Hello again

 No one reads blogs anymore, I think. I could go into some big existential dread-filled spillage of words about how we're getting little tastes of news and stories and relationships, and how we prefer information in short bursts without really taking in the nutrients of long-form writing anymore, but I won't because I'm just as guilty as the next person. I love a headline and a quick bite of news in between other activities and distractions. I'm sure I wouldn't read this.

What is there to write about? Covid has been a strange thing. I say "has been" like it's in the past but it isn't. Not really. On the one hand, my kids are in school and unmasked. On the other, I'm wearing a mask to teach preschoolers every day and checking on case counts. On the one hand, I went to see live music for the first time in a long time on Tuesday. On the other, I had to bring a card proving I'm vaccinated (3 shots given in a warehouse-like setting in the middle of the Mall of America) and I wore a mask that made my glasses fog up. One of the singers stopped midway through a song and managed to choke out "It's not Covid, I promise" before clearing her throat and beginning again.

We're all beginning again in some way. It's a different world. Our bodies have been tested by a virus and stress. We've worried and lost--if not people, we've lost normalcy.

I don't even want to write about it anymore. In my journal, there's always silence around the toughest parts of life. I don't want to live things twice and writing often puts me back in there--whatever it was. So I'll stop now. It's not even interesting anymore. I just want to be done and I bet you do, too.

I don't know how old the kids were the last time I wrote, but they're 10 and almost 8 now. It feels like a golden age of parenting--they don't need my help with the little stuff and we're hovering on the edge of the teenage hard stuff but not in it. It feels mostly nice and I'm not physically and mentally exhausted all the time like before. I sleep OK. I don't carry anyone around physically anymore. It's good. It's all good.

I'm not a practicing Catholic anymore, but I still love Lent. This year, I decided to be intentional about praying every day during the season. I have mala beads--108 beads in a loop--that I like to use. I say a little prayer for each bead every night before going to bed. 

Thank you for my family

Thank you for my health

Thank you for my home

Thank you for the choices we have

Thank you for the peace we have

Thank you for our opportunities

It's a loop of gratitude that feels more meaningful to me than praying the rosary ever did. Sometimes I swing between breathless anxiety and breathless gratitude. Both have been intensified in the last two years. I'm grateful for what I have because I am aware it could go away. I'm anxious to lose it all because I'm so grateful for it. It's a cycle.

Anyway, to those of you not reading this--that is, everyone--I hope you're well. I really do.

One, Two, Three, and Sometimes Four

Here is a list of ten truths about parenting a toddler and a newborn that I learned in the first few months that might be helpful if you are about to find yourself in the same position:

1. On day one of not showering, you feel somewhat European. On day two, you may feel a little edgy, like a rock star on tour or something. On day three, it's a crisis. Find a way to have a shower at least three times a week.

2. Your toddler will only want to interact with you when you are nursing the newborn. When the newborn is sleeping, he or she will pretend you don't exist.

3. Your toddler will hate that you are holding the baby, yet will scream or babble loudly in the vicinity of the baby whenever the baby is sleeping, thus forcing you to hold the baby. Your logical explanation of this to the toddler will be promptly ignored.

4. You may start to wonder why people find having just one child so stressful in a very smug way. Then, you remember your grandma had six kids and realize those people think that you getting stressed out about two is ridiculous. The only person who can legitimately complain about how many kids she has is Feodor Vassilyeva, who holds the world record for most children born. She had 69 kids. Aaahhh, perspective.

5. Even without 69 children, you will never pee, drink, eat, or do anything on the bottom of Maslow's hierarchy of needs when you need or want to do them. And you will never do those things without an audience.

6. You can nurse a baby and make a grilled cheese sandwich. And you will. Probably during your first week home from the hospital.

7. Crumbs on the floor/counter/toddler's clothes and/or face will not bother you as much anymore. Stains on your own clothing? Who cares? Tomato sauce on the carpet? Over it before it spilled!

8. Your toddler will pick this time to demonstrate that he or she is ready for some other major life transition. In our case, the toddler showed us during a bedtime meltdown that she could throw herself out of her crib, necessitating the transition to a big-girl bed. Now, she's starting to show interest in potty training. Where was this developmental inertia when I was 4 months pregnant?!

9. Getting the two of them to nap at the same time will start to remind you of that scene in Indiana Jones where he scrambles under that door that is coming down, then reaches out and is just barely able to grab his hat. Sometimes, the toddler is just starting to drift off when the newborn starts to squirm. There's a moment of "is this even possible?" and a rush of adrenaline. Oh, yes. I'm living on the edge here.

10. Coffee in the morning is like sanity medicine. Just drink it. Even if you don't think you like or need it, you do need it and you will like the way it makes everything feel a little softer, a little easier. And, pretty soon, your partner may realize it's in everyone's best interest if they just have it ready for you when you stumble into the kitchen, Bonus!

In Training

There is quite a bit of information about preparing for your life with a new baby out there. Tips for pregnancy, ideas to help labor and delivery go smoothly, and ways to nurture yourself and your baby during the postpartum months. What is lacking, however, are tips on how to get through the mundane, day-to-day things you do with your toddler. So, I developed a rigorous, one-week training program for those parents whose children are about to enter toddlerhood.

Life With Toddler Training Program

 Mealtimes: To train for mealtimes with a toddler, enlist your partner or a friend's help for a week. Put a Lazy Susan on their chair and have them sit and spin on it throughout the mealtime. Set a timer to go off every 45 seconds, then have them drop one of their utensils and/or knock over their cup. Have them choose one food from each meal to suddenly not like. Ask them to cry whenever you make a reasonable request. Do this for 3 meals a day for one full week. At the end of the week, if you've managed not to bang your fist on the table AND have eaten enough to keep you from starving, you've passed this phase of the training.

Any Time You Need to Clean Something, Get Dressed, Pee, or Turn Your Attention Away From the Toddler: Program a Roomba (one of those automatic vacuuming robots) to work in reverse. Instead of sucking up crumbs, it will leave a trail behind it. When it gently bumps into a wall, instead of changing directions, it should spray milk everywhere. Program it to knock into dressers and cabinets with so much force that everything inside spills onto the floor. If it gets stuck somewhere, instead of turning around, it should emit a high-pitched squeal and begin to follow you at close range. The noise should increase when you try move away from it. If you manage not to shout, you've passed this phase of the training.

Tantrums: Find a feral cat with claws. Attempt to put the cat in a bathtub full of cold water. In order to pass this phase, you must actually wash the cat from nose to tail. Do this before each mealtime and any time you really, really need to go somewhere at a certain time. Also do this at the end of the day right before bedtime. Bonus points if the feral cat can scream, "NOOOO!" loud enough to concern the neighbors. If you manage not to cry or shout, you've passed this phase of the training.

Sleep: Enlist your partner or friend's help again. Give them two cups of strong coffee and ask them to get into some pajamas of their choosing. They should not choose any of the pajamas and instead begin to cry about...something. Their choice. Take that handy feral cat and attempt to bathe it again while your "fake toddler" runs around the house asking for snacks and jumps on a bed. Then, when everything seems to be falling into place and the "toddler" and the cat are both quiet, set off the smoke alarm. Start the process over. If you manage to get through this experience without shouting, you've passed the final phase of the training process and can now go to bed...for the night. Then you have to do it all again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. And...you get it.*

*If you are preparing for life with a toddler and a baby, complete this training program while holding a 20-pound bag of sand. Set a timer to go off every hour and sit on the couch with the bag of sand for 15 minutes while your "Roomba toddler" goes to work on your house while you are immobilized. Fill a squirt bottle with a mixture of old yogurt and water. Set another timer to go off every 10 minutes, then spray yourself randomly with this mixture.

No, YOU Enjoy It

From the moment I was pregnant with my first baby to this current moment, many people, mostly older women, have looked at me and said in sappy-sweet voices, "Oh, enjoy EVERY moment of your children when they're little. It goes SO fast." I usually nod and say something trite like, "I'm trying to!" or "That's what they say!" with a smile. But now, well, I have something to say about that.

Dude, parenting is tough sometimes. Today, my adorable, beautiful, charming, sweet, lovely daughter threw a tantrum because she's just plain overtired. A weekend trip to the grandparents has resulted in a minor sleep setback, and she's on edge. So, when she screamed at me for gently suggesting she try to go potty before nap and then bit me when I closed the book on my lap, I wasn't exactly surprised, but I wasn't all too happy, either.

I should add, before I go on, that our new-ish baby has been waking me up to eat 3-4 times a night, and the toddler woke up screaming at 2:30 AM and I wasn't able to get back to sleep between the two of them, so I'm not exactly functioning well today.

So, I told her as calmly as I could that she's not allowed to bite, even if she's very mad, and that she could stay in her room or the bathroom until she could stop being a maniac. (Yes, I said "maniac".) Then I counted my already-bruised bite marks and tended to the scared, crying baby.

My question is, should I have enjoyed that moment? Well, call Child Protective Services because I DID NOT. I didn't enjoy about 15 whole minutes of that exchange. I didn't enjoy the feeling of her sweet, sharp teeth on my tired arm, or the sound of her shrill, whining screeches of protest in my tired ears.

And, truth be told, parenting has been chock full of moments like that. Moments where someone hasn't had enough sleep, someone's hungry, someone isn't being given the time or attention they need and gets upset. Sometimes it's the kids, sometimes it's the parents. But I'm just saying, these moments aren't hard to come by in this house. Talking honestly to other parents with kids around this age, they are not uncommon in ANY household.

So, to you, stranger in the parking lot/grocery store/library, I say, "Please don't tell me to enjoy EVERY moment." Instead, I'll try very, very hard to separate the good moments from the bad, the sweet moments from the annoying, and the hugging moments from the biting ones. I'll pledge to not let myself get so down on myself or my kids during these moments that it ruins entire days or even whole hours. I will acknowledge the times that my kids are being amazing and when I'm having a tough time. And, I'll enjoy parenting as an entire experience and love my kids even when they're doing something that makes me want to rip up a phone book with my bare hands.

But I will not enjoy EVERY moment. And heads up to you, woman holding her sweetly-scented newborn. That little peanut will bring you more joy and love and happiness than you ever dreamed possible. But, to be blunt, he or she will be a little bit of a nightmare sometimes. Please don't feel guilty for not enjoying EVERY moment. Remember that the people who tell you to do so usually have decades of time separating them from the nitty-gritty parts of parenting small kids: the sleepless nights, the biting, the whining, the food-throwing, the meltdowns. If they could remember this, they wouldn't say something as positively stupid as "enjoy every moment."

I forgive them, though. I bet in about 30 years, I'll say the same, stupid thing to some new mom. I hope she tells me to go to hell.

Less is More?

The other morning, someone on the radio was talking about Michelle Obama's initiative to reduce or eliminate the amount of junk-food advertising in schools. This radio personality seemed cautiously supportive of the measures she wants to propose, but then brought up the point that he "favors less government in most cases" and then waffled a little bit in his support.

I have been thinking a lot about this issue since I heard about it, and I can't even stretch my imagination far enough to begin to understand why anyone would oppose this measure, or even just have any shred of doubt about it in any way, shape, or form. While I generally try to avoid starting sentences with "as a parent", I'm going to do a little of that now.

As a parent, I want my kid to be healthy. It is my number one priority. I want her little mind and body and spirit to be as healthy as possible. Big corporations who produce junk food do not care at all if she is healthy. They care about making money. If my kid gets fat and sick spending money on and then eating their processed crap, they have done their job. And while this may not be the ultimate goal spelled out in their mission statements, making as much money as possible is the bottom line for any company in a capitalist society. That's why I read every ingredient on every single morsel of food that goes into my kid's mouth--the assumption that anyone but me is looking out for her health is just plain wrong. Assuming that a company is going to only put safe ingredients into foods aimed at kids is laughable. What I can assume is that these companies want to produce cheap, sweet foods with a mouth-feel that my kid will become addicted to and want to buy over and over and over again.

As a parent, I want school to be a place of safety and learning, not somewhere that provides advertising about junk food. I mean, what? Do I even have to say that? I went to school from about 1988-2001 and I can honestly say that, other than the soda machines and the posters for concessions at basketball games, I don't recall any signage about food or drinks. Is this something that has become so pervasive in such a relatively short amount of time that it requires legislation? Apparently so.

As with anything that the government tries to do, there is backlash coming from one side of our polarized country. I read about "less government" and "less interference", but no one seems to be acknowledging that, if left unchecked, corporations will bleed into more and more facets of our lives and the environments that used to be safe havens, such as schools. So, where is the public backlash against the corporations that try to get our kids to eat their junk? Where is the widespread worry that we are leaving too much power to large companies that see our kids as faceless consumers? Where, as a society, do we draw the line between these corporate giants and our soft, sponge-brained children?

I have also heard the reasoning behind advertising in schools. Apparently, many schools depend on the money they get from allowing advertising to meet their yearly budgets. Without the money they receive from corporate sponsors, they would have to increase class sizes, reduce extracurricular programming, decrease teacher pay, or would be otherwise unable to meet the needs of the students. Because of the way our schools are funded (based on the property taxes of the surrounding neighborhoods), advertising dollars are even more important to kids who attend schools in low-income neighborhoods.

Sigh. I just...I just can't. I could go on and on about why it's scary and frustrating to be a parent now, and how even a generation ago parents didn't have to think about many of the same things, but I won't. I'll just end here.

So, thank you, Michelle Obama. When my child starts school in a few years and can walk her hallways without being bombarded by signs for Coke or Dorito tacos or Pizza Hut's new cheese-filled double pizza or whatever other junk they've thought up in the time between now and then, I'll be thinking of you.

High Maintenance

I can't really say that I'm qualified to give any kind of marriage advice, and I'm not going to try. My husband and I have been married for just over four years, so we're definitely in the youth of what I hope to be a long, long lifetime of marriage. And while I'm not qualified to give marriage advice, I can say that I'm incredibly qualified when it comes to picking out a good husband. 

A long, long time ago, I met my husband. We were young. In fact, he was so young that he had to actually sneak into the bar where we met. Granted, he's British, so he had been legally entering bars in his homeland before we met, but still--we were young. We met, we hit it off, and then we went back to our normal lives in our respective countries. I dated a bunch of guys and never really felt like any of them were right--there was always just something about each of them that made it clear to me that they weren't right for me. These were small things--a comment here or there, an awkwardness, a hint of arrogance, an ill-timed poem on my birthday that made me squirm. You know, the usual.

So, when my now-husband came back to visit and we had dinner and walked around the art garden, and I felt like he had a magnet that drew me in despite the concrete obstacles between us, it took me by surprise. And it kind of bummed me out. I knew that, if we tried to have a relationship, things would always be difficult. They would be difficult for us, for our families, for our friends. But I felt, even way back then, that the troubles would be worth it.

Now, years and years later, we have moved across the world for each other, have spent time, money, and energy making things work despite the odds, and our relationship feels decidedly normal. It no longer consists of tearful good-byes at the airports, all the free time in the world to watch movies or go to dinner or sleep, or the desperation to be together that most people feel at the beginning of a relationship. All that stuff has faded into diaper changes, nighttime wake-ups from our child, exhaustion at the end of the day, talks about our plan for the next baby, piles of laundry, and dinners at 5:30 instead of 8PM. 

But because he is the right one, those things are OK. We can laugh or complain about those things, we can sit and stare at the end of the day and wonder how people get through these times, we can look at our beautiful child in amazement, frustration, or through sleep-deprived eyes, we can watch our next baby move and stretch in my swollen tummy at night, and we can look at each other and say that there is no one we'd rather be with, no one we would rather go through this with, and no one who could be a better partner for us or parent to our children. 

We haven't always been perfect partners to each other. There have been moments of normal frustration, misunderstandings, disagreements. But what we always had, and what we are developing more each day, is the capacity to love and understand each other, and the want to do so. And that, I think, is more important than anything. 

Eating For Two

This post is my overdue announcement that we're expecting our second child. Actually, we're expecting him so much that we know his gender, his name, and have already purchased (but not constructed) some IKEA furniture for him.

It's funny, when I was pregnant with Soph, I knew exactly how far along I was, was totally on top of how much she weighed, how long she was, and what vegetable approximated her size, but this time, I'm sort of like, "Well...I'm about 27 weeks...or, wait. No, 28. He feels pretty big. I don't know."

So, yes, we are so excited and so happy and feel so incredibly lucky to have had the chance to have another child. Sometimes, I think about the sleeplessness and the imbalance of life with a toddler, and then I think of adding another layer of lack of sleep and little messes and more years of diapers and breastfeeding and just the inordinate amount of poop that little kids bring. It is during these times that I remind myself of all the snuggling and kisses and the excitement of a kid's first words, steps, smiles, and all that other good stuff, and I think, "YES. I want that NOW."

We were having dinner with some friends who have a daughter the same age as Sophie, and we were talking about our resolutions for the new year. The other dad's was to be "more on top of parenting". I was quick to blurt out that mine was completely the opposite--to let even more stuff go. They laughed, but it was true. There are a lot of times when I get kind of down on myself, not so much for the job I'm doing as a mom, but the job I'm doing as a person in general. I think too often and too long about the fact that my floors are rarely clean and our kitchen counter has crumbs on it most of the time. There are nights where I can't get to sleep because I am wondering if I should be potty training now, thinking that I haven't given the tub a good scrub in too long, or that we have had macaroni and cheese for lunch two days this week.

So, in 2014, I am pledging to replace those thoughts with nicer, saner ones. I am going to talk to myself the way I'd talk to any of my other friends. I'm going to acknowledge that my kid readily eats Brussels sprouts, already says "please" and "thank you", and doesn't watch TV (and doesn't ask to). That my husband and I still really like each other and that we get a lot out of our hour and a half each night. That it doesn't really matter if laundry sits in the dryer for days because it's usually because my kid and I are painting together or reading for an hour, or because I'm talking to my husband in the evening instead of rushing to do chores all the time. The best evidence I have that I'm not screwing up is the fact that my kid is healthy and happy and my marriage is not only intact, but happy, and THAT is what I'll be focusing on in the new year.

I think a lot of this will come naturally when we have our new baby around, too. There will be less time for worries, and my eyes will be so blurry from lack of sleep that I won't even notice the dried yogurt on the linoleum or the fingerprints on the stainless steel. I am looking forward to this forced acceptance of chaos, this blissful abandonment of caring about the little things, and the copious amounts of coffee I will soon be allowed to drink.

Take care and happy New Year!

The Prisoner

I'd like to say that I have a valid excuse for not writing a single post for about 7 months, but the only thing I can offer to you is that I have been tired. Not the kind of tired where I could fall asleep standing up, but just worn out from round the clock care of my toddler and  becoming increasingly selfish with my paltry free time. And that leads me nicely to the topic of today's post: exhaustion.

When you're pregnant, everyone says some version of "get your sleep now because once the baby arrives you won't get any." It's possibly the most annoying part of how others react to someone being pregnant, second only to strangers asking if you are having twins. As a new parent, you are fueled by some combination of hormones and new love that gets you through sleepless nights. But more importantly that this, you also get to sleep during the day when your little bundle is napping. For a newborn, this could be hours and hours a day.

Fast forward 18 months and it's a different story. When tot is awake, you're awake. And I've been unpleasantly surprised by how often our tot is awake. While other moms talk about a sold 12-hour, uninterrupted stretch of nighttime sleep followed by a leisurely 2 or 3 hour nap every afternoon, I practically salivate. On the best of days, our kid will sleep 10.5 hours at night and then take a 1 1/4 hour nap in the afternoon. On the worst, like we've been having for the past several weeks, she'll wake up between 1-3 times a night, wind up getting less than 10 hours, and then take a fevered one-hour nap in the afternoon. This nap is not so much refreshing for her, but sanity-making for me, and never, ever enough for either of us.

When I was pregnant, I had a friend who said to me, "Promise that you won't become one of those moms who stops hanging out with her friends after the baby comes." At the time, I assured her that this could never happen. But now, more than ever, I understand the wide-eyed, slack-jawed ignorance on both our parts. So, for anyone out there who does not have children and is feeling bummed out about how little they see their friends who do have little kids, I offer the following:

Parents don't stop seeing their friends because they are so in love with the baby that they can't stand to be away. It's because they are on a completely different schedule than you now. Their day starts at 5AM. They may be getting up several times during the night, too. All day, every single day, without a single day off, they cater to the needs of an unreasonable person who may not be able to even explain in a real way what they want or need, and who fly off the handle if a meal or a nap comes later than expected. They lift, carry, hug, change, feed, and help these little people all day and shuttle them to parks and activities and stores and in and out of cars. They do this all on much, much less sleep than you probably get and without the benefit of a break during the weekend. 

Would that mom of an 18-month old rather be going out to happy hour with you at 5PM rather than trying to spoon food into their toddler? Of course she would. But she can't. Because no one else will feed this little bundle, and this little bundle needs to eat at the same time every day. Would she rather be out with you on the weekends, getting dressed up and feeling like she looks good? Of course she would. But she can't. Because no one else can get her baby to go to sleep at night, and she'll probably be up by 5AM the next day anyway. Parents of young kids aren't ignoring you because you're not fun or important. It's because they are exhausted, and trying to get a little more sleep had outranked you. 

Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs shows that sleep, food, water, breathing, pooping, and sex are considered essentials, things that humans literally cannot live without. Yes, you read that right--sleep and breathing are equally important. You wouldn't be offended if a friend turned down a night out because it would mean breathing less. So please, when a new parent becomes "boring" because they start to stay in more and choose sleep over fun, give them a little slack. And if you are a real friend, offer to watch their kid so they can get some sleep. Or so they can just breathe.

A Year

One year ago today, I gave birth. Well, a baby was taken out of me, anyway. After many hours of Pitocin-induced labor, I was given a C-section. The nurses all said that the baby may not cry right away. I think they said this so that I wouldn't panic if I didn't hear the movie-type baby cries that most new moms expect when the baby enters the world, but up until then, I hadn't thought about her crying or not crying right away. In any case, the doctor said, "You will feel some tugging," and the baby was lifted out of me. It felt as though they were pulling out half of my weight, and I was amazed that, even under the affects of the epidural, I felt light and empty. She screamed right away, and I cried. The picture Chris took of her at this moment is epic: her balled fists, her red face, her rage at being removed from her comfortable home.

Immediately, everyone began to focus on the baby. They cooed about how beautiful she was, how big she was, how much hair she had. I lay behind the sheet, feeling as though my body and my baby were on the other side of a football field. I tried to ask questions, but no one could hear me. After what felt like an eternity, Chris walked over to me with her in his arms, looking dazed and happy. I think he said something like, "Here she is." It was unnecessary. I would have recognized her anywhere. She was mine, and I already knew her.

But she did look too big and too clean, and she was so chubby and so beautiful that, for a split second, I wondered how she could be real. I cried and looked at her, shaking from the effects of the epidural and straining my neck to turn as much as I could to look at her. I tried to touch her. I kissed her cheek. I wanted to stare. My doctor, the one who had cared from me from the very beginning, was standing beside me. I looked at her and she nodded at me, smiling. I nodded back, still crying.

Then Chris took her to the nursery so they could stitch me up. Immediately, I felt exhausted. The anesthetist had given me something for anxiety (even though I was not anxious) and I felt sleepy. I drifted in and out of sleep for a few minutes. I remember hearing strained voices, and hearing something about blood loss, but I couldn't stay awake. The next time I woke up, I was still on the table, staring up at the bright light. The anesthetist was still over me. I couldn't say anything, but I tried to catch his eye. He noticed me and smoothed my hair out of my eyes. "It's OK," he said. "Just a little bit longer. It's OK." I nodded and fell back asleep.

Then, suddenly, the surgeon was at my side. "You are losing too much blood," she said firmly. "We need to do something to stop it. I would like to remove your right ovary because it may stop the bleeding. Is that OK with you?" My mind reeled. I thought a million questions but couldn't say anything. "Mmm-hmmm," I agreed. She peered at me. "Do I need to talk to your husband about it?" I shook my head a little. "Uh-uh."

I fell back asleep. In my half-sleep, I was confused. Had I had the baby already? I thought I had, but I couldn't remember. The room was too bright and too loud, and all I wanted to do was go to sleep. I awoke to the sound of the surgical team counting their instruments. I fell asleep again. When I woke up, I was in a recovery room. Chris and a nurse came in a few minutes later with my baby, and I could finally, finally, finally hold and feed her. She was the most amazing, soft, beautiful, sweet, vulnerable, perfect thing I had ever seen. The surgeon came in a little while later and explained in basic terms what had happened to me. She sounded sorry. 

I looked at my baby, then looked up at her and said, "It's OK. She's OK. Shit happens." 

The surgeon looked slightly taken aback, then softened. "Well," she said, "I'm sorry it happened to you today."

This morning, a year later, my baby woke up. I went in, cuddled and rocked her, and smelled her sweet hair. She wrapped a warm hand around mine as she ate with little snuffling noises. She fell back asleep, warm and soft in her little footie jammies, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. 

Today is better.

Happy birthday, baby Sophie. I would do it all over again a hundred times for just one day with you.

xoxo

An Awkward Conversation

Republican Legislators: Hey, Minnesota. What's new?
Minnesota: Oh, you know. Just plugging along. What's new with you?
RL: Actually, a lot. We've got some ideas for you.
MN: Oh, yeah? Like what?
RL: We were thinking, what if we added an amendment to our constitution that says marriage can only be between a man and a woman?
MN: Um...isn't that kind of discriminatory? And permanent?
RL: I mean, only if you like the gays...you don't, do you?
MN: Uh...yeah, kind of. I mean, they're just like everyone else. Why shouldn't they get married?
RL: It's already illegal, if that helps you.
MN: Uh...then why are we putting this in our constitution?
RL: To make it even MORE illegal.
MN: Um, no, I don't think we'll do that.
RL: Are you sure?
MN: Yes.
RL: How sure?
MN: Positive.
RL: *Sigh* Fine. OK, well, how about an amendment saying that everyone needs to present a government-issued photo ID when they vote?
MN: Wait, what? What kinds of IDs? Why?
RL: Government-issued IDs. Passports, driver's licenses, those kinds of things. Things with your picture and current address on them.
MN: What about student IDs? And passports don't have your address on it. What about military IDs?
RL: Meh, I don't know. We'll figure it out later.
MN: Um, I don't know about this. Wouldn't that keep people from voting.
RL: Well, sure. But only students, minorities, people who move a lot, the elderly--
MN:--wait, wait. That's a pretty long list.
RL: Well, sure. But don't worry. Most of those people vote for liberals.
MN: (uncomfortable silence)
RL: Seriously, don't worry. We'll figure it out. We'll...we'll give people IDs or something.
MN: Won't that be pretty complicated and expensive?
RL: I don't know. Maybe. But it will be worth it to prevent voter fraud.
MN: Do we have a big problem with voter fraud?
RL: No. But we could.
MN: But we don't.
RL: No, you're not listening. We COULD.
MN: ...but we don't.
RL: Well...right.
MN: Yeah, I think we're going to pass on that, too.
RL: You're making a huuuge mistake.
MN: I don't think so. And while we're at it, I think we need to see other people.

And Suddenly...

I sometimes have the feeling that things that happen in my life aren't completely within my control. For the most part, I'm pretty happy to just have life wash over me like waves, and most of the things that have happened to me have been good. And, while I can identify the role I have played in most of my life events, there is still some element of not really being in total control of what is happening.

Buying a house has felt very much like this so far. One day, we're walking around a big, empty house, throwing around numbers, mentally putting furniture in its rooms, and the next day, I'm navigating my way to a huge building where our mortgage guy works, toting my heavy baby in her car seat, diaper bag full of toys and papers that display our income and credit rating. Somehow, I have gotten married, had a baby, and have participated in the purchase of a house. It's unreal. We have a mortgage guy. His name is Chad. We have a real estate agent. His name is Phil. We bought a house. We saved up money for a couple of years and are writing a check for a down payment. We will have a mortgage. My god. It's surreal. It's amazing.

Our real estate agent, Phil, has been fantastic. He has actually been a part of my life for several years now, in a weird way. So, right after I graduated from college and was working at the adoption agency, I had a really long commute. One rainy day during this commute, I rear-ended a Mercedes driven by Phil and caused about $900 of damage. Phil was very nice about the whole thing. He didn't get out of his Mercedes and look at the damage--he came over to me first and asked how I was. When he learned that the damage done would cause my insurance rates to rise, he said he wouldn't rent a car, which would keep the price of the damage low enough that I wouldn't see a price increase in my policy. Being incredibly grateful but having nothing to offer, I thanked him and said if there was anything I could do for him, I'd be happy to do it. He said that he was a real estate agent, and when I was ready to buy my first home, I could look him up. I think he said it in a kind of offhand way, but I mentally filed away his name. Seven years later, I looked him up. He was surprised I had remembered him, and I was happy he didn't think that it was weird that I had remembered him. He's been amazing--so kind, so effective, and very thorough. Chris and I are both glad that, seven years ago, the roads were wet, and that if I had to hit a luxury car, at least it contained someone as nice as Phil.

Anyway, that's what we're up to these days. The baby is good, Chris is loving his new job, and I could not be happier now that I'm home with the baby. She is smiley and giggly, and I think every day that she is the most amazing creature ever to exist on the planet. She's amazing.

Hope you're well!

xo

No Place Like Home

Oh, wow. This weekend really blew my hair back. It was crazy-fun.

OK, no, not really. It was a typical weekend with a baby, which means lots of walking with the stroller, washing some diapers, and passing out around 9:30 on a Saturday night. Sigh...

No, it's alright. Weekends are nice because Chris is home, which means that I get to take a loooong shower twice, and, of course, I get to see him a lot. I will say, though, that's it's been awhile since we went out anywhere. The other day, I put on a pair of high heels to see if they still fit and ended up tottering around like a teenager. Definitely a sign that my feet, and the rest of me, are forgetting how to go all out. But that's OK. I had a bunch of years where being up at 3AM would have been an indication of an amazing night out, and not just the start of a long, long day like it would be now. I'm 29 now, so it's OK that things are mellow.

Things are so mellow here, in fact, that Chris and I have decided that we need to really settle into our new lifestyle. That's right--I'm talking house-fence-dog settled. We've been looking at houses for a few weeks now, and my god, we've found the perfect one. You know how they say that you will just know the right house when you see it? That did not happen with this house. I walked in and immediately thought, 'This is too nice!' I remember bounding from room to room in amazement, blurting out things like, "Whoa!" and "We can afford this?!" It's crazy-good. We're working on it.

But this last weekend, we were looking at some other houses. We first looked at this house that literally made me feel like I was in a scene from Trainspotting. You know how when you take pictures down from the wall and the space under the picture is darker than the rest of the wall because the paint has faded? This house had the opposite thing happening--the walls were so filthy that the paintings had been acting as a dirt-shield. The walls around the pale spaces where the pictures had been were a dingy, rotten orange. The bathroom looked as though crack addicts had been living in it. The kitchen looked like the backroom of a restaurant that should have been condemned. It was revolting. I felt guilty having the baby in there. I also felt slightly better about the clutter in our own small apartment, like I do after watching an episode of Hoarders. We're not buying that one.

Anyway, that's all that has been on my mind lately, other than the baby. She is ridiculously cute lately--all smiley and squealing. She is getting more and more fun every day. I hope we can buy her a house soon.

OK, I hope everything is going well with you! Take it easy!

xo

Homeward Bound

I can't remember the last time I wrote, which is probably a bad sign. It probably also means that no one is reading this, except for Ken. Hi, Ken. How's New Hampshire? (For anyone else reading this, my friend Ken just moved to New Hampshire to work on the campaign to re-elect Obama. It's pretty awesome.) It was actually Ken who oh-so-gently reminded me that I am a stay-at-home mom, so I should be able to update my blog. So, here I am.

Yup, that's right. I am a stay-at-home mom now. Basically, I went back to work for about a week and then decided that, nope, that wasn't going to happen. I put in my notice midway through my second week, worked for another 2 weeks after that, and have been home ever since.

It was a tough decision to make, actually, for a lot of reasons. First, Chris and I had to sit down and hammer out a budget to see if we could financially swing this change. Then, we had to decide if it was the best thing in the long run. This was a much easier choice to make. Sophie was just not the same when she was going to daycare. And yes, I know, she was only there for a month. But the thing is, when we'd go in to pick her up, she'd just be sitting there, alone, staring. When I crouched down to pick her up, she'd look up at me in this sad, passive way and did not smile. She'd conk out at 7 PM, giving me about 2 hours with my baby. Not nearly enough time. I've got a lot to teach this kid and a lot of love to give her, and 2 hours a day is not enough for this.

In addition to this, both Chris and I had incredibly long days. My day usually started before 5AM and included pumping milk during all downtime and no lunch break. Believe me when I say that it was not a treat to spend time with me during the four weeks in which Sophie was in day care. The baby was getting me for two hours a day, and they were not cute hours. And Chris...well, he's a trooper. Let's just say he was more than happy for me to stay home.

And so I did. It's a tough thing to do, actually, because I'm seeing my friends go off and do all these exciting things and advance in their careers, and here I sit. It actually turned out that I had been looking down the barrel of a promotion to middle management in my former position--a bullet I narrowly avoided that ended up getting the next-senior employee at work. It all worked out.

So, now my days are full of baby. I thought I'd be more sad about missing out on work, but I am decidedly not. I've got some things up my sleeve, including picking up a few evening shifts at the hospital and putting in a bid to teach a community education class in the fall, but for the most part, I'm just mom. The baby's happy about that, so I'm all good.

Being a mom has been amazing. Even writing that sentence seems trite. This baby is so incredibly amazing to me, and the fact that she has been entrusted to me astounds me. I have never been so acutely aware of my own strengths and weaknesses, or been so proud of my body, or so grateful to be alive. Life is infinitely more simple now that she is here. Before, there was all this pressure (usually from within) to do things, to make things or do things or be things. And now, all of that is white noise in the background, and the only thing that matters to me, really, is that the baby is OK. As long as she is OK, I'm doing exactly what I need to do. It's a relief.

On the other hand, I have never been so excited for the future. Anything I do, anywhere I go, she'll be there, and that's exciting and reassuring. I can't fully explain the feeling. I'll just stop trying.

Anyway, that's about all I have right now. Sorry, Ken--next time it will be a funny post! But shouldn't you be working to re-elect the president now, anyway?

xo

Spruced Up

So, I found myself in a situation last night that I bet some of you can relate to. I was barefoot, standing in the back room of an organic cafe in the middle of nowhere, pretending to be a space alien who was talking to an alligator. No? Just me? Hmm.

This all started when I was driving home in an unconventional way and noticed a sign that said "Living Waters Organic Cafe" on a little, out of the way building. Since one of my greatest pleasures in life is finding little cafes near my home to frequent, I was excited.

I looked through the menu online and saw that it was good. Then, I noticed a tab at the top labeled "Ongoing Events". I clicked. The page that came up was filled with healing retreats, drum circles, and various things that Chris would probably refer to as "hippie nonsense", including a laughter yoga class. This piqued my interest because I, being clumsy, find yoga to be hilarious. Every yoga class I've ever been to, though, has been so deadly serious that I have been too nervous to even laugh at myself as I flub my way through what are supposed to be the graceful series of calming poses.

I called on my friends to join me in this class, and Laura responded that she'd join me. I envisioned a large group of awkward people just like me, laughing our ways through a traditional yoga class, not feeling as uncoordinated as we would if we were surrounded by lithe, suburban yogis in expensive gear. This, my friend, was NOT the case.

The class started at 5:45 on a Friday, which led me to believe that it was going to be like a refreshing, communal happy hour. I arrived at the cafe before Laura did and was led into a back room that was empty, except for one stone-faced woman. I put my things down and took off my jacket, then introduced myself to her. Her name was Spruce. She wore purple from head to toe, including a purple velour tracksuit and a purple buzz cut with a long, braided rat tail. Spruce told me with a very serious expression that she was "usually a hugger", but she had a cold so she was going to keep her distance. She told me about some 'inner child work' she had done with one of her clients that day and gave me a business card with her reiki practice's information on it. When she left for a moment, I sent Laura a text: "Only one other person. Her name is Spruce."

Shockingly, Spruce turned out to be the class leader. I got a sinking feeling when Spruce told me that this was not a traditional yoga class, and that actually, we wouldn't be doing any yoga. Laura and I decided later, over a beer, that calling the class 'yoga' should be considered fraud. But I digress. Spruce and I began our warm up, which consisted of stretching towards the ceiling and pretending we were playing in the clouds, and pretending that we were throwing colored paint at the walls. This imaginary paint was meant to represent "all the stuff we'd let stick to ourselves over the course of the day", and all the "negative judgments we made about ourselves". I thought about the nice day I'd had--hanging out with the baby, making mittens out of an old sweater, having Chris come home early to make me a grilled cheese--and didn't really feel the need to throw emotional paint at the walls. Oh, and we also gave ourselves a lot of hugs.

Laura arrived in the middle of this. When Spruce was bending at the waist and "allowing gravity to do its thing", we exchanged a look. My look said, "I'm sorry", and hers said, "Are you kidding me?" Now, let me just say that neither Laura nor I are closed-minded individuals. She went to Sarah Lawrence, for God's sake. I have a degree in person-centered counseling. We both do yoga. We're not some kind of corn-fed Republican stockbrokers or anything. But the next 45 minutes really tested us.

So, Spruce led us in some fake laughter that was meant to get us breathing and laughing correctly. She informed us that a lot of the laughter would probably be fake, but that, "with time, we could learn to really laugh". She was probably one of the most serious and unfunny people alive today. I found it extremely odd that this dour woman was leading a class about laughter, when I had a hard time imagining her laughing, or even smiling, or even really feeling happy. At one point, she stopped to think about one of the exercises. She muttered to herself, completely straight-faced, "Is it ho-ho-haha? Or haha-ho-ho? I always get my hohos and hahas mixed up." Laura lost it. I lost it. We both started laughing, really laughing. And since that was the point of the class, we just kept on laughing. We laughed when Spruce suggested we pretend to be space aliens looking for Earth's leader, when we pretended to be at a casino buffet, eating various things that made us laugh in different ways (I think it's possible that Spruce ate something before class that made her laugh, if you know what I mean), and when we had to lie on the floor, listening to what is basically a one-woman laugh track on CD (which we were told was available for download for $10). At one point, Laura and I were lying there on our backs on the floor of this backroom, listening to insane laughter coming from the CD and from Spruce, just laughing like maniacs, and I thought, "This is what it must feel like to be insane". Laura just kept laughing, sporadically saying, "Oh my god". Whether or not we were laughing for the right reason, we were laughing.

The class ended after a brief relaxation exercise. Spruce told us we could try to use what we had learned to try to incorporate laughter into our daily lives, even if it was forced. I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from asking why in the world she was teaching a class about laughter when, it seemed, she didn't really laugh that often. Maybe that's why she was trying to teach it--because she needed the practice. In any case, that's what I did with my Friday night.

In keeping with the theme of laughter, Sophie laughed for the first time on Thursday. She was in the bath tub, having the time of her life, and it was the best thing I think I've ever heard. It made me cry.
Hope you're well!
xo

Big Salty Tears

First, let me just acknowledge that it's been a long time since I wrote. Then, let me acknowledge that I am not too sorry about this because the baby is happy and healthy, and that accomplishment has absorbed the majority of my time in the eight weeks since she was born.

So, another reason for my lapse in blog updates has been because most of my days have sort of started to run together into one, long, bleary-eyed day that is punctuated by fluctuating amounts of sleep that can't really be called 'nights'. I have entire expanses of time in which I can't identify one thing that I've done, said, eaten, or written. So when a moment of time appears in which I feel somewhat coherent, I will take some time to write. This is one of those moments.

The final excuse for my blogging absence is that there really hasn't been anything funny to write about. I could go on and on about the baby--how cute she is while kicking her little legs in the bath, how she loves to pee on the changing table, how I am routinely covered in a fine film of baby vomit, how she started to smile about 10 days ago and it's been the happiest 10 days of my life--but I am so obsessively in love with this baby that those things would be all I ever write about, and I would lose what remains of my readership. I'm telling you, I would write so persistently, unwaveringly about the baby, in so much unnecessary detail, that even her adoring grandparents would roll their eyes and think to themselves, "Dude, give it a rest."

There's also something distinctly unfunny about having a baby. The things that I might have laughed about in other peoples' blogs about their babies are not the least bit funny to me. What? They cried when their babies got their 2-month vaccinations? That's funny! Their baby won't remember and will be just fine! But when my baby was lying on a cold table, naked and screaming, it was not funny. She may have been just fine after a moment, but I wasn't. And it wasn't (and still isn't) funny. When the guy on the radio was talking about his wife's weeping response to putting their baby in daycare, it was a funny story. But to me, lying in bed at 3AM, worried sick about turning over the most important person in the world to me to strangers so I can go to my detestable job for 8 hours a day, it is anything but funny.

So, that's how it's been over here. Poor Chris. Send nice thoughts his way. He is handling my new-mom insanity with about as much patience, love, and humor as anyone ever could. Sometimes I stop paying attention to how awesome everything is because I'm caught up in something negative (I clipped the baby's nails the other day and accidentally nicked her tiny fingertip, which caused more crying for the two of us, for example). But then sometimes, I take inventory and realize I have an amazing husband, a beautiful, happy baby, and healthy family all over the world who loves the three of us, and there is so much to be grateful for that my attention is pulled in the right direction until the next moment of parental clumsiness.

But enough about that. The other thing that has been going on recently--really, the only other thing of any interest--is that Chris gave me a sewing machine for my birthday and I am trying to make things. I have a history of poor follow-through when it comes to, oh, everything, but especially crafty things like this. That's why there is an unfinished painting of a squirrel in our closet, and the reason that the only thing I have ever knitted has been scarf after scarf after wonkily-knitted scarf. But I am determined to get good at this new hobby. First, though, I have to do it "the Christina way". This basically entails jumping into something without really paying attention to the way others have successfully done it for years, failing or at least falling short of my own expectations, then resigning myself to the fact that I need to follow the directions, at least for a little while. And that's why there's a half-sewn tube of fabric sitting next to the sewing machine which will probably never become the skirt I'd like it to be. But someday...someday you'll see me wearing something I've made. No, not another hole-y scarf. I mean something I've sewn.

OK, hope all is well with you!
xo

How Much?!

So, it's been awhile. I'm not going to make excuses, mostly because all the excuses I have start with "The baby...", as in, "The baby needs a lot of feeding!" or "The baby kept me up all night/morning." No, I'm not going to make excuses because I don't believe anyone is actually reading this. I read somewhere (OK, I didn't read it, I just made it up) that you lose half your readership for every week that goes by without a blog post. Since only about 3 people read this blog when posts were made more frequently, I fully expect that the rest of you have dropped off. And I don't blame you. No, I do not.

And maybe it's a good thing you've stopped reading, because I'm going to talk about something serious now, and something that I've talked about before (no, not the baby this time): health care in America.

Recently, due to a lack of having their crap together and an excess of their own heads up their asses, the billing staff failed to acknowledge that our baby was added to my insurance plan when she was born. How this happened, I do not know. When I preregistered, then re-registered at the hospital, they took my information down and I thought things were OK. After I got home with the baby, I added her to my policy and was told the plan would cover her retroactively starting the day she was born. Stupidly, I thought this would actually work. It didn't.

Anyway, long story short, I received a bill in the mail yesterday that demanded I pay them a small fortune for her "care" in the hospital. And let me just clarify, yes, that is sarcasm. If anyone should be paid for the baby's care in the hospital, it should be me. I fed her. I changed her. I rocked her to sleep. They only came in to weigh her and comment about how much hair she had.

But I digress. The amount we were billed, because they believed the baby didn't have health insurance, could cover a good portion of a down payment on a small house. It could buy a used Japanese car. It could cover half a year at UMM when I was attending. And this bill included what I learned was the "uninsured patient discount", which is a seemingly random amount that is knocked off the price out of pity. It wasn't even half of the total price of the care.

My heart literally skipped a beat when I saw the bill. I called Chris in a panic. The next day, when I spoke to the billing representative, it became clear that a mistake had been made, and I came down off the ceiling and rejoined normal life. But for a few hours, I knew the panic that uninsured people must feel when they receive a bill like this.

Here's why it was silly of me to feel that way: I am employed, married to someone who is also employed, have more than enough money in savings to have paid the bill without any effect on my day to day life, and would have been able to replenish the savings within a month or two with a little effort. What if I wasn't employed, wasn't able to get a good job, wasn't married? What if I'd received the full bill for my care and the baby's care, which totaled almost $30,000? What if I had this new baby AND a mountain of medical bills?

At this moment, there are about 50 million people who could potentially receive necessary medical care, and then a bill like this. FIFTY MILLION. When they do get care and can't pay those bills, where does the money come from? The cost is divvied up and passed along to everyone. It's like shoplifting, except instead of stealing a sweater, the uninsured are getting lifesaving medical treatment that they would gladly pay for if they could. The price of the sweater is raised to cover the one that wasn't paid for. The same thing happens with medical care. This is why I was charged about $3000 for each night I spent in the hospital, and I couldn't even get anyone to answer my call light.

My little moment of panic deepened my belief that we need, need, NEED to make health care accessible to everyone. We need a public option--not a forced plan for everyone, but the option of having care provided by the government for those people who don't have a job that gives them health insurance. Health insurance can not continue to be run by companies that seek to make profits, and can not continue to be seen as a luxury item for the middle and upper classes, or those of us lucky enough to continue to be employed.

A friend of mine received an itemized bill for her recent hospital stay. In it, there was a $18 charge for a "mucus disposal system". She figured out this was actually just a fancy term for the box of Kleenex provided in her room. Eighteen dollar Kleenex! This is madness. Let's do something about it.

Hope you're well!
xo

Eat, Sleep, Eat, Repeat.

Writing more often isn't working. There, I said it. You know it, I know it, but I didn't want to dance around it. What am I doing that is more important than writing? To begin with, I'm keeping an infant alive. I'm also napping. To be fair, I'm napping because I'm keeping an infant alive for a few hours in the middle of every night.

So, I'd love to say that I've been doing things that are really funny to write about and interesting for you to read, but that would be a lie. And I'd never, ever lie to you. I may exaggerate for comedic effect, but I'd never flat-out lie. No, basically, my life for the past 4 weeks has been feed the baby, change the baby, feed the baby, wipe up something that has been forcibly ejected from the baby, kiss and cuddle the baby, feed the baby, sleep for about 2 hours, feed the baby, sleep for 2 hours, feed the baby, try to find time to eat and drink something that will turn into food for the baby. So... That's that.

Chris and I are celebrating our 2-year anniversary tomorrow! I can't believe it's been 2 years already. He's the best. He's probably the most laid-back man on the planet when it comes to this whole baby thing. I'll be frantic about something having to do with feeding the baby, or the way things have shifted physically, or a number of post-pregnancy issues and he'll just say, "You're doing a great job. Look how happy the baby is. I love you", or some other comforting thing. And then I really pay attention to how happy and chubby the baby is or how much he still likes me the way I am, and everything's OK until the next "crisis" I mentally create.

But again, I will just say that this baby is the best person in the world and I couldn't ever have imagined feeling this way about another human being. She has turned me into a marshmallow and a grizzly bear at the same time. I feel like I've known her forever, but she's brand new. She's the most beautiful and interesting thing on the planet, even at 3, 4 and 5AM. I'm smitten.

With that, I'm going to leave you. The baby's hungry!
xo

An Undertaking of Epic Proportions

Well, hi again. I'm hoping to return to a semi-normal pattern of writing now that things are relatively calm and the holidays are over.

I'm not one of those people who usually gets stressed out by the holiday season, but this year presented some challenges that made Christmas feel much less Christmas-y than in previous years. Having this baby has been absolutely amazing, if not entirely all-consuming. There have been days when I have not showered, not eaten, not even really stood up much, and have just fed and rocked and fed and fed some more. Those days feel long, and leave me feeling as though one of my days has been sucked into a black hole of time that I'll never get back. They are also sort of sleepy days, lazy and oddly cozy. I wish the weather would get really, really crappy so I could make some cocoa and really settle into them. But for now, those days are few and, thankfully, far between, and I have retained some level of new-mom sanity.

There have been enough of those days, though, that I felt completely unprepared for Christmas and Chris's birthday when they rolled around. I actually had to send poor Chris out to buy not only all my family's Christmas presents, but the ingredients to his own birthday cake, too. I'm hoping that the fact that I am three weeks post-operative and am keeping his daughter alive will help him to forget and forgive me for this holiday season.

So, today is my first day alone with the baby. Chris was home last week but had to work a regular week from home, so I had a little practice, but I'm still feeling a little concerned. What if I fall in the kitchen and don't have the strength to drag myself to my quietly-starving baby in the bedroom? What if...actually, I don't have a lot of concrete concerns. I'm sure it will be just fine. There's just something a little intimidating about being the only person responsible for this little baby all day.

Most of you reading this will have already met Sophie, but if you haven't, let me tell you, we lucked out. This kid is incredible. She is easy-going, doesn't get too upset about anything (other than being hungry), and sleeps like a champion. There is no guessing game when she's crying. We don't have to run down a list of potential irritants, eliminating reasons and trying out different solutions. The answer is always that she is hungry. She doesn't cry when she's tired or wet or for no reason, like some babies. She is either 100% content or 100% hungry. She runs on a simple, baby binary system. She doesn't mind if you take your time getting her little onesie over her head, or if you kind of struggle to get her arms into her tiny sleeves. She just sits there, looking around with her giant, blue eyes, waiting for you to get your parental crap together. Unless she's hungry as you're trying to do these things. Then, she cries. When you feed her, she returns to her natural, happy state for the briefest of moments, and then she falls asleep.

I'm sure I'll write more now, and I'm sure that for awhile, most of these posts will have something to do with motherhood. Bear with me. I'm not doing much more at the moment.

Hope you've had the merriest of Christmases!
xo

It Was The Best of Times

It has been a long time since my last post, but I have the best of excuses: Sophie arrived on the 7th!

I've read other people's blogs and some have had a tough time talking about their birth stories until a lot later, and I'm going to be one of those people now. Those of you who read this who are close to me probably already know the whole story, and those of you who are further away can probably wait for any details I'll ever be willing to give. I will sum up the experience for now by saying that it was not the birth I had envisioned, but the baby is healthy, and so am I, and the three of us are all bundled up at home.

Our baby is by far the best thing that has ever happened to me. She is beautiful, soft, sweet, easygoing, and incredibly lovable. The first time I met her, I could barely touch her let alone hold her, but that's all I wanted to do. And since she's been here, that's about all I've done.

She is happy and healthy and gaining weight steadily. She is a good eater, a good sleeper, has a great head of hair, and the most beautiful, big dark eyes that are slowly turning deep blue. She makes funny faces, she is cuddly, and she already makes us laugh. I can't imagine loving somebody more.

So please forgive my last entry, and rest assured when I say that all the discomfort from pregnancy and the birth are all distant memories, and I'd do it all again a hundred times over if that's what it took.

Hope all is well!
xo

Anwers to Your Questions

In the spirit of keeping up with this blog, despite really not having much to talk about other than The Baby, I'm going to answer some questions that have been asked of me over the course of the last few days.

Q: Are YOU still HERE? (This is usually asked of me every morning as I arrive at work.)
A: You can still see me, so...yes, I'm still here. I want every minute of my maternity leave to use after the baby is born. When I stop coming in to work, you'll know I'm not here. The biggest clue is that I WON'T BE HERE.

Q: Are you just super uncomfortable?
A: No, I am loving this extra weight attached to the front of me, along with the subsequent back and hip pain. Fat feet and swollen ankles feel amazing. It's better than chocolate. Yes, I'm kind of uncomfortable.

Q: Do you want to ________?
A: Unless you've just proposed that I lie on the couch and have people feed me things, probably not. No offense to you, but I've spent 40 weeks going to things and doing things. Now, I want to do nothing. You can come over and do nothing with me, if you want.

Q: Is there only one baby in there?!
A: Oh, shut up.

Q: How do you even stay upright with that belly?
A: I've got really, really strong legs. And shut up.

Q: Haven't you had that baby YET?
A: Actually, I did. This is just Thanksgiving dinner leftovers gone wrong. The baby is home with her French au pair. Of course I haven't!

Q: Are you still pregnant?
A: God, I hope so. Not being pregnant should neither look nor feel like this.

Again, I can't complain. This hasn't been all that bad. I'm just a little worn out and fairly sick of doing things. The next entry I write will either be in a week when I'm still pregnant and will be inappropriate for my younger readers because of the vulgarity, or will be an account of our baby Sophie's birth. I'm praying for the latter. You probably are too.

Hope you're well!
xo