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