either falling asleep or just waking up. When everything is quiet and still, it happens: tap-tap-tap.

It's a strange feeling, like nothing I've ever felt. Difficult to describe, even. I've heard it described as butterfly wings (poetic) and hunger pains (biological) and gas (just gross), but it's not like any of those. It feels like what it is-- something foreign and alien living inside me.

Sometimes that thought creeps me out a bit. I know I'm supposed to love every minute of pregnancy and declare it to be a miracle, but I don't always (or even usually) feel that way. It's hard to get used to this notion of hosting another living thing inside my body. These mild flutters are a bit disconcerting, I'm not sure how the full-on assault of kicks and punches will affect me. I suppose I'll get used to it and look forward to those moments (but not when I'm trying to sleep!), but for now, it's all a bit new and strange.

And as I write this, I feel it again: tap-tap-tap.

Hello, baby. Hope everything is okay in there.

Bump (17w1d)

2009-07-02T14:58:00.002-04:00

My first pregnancy picture.

No More Sucking It In (16w2d)

2009-06-26T17:43:00.003-04:00

It's a fact that we women spend most of our lives sucking it in. "It" meaning our stomachs. Whether a size 2 or a size 22, most women suck it in without even thinking about it. We've been conditioned since childhood to pull those stomach muscles in lest we look fat. The woman who doesn't suck it in is either very self-confident, very drunk or very skinny.

I am neither a size 2 (ha!), nor a size 22 (though I might be by the time this baby is born), but I'm as guilty of sucking it in as any other woman who grew up reading Seventeen and graduated to Cosmopolitan. No matter what size I've ever been-- and it's been quite a range over the years-- it's been an unconscious reaction to pull in my stomach when I stand up. But now, at just over sixteen weeks pregnant, I have discovered something:

I can't suck it in anymore.

I know, I know. I'm pregnant and I don't have to suck it in. What can I say? Old habits die hard and without the obvious baby bump, I just felt fat.

Even though I've only gained 7 pounds so far, it's been at least two weeks since I could suck it all in. There is a noticeable bump below my bellybutton now and there is just no sucking it in. But up until a few days ago, I still had the ability to suck in my upper stomach. It didn't really make much of a difference, but there was some comfort in that reflexive motion that let me know I was still in control of my body, even if there are bizarre changes going on inside.

No more. Baby is in charge now. He probably always was, but at least I had the illusion of control for a little while.

I bought my first real pair of maternity pants yesterday. I know I'm pregnant, but that single act kind of slammed it home for me. I'm only going to get bigger. I strapped on the fake baby bump (which simulates three months of additional baby growth) and I was huge. Ginormous. Frightening. I'm not ready for that.

I guess I'll have to get ready, since apparently that's what I'll look like in three months. Right now, I'm just trying to get used to the idea that I can't suck it in anymore.

The Quest for Maternity Clothes (15w5d)

2009-06-22T17:23:00.004-04:00

I can't find maternity clothes anywhere. I have been looking for over two weeks now and have so far determined that babies in southeast Virginia must be delivered by storks. How else to explain the fact that maternity clothes are as rare as rainbows around here. So far, I have tried Old Navy, Target, JCPenney, Dillard's and even Sears. I was willing to skip the department stores and hit the maternity stores except the Motherhood Maternity in the mall I shop at most frequently has closed. Seriously. A three-story mall that has not one single maternity store but has no fewer than four stores dedicated to babies and toddlers. Unbelievable.

Only one local Old Navy has a maternity section and it consists of a few racks of stretchy pants that look more like workout gear than anything I'd wear in public, a few pairs of maternity jeans with that ridiculous band at the top (no under the waist jeans) and a few tops that don't look any more maternity than anything else in their store. I found exactly three racks of maternity clothes at Target and the only thing that wasn't hideous were the maternity tanks. So I now own one maternity tank top to wear under the non-maternity tops I own (which came from Old Navy, actually). JCPenney and Sears had a few measly racks of picked-over clothes in bad styles and patterns. Dillard's doesn't even have a maternity section.

I still haven't checked Macy's and a store search revealed there are a couple of local Motherhood Maternity stores, including an outlet in Williamsburg. There are a few "maternity boutiques" in Virginia Beach, which means over-priced clothes in sizes I can't wear. There is always the mail order option and I have thrown a bunch of stuff into shopping carts at Old Navy/The Gap and Motherhood. But I hate mail order-- nothing ever fits and I end up returning things and paying postage. I'd much rather have the option to try things on and take them home now rather than having to wait a week to find out I need a different size/style.

I'm glad I started hunting for maternity clothes early. I am still squeezing into a few pairs of pants and most of my tops fit fine, but I'm not more than a week or so away from absolutely needing maternity pants. I hate having to buy clothes I'm only going to wear for a few months-- especially since I'm going to go from summer to fall/winter maternity clothes, but wearing yoga pants or sweats in public is just not an option.

Of all the possible complications of pregnancy I might have imagined before I got pregnant, I never thought finding maternity clothes would be one of them. Sigh.

Normal (15w1d)

2009-06-18T15:59:00.004-04:00

We got the final CVS report on Tuesday. All of the chromosomes are normal! I was anticipating that result after the preliminary report, but still nice to hear. I love the genetic counselor. She always makes a point of saying, "I'm calling with good news" when she leaves a message. I've heard that three times now and it always makes it easier to call her back. Of course, I don't know what she says when it's not good news-- and I don't want to know.

So, the baby is normal-- at least chromosomally speaking. I can't speak to how normal he'll be with us as his parents.

Raising a Boy (14w2d)

2009-06-12T17:17:00.004-04:00

I'm wrapping my mind around the idea of having a boy. Not that I'm upset-- quite the contrary! Boys rock! But for some reason I had always thought "girl" when I thought of having a child-- at least until about 7 weeks ago when the baby fairy started whispering in my ear, "Think boy, think boy..."

So now I've put aside thoughts of raising a girl who is so not a princess in favor or raising a boy who is a rock star (like mother, like son).

Honestly, I thought my biggest challenge in raising a girl would be trying to avoid the pink princess crap people would foist on her when she was five and being vigilant about keeping her out of the hyper-sexualized clothes she'd want to wear when she was thirteen. I never really thought twice about how I would raise a tough, fearless feminist girl-- I just figured she'd pick it up through osmosis by living with me.

Of course, I don't really know how to raise a girl, the idea just comes more naturally to me than the idea of raising a boy. Raising a boy is a whole new universe for me. Of course, I still want him to be tough, fearless and most certainly a feminist. But I also want him to be sensitive and nurturing and well-rounded. And smart. And happy. And creative. And, and, and...

I have years to figure it out, but it's already something I'm thinking about, worrying about. I suppose over the next couple of years my biggest concerns will be not getting peed on during diaper changes and dressing him in something other blue, black and brown clothes embroidered with footballs, baseballs and basketballs.

Preliminary CVS Results (14w0d)

2009-06-10T17:51:00.005-04:00

The genetic counselor called this afternoon with the preliminary results from my CVS procedure on Monday. This part of the test is called FISH, or fluorescent in situ hybridization, and is used to detect abnormalities in chromosomes 13, 18, 21 and the sex chromosomes. The benefit to FISH is that it's quick-- it only took 48-hours to find out.

The preliminary results are NORMAL! Lauren (the counselor) said these results are about 98% accurate and I should have the final report (with all of the chromosomes examined) in about a week. Even without the final report, today's news brought a sense of relief. I'm fourteen weeks today! I have made it through the first trimester and, genetically speaking, the baby appears to be healthy! Good news.

The other bit of information she was able to share with me-- with 100& accuracy-- was the gender. She asked if I wanted to know and I told her I'd been having "boy" feelings since I was about seven weeks pregnant. I even had a vivid dream last night where I watched the chromosome results appear on a sheet of paper and heard someone say, "It's a healthy baby boy!" My dream was right. We're having a boy!

A boy. Wow. I haven't felt this stunned since I took the pregnancy test.

The Tale of CVS (13w6d)

2009-06-09T10:26:00.006-04:00

So, I had the CVS procedure yesterday. The best thing I can say about it is that it goes pretty quickly once they get started. Meaning, once I signed the consent forms and had an ultrasound to make sure the placenta was in the right place and had the doctor go over everything with me to make sure it was what I wanted and then prep me for the procedure. I was glad Jay was there but kind of wished he'd been home for the earlier, more fun appointments.

The actual procedure consisted of swabbing my stomach with disinfectant, giving me a few (three, I think?) shots of Lidocaine to numb the area and then pushing a long needle through my stomach and into my uterus and collecting a sample of the chorionic villi in the placenta. The shots of Lidocaine were nothing-- didn't hurt or sting the way the doctor said it would. The needle was something else-- it was this jarring sensation of having someone forcefully punch a needle into me. I wasn't prepared for that, but in retrospect I guess I should have expected there to be some force behind it since it had to go through a lot of layers of muscle.

Once the needle was in, it felt like he was digging around inside me. I tried to watch the monitor, but I opted to look at the ceiling and at Jay and try to breathe. It was over in two minutes, if not less, but it was a long two minutes. The doctor showed me what they had collected (kind of neat, actually) before going on his merry way. He was nice enough and had a droll sense of humor, but it was the ultrasound tech who really took the time with us. Oh, and there was a medical student observing the procedure for the first time, whom I could have cared less about once that needle was inside me.

After the procedure, the ultrasound tech cleaned me up, slapped a Bandaid on my puncture wound and was nice enough to do another ultrasound so Jay could get a better look at the baby. (The first time around, we only saw the head and an arm.) Baby was sleeping this time around, so not bouncy and moving like the last time. But the heart rate was whooshing along at 173 and we got a nice view of everything. Always reassuring.

Now we wait for results. I should get preliminary results about the 13, 18 and 21 chromosomes in 3-4 days. (Trisomy 13 and 18 are rare, but catastrophic; Trisomy 21 is Down Syndrome.) The final report with a complete view of the chromosomes will come in about 10 days. We can also find out the gender in just a few days-- something I didn't think I wanted to know when it was based on a 20-week ultrasound (and therefore not necessarily 100% accurate), but now I think maybe it would be nice. I keep having these "boy" feelings-- so it's tempting to find out if I'm right or if I should stop saying "he." Ultimately, all I care about is having a healthy baby and this procedure will help give us a clear picture of at least the genetic health.

Recovery hasn't been too bad. I was told the pain would get worse once the anesthetic wore off and would feel like menstrual cramps. Obviously they have no idea what my periods are like. Cramps with fibroids are a living hell, so this really hasn't been so bad. I left the Bandaid on to remind me to be careful, but I still manage to bump that spot and it hurts. I have to take it easy for a day or so and be careful to watch for signs of infection. There is a risk of miscarriage over the next several days and I worry about that since this was an elective procedure. But everything went well and I feel pretty good today, so I'm just trying to think positive and look forward to hearing some good test results soon.

In the meantime, Jay finally got to see the baby for himself and we have a couple more pictures to add to the collection:

End of the First Trimester? (13w2d)

2009-06-05T14:27:00.004-04:00

Okay, so depending on which source I use, I'm either out of my first trimester or nearly so. Some books say 12 weeks, some say 13 weeks, What to Expect When You're Expecting says 14 weeks is the beginning of the second trimester. In any case, I'm about a third of the way through this pregnancy and I have to say it's been pretty easy so far. It would be lovely if I could still stay that in 27 weeks.

I am finally scheduled to have the CVS procedure done on Monday. The good news is that Jay is homeward bound even as I write this, so he'll be here for it-- and to see the baby on the ultrasound for the first time. Good news! (Though I am not looking forward to having a large needle shoved in my stomach).

I have completed the first part of the sequential screening and the numbers are good, but I need the reassurance of the CVS results instead of just a risk assessement. The nuchal translucency scan, which measures the fluid behind the baby's neck (too much fluid is considered a marker for chromosomal abnormalities) , was 1.28 mm. Less than 3 mm is good, less than 2 mm, even better. Combined with the blood work and factoring in my age, the risk for Down Syndrome is 1 in 840 (as compared to the 1 in 50 I started with, just based on my age) and the risk for Trisomy 18 is 1 in 10,000.

Despite the good numbers, I'm still going through with the CVS. Jay and I have agreed that the small risk of miscarriage (comparable to amniocentesis, which can't be performed until after 16 weeks) is worth the peace of mind of knowing the baby is genetically healthy. Of course, Jay isn't the one who has to have the big needle shoved in his stomach! (I found a rather disturbing video on YouTube of the CVS procedure being performed in the UK-- it did not reassure me.)

I feel like I should be baby blogging more than I am. It's not as if I'm not thinking about it all the time. Even with the lack of symptoms (and my fatigue seems to be fading-- yay!), I'm still constantly reminded of what's going on inside me. But there are times when I feel like a fraud. For the last week or so, people have been congratulating me on being out of the first trimester (clearly having read those other sources) and I hedge and say I'm not quite there yet. It just seems like it's going too well, too easy. Maybe once the CVS results come back, I'll be able to relax. Maybe.

There Really is a Baby in There (12w0d)

2009-05-27T21:30:00.003-04:00

I am too emotionally and physically exhausted to write a detailed blog post of my maternal fetal medicine appointment today, so I'll save it for tomorrow. I wasn't able to get all the testing I wanted, so I'll need to wait for some blood work and schedule another appointment. Basically, I don't know much more now than I did before the appointment. Frustrating, to say the least.

I did get another ultrasound (the NT scan) and got to marvel at how much the baby has developed in just a couple of weeks. He or she was wriggling around in there like crazy (and being rebellious about moving into the right position for the test). It was great to see-- and to hear the heart beating at 146 beats per minute. As I said when I first saw it-- I guess I really am pregnant. One of these days, the reality might sink in.

I'll post all of the pictures later, but this one is my favorite.

Waiting for Wednesday (11w5d)

2009-05-25T19:48:00.004-04:00

My maternal fetal medicine appointment is Wednesday afternoon. It promises to be a fun-filled afternoon (ha!) of genetic counseling, blood work, tests and an ultrasound. The only part of it I'm really looking forward to is the ultrasound. It will be nice to see the baby wriggling around, reminding me that I really am pregnant. Another picture (or two) to add to my collection and to send to Jay. One of these days, he'll be home for an ultrasound.

Wednesday is going to be a stressful afternoon, likely followed by a stressful week as I wait for test results. But then... then I will be able to breathe when I find out everything is fine and the baby is healthy. I might even be ready to go public with the news (meaning on my blog and Facebook and Twitter, since pretty much everyone who knows me in real life already knows I'm pregnant).

I am trying to stay calm and optimistic, but the fears creep in. I dreamed I went to the hospital because I knew something was wrong with the baby. I ended up at Seattle Grace, home of Grey's Anatomy. They were very comforting (I remember Callie and George, in particular) and told me everything was fine and the baby's heartbeat was strong.

I found out last week that Jae and Shannon are pregnant. With Shannon around 8 weeks behind me and Wendy 2 weeks ahead of me, it's hard not to think about the future and the potential of having two friends with babies the same age. Playdates and babysitting swaps and maybe even vacations-- it would be nice not to go through this process alone. Fingers crossed that it works out for all of us.

I don't know when the worries will stop. Probably never. But I am almost through the first trimester and I know that once this week is over and I have reached that mile marker, I will feel like at least one weight has been lifted. And that's something to look forward to, isn't it?