Baby, by M

danica's patron saint: st. frideswide. a strong, take no-nonsense, truth touting woman of god.

My friends Cath and Penelope bore up admirably under all this baby shower talk, as did Grain of Sand and AA. I didn't blog about it much as the Mom to Be reads the blog... only cryptic references to trips "downtown"... I myself didn't really see the object, just the end result of my planning. So when I saw pictures of Danica getting misty-eyed or touched by sentimentality- I went oh yes, something actual and emotional is happening here. I was so tired from all the prepping, buying, executing of said event it hadn't really occurred to me. As I was thinking always: we were doing this for Danica. And since I've missed out on both of Penelope's kids- she has 2 so she tells me, and they're quite life-impacting I don't really get that all first hand. So I imagine that I view Danica's impending life changing event in quite the same removed light. What over there, happening to you? What's that about? I have no idea! Plus when Danica and I get together it's mainly story and not so much with the feeling of things. So I didn't even really write her a card to make her cry or wrap a gift so difficultly she had to use directions to get it open, or anything... But then well, the event, I suppose was the gift for her, but not for the bambina... and at that I can only hope she doesn't get too sucked into the moms circle. Though I suppose every mom needs one. Penelope really would know better than I. I can only conjecture at some of the moms at the party, and look at them and think, I don't want to be that kind of mom, maybe this kind of mom, or ... what? Who knows. But nevermind, that's all for another blog post. I just feel checked out about the mom-to-be thing. I can only hope my mom-friends don't mind too much. I care. Mostly. I really do. But I'll be able to relate there if our roads ever meet. Here's the result:mom-to-be, danica, awesome friend wendy, myself and my $10 Ross dress, with crosage, diva'fied and co-planning maven joanna. (above) and i have them all mostly hard at work making flower lapel-pins etc. some of the people did not make flowers. i secretly cried and tried not to be offended... but hello, these sorts of craft epiphanies don't come on too often. capitalize!

look at all those splashes of fabulous red. my goal was for the women to be the flowers amidst the sea of calm by deep mediterranean waters sort of thing. $1 a yard fabric. You cannot beat. $30 for the overhanging fabric. $25 for the tablecloths.

co conspirators- her sister, autumn, joanna, myself, tricia (the most excellent chef who made honey/ginger sorbet!, bruchetta etcetcetc.)

$50 on flowers- pretty good for 2 large bouquets, 5 table centerpieces-- basically 4 elements: thistle which i'm in love with, hoighty white china mums, dahlias and loveliesbleeding.

a lovely place.
joanna's backyard.
for a most lovely and deserving friend.
not that all my friends aren't deserving.
but here's to you danica.
you fabulous
person
you.

It Happens, Sometimes

Today, I stepped in dog shit, which I haven't done in a really long time. I hate it. I mean, who enjoys it, really, but considering we have two dogs and a fenced-in backyard, I am considered a High Risk for stepping in dog shit. It's a miracle I went as long as I did. I'm usually very careful, but there's all these leaves, and pine straw, and dried-out grass, and it's really hard to tell where the lawn ends and the shit begins. I was trying to clean it up with the scooper, so K.Lo and I could play in a larger area, but honestly, the amount of shit was just overwhelming, and so I stopped. Anyway, my biggest problem with stepping in dog shit is that it is so difficult to clean off the bottoms of one's shoes. I mean, do they put bubble gum in the dog food? Why is it so sticky? I was going to let the shit dry out in the sun so I could bang most of it off and move on with my life, but then the sky darkened and it looked like rain, and so I brought the sneakers in to clean off in the sink. I had to use a sponge, and a bamboo skewer. Probably I could have looked for an old sponge, but the kitchen sponge was right in front of me, so I used that. Don't worry, I threw it out. And even though I am fairly frugal, and that's a big waste of a sponge, I do shop at Costco for kitchen sponges, and I figure it was better to waste one of them rather than a pair of shoes. I'm glad they didn't have a deeper tread.

In other shit-related news, we bought a new baby swing today for N.Lo, and he blew out his diaper within 10 minutes of sitting in it. So I had to clean shit out of a baby swing today, too. And also off of N.Lo, who has a talent for filling diapers with copious amounts of the stuff. We don't even bother with wipes, he just goes right into the sink for a bath. Which can sometimes be difficult to manage, setting up the bath and stripping the child of clothes and messy diaper, all one-handed.

Other than that, it was a pretty good day! I'd tell you what I ate, but it doesn't seem appropriate in this context. At least I didn't have any run-ins with attack geese, which by the way, also have giant, unsightly shit.

riding the wave

Does it work:
Accupressure to induce labor??? Possibly. I just know I went into labor within 24 hours. For real.

Contractions: Definitely more intense this time. Although labor progressed more slowly.

The iPod:
Excellent for focusing during labor. For tuning out distractions, voices, one's (dear) husband and doctor discussing SPORTS. I used it off and on, with a mainly mellow mix, though during transition, I opted for higher-energy No Doubt.

Epidural:
Absolutely. Indispensible. Hurt, yes; was freaky, yes. But this anesthesiologist administered it somehow even better than I had with K.Lo, and I'm just, I don't know. Speechless. Eternally grateful.

So meaningful:
Presence of parents during labor, mom during birth.

Sheepish bragging rights:
Took just five minutes to push baby out. C r a z y.


Burst into untamable tears:
Approximately 2 1/2 days after having baby, just the same as last time. The inevitable hormonal crash. Brought on by K.Lo holding N.Lo, sitting all together on couch as family.

The next evening, when J.Lo suggested moving N.Lo into guest bedroom, instead of the Little Ones sharing a room. (Due to K.Lo being terribly difficult to put to bed.) After all the planning, all the work... before they're even really sharing the room... and the furniture we'd have to get rid of... and all the shuffling around. Really, it is a bridge we will cross if and when we come to it. But even in theory, I still can't discuss it without becoming completely, irrationally upset.

And today, while holding Baby N.Lo in quiet moment by self, marveling at how little, how perfect. Amazing.

Remembering:
In the week after pregnancy, it's best not to actively think too much. The thoughts will come anyway, and many will pack quite an emotional punch. Don't fight it, don't get too caught up in it, just ride the wave, as this too shall pass.

What it's like to hold, and care for, and simply witness a newborn, which is to say, wow.

Like riding a bike:
Nursing, multi-tasking while nursing, the art of half-sleeping while nursing. The learning curve has gone way up the second time around. While your new baby's personality and feeding style is different, the whole ordeal is a lot less mysterious, and you've got skills. Here, the universe throws you a bone.

All new:
Changing a boy's diaper. Think I've got it down.

Juggling a toddler's needs with a tiny baby's needs, with own needs. Still figuring this one out, suspect I will be for some time. And once I think I have the answer, probably all circumstances will change, requiring yet another path.

Out the window:
Long-term personal goals, i.e. weight loss, fitness, everyone sleeping peacefully through the night in his or her respective bed. Not even worrying about it right now.

Curiosities:
Why, after having a baby, does one's belly button migrate 2 inches north. And does this problem ever solve itself? Became pregnant again too quickly the last time around to find out.


And in other news...
Can I possibly love more, I don't know:
Heather on ANTM. Sweet, intriguing, the best results from photo shoots. Really hope she wins.

Pretention:
Recently joined ranks of Facebook after learning it is not as ghetto as MySpace, and one day looked up high school classmates. This one guy, who graduated a year early and incidentally beat me out by one spot in class ranking, the smug little turd, has no less than three Facebook profiles. The only difference I see are his networks, and possibly the general feel of his photos. One shows him in a suit, smiling smarmily. Another, playing cello in a field. The third, he's all "weekend out with my hot blonde girlfriend." Each network, of course, is something along the lines of "Princeton Alum," or "Cornell Alum" (Andy on The Office, anyone?). Basically, it's a big WTF and confirmation that some things never change--because it's all about status, baby.

TV:
I have dropped (sadly, I know) Pushing Daisies from the lineup. It's not that I don't enjoy it and think it's immensely clever. But I take too long to watch it, and half the time either don't pay attention or fall asleep. Maybe it's just not for me right now. Maybe a DVD Netflix marathon, someday.

ooowhoohooooo

HURRAY!

dear october,

If there were any year I would love for you to break your streak of general blah-ness, it would be this one. I don't always feel fair in saying that luck-wise, October is my worst month, because it does contain several friend and family birthdays, along with J.Lo's, and I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge the fun in those celebrations. Not to mention Halloween! And it's fall, and the weather finally cools off from the oppressive heat of summer. So there are lots of good things, really, about you, October, it's just maybe cosmically? for me, I have great luck and high energy in the spring, and a general feeling of ickiness coupled with some bad luck in the fall, particularly October.

But maybe it's all a matter of perspective.

As far as Baby N.Lo, yesterday was still September, but I'm still exhausted from it. What I have dreaded more than anything with labor is the False Alarm, i.e. going to the hospital and being sent home. I mean, I know it happens all the time, and you live, and you have lost little, other than time, the emotional energy of thinking you're having a baby, and perhaps some pride. It is not, in the end, really a big deal. But here's what happened:

All morning yesterday, beginning early, like before the dawn, I was having contractions. Baby N.Lo is scheduled to arrive in about 3 1/2 weeks, so hello... kind of unexpected. And actually, he would be fine, if born so early--"they" say that at about 37 weeks, lung capacity is adequate for delivery, and your baby is still considered full-term. We're just a tiny bit outside of that, so I imagine (and hope) we'd be all good. Anyway, back to contractions: 10 minutes apart, then 8, then 4. When I had K.Lo, I had in my head just what I knew from books and classes and such: Go to the hospital when contractions are less than 5 minutes apart, consistently, and intense enough that you are unable to walk or talk during them. The intensity part just never happened, but the timing was there, I was a day past my due date, and so we went, and K.Lo was born.

This time, the intensity was there, as was the timing--four two straight hours, I recorded 4 minutes apart. And so I threw some more things in my bag, J.Lo loaded it all up in the car, left K.Lo with her grandparents, and off we went to the hospital.

Another thing you read/hear about re: labor is that you probably shouldn't eat a lot. I wasn't very hungry anyway, but I figured, okay, I'll have it a little bit of food, and it will be what I like... right? Had 2 donuts in the morning and later some potato chips. If only I had a camera to capture the look on my nurse's face. I totally knew it sounded bad, but what can you do. Anyway, after the oh-so-lovely pelvic exam, in which it was determined that I was 2cm dilated and 50% effaced, it was also determined I was possibly... hungry. So they gave me a microwave meal of chicken and stuffing and mashed potatoes, as well as a sugary drink, oj mixed with Sierra Mist.

Meanwhile, I am thinking if I am sent home because these contractions are really hunger pains, I will never live it down.

But, they were not. After eating the meal, my contractions did space out, but holy hell, they were strong. I don't remember them being that strong the last time until well after my water was broken. Ultimately, though, they must have been unproductive, because an hour later, there was no change, i.e. Baby N.Lo was not ready, and there was no point in staying at the hospital. They gave me a sleeping pill and sent me on my way--the idea being that I needed rest, and if it were true labor, it would continue regardless of the sleeping pill.

I guess, as odd as it seems to me, it was false labor. I feel tired, queasy, and weird, with no real contractions. I don't particularly feel disappointed that we didn't have the baby yesterday, as it's early, and at this point I'm not really in a hurry. He will be ready when he's ready. The nurse did say, though I take it subjectively, that she didn't see me making it to my due date, but we will see.

I guess I just feel a little like I've been through the wringer. Another WTF moment, if you will. Babies are weird, y'all. The beginning of a life is just as unpredictable as the end. It's just the Waiting and the Wondering that will get you.

So anyway, October. This year, maybe you could ease up on your usual antics? September 30th did not bode particularly well, although I suppose it just was what it was. In the meantime, if you could go ahead and arrange a Clear Sign that it's time to go to the hospital, that would be great. Rather than this whole vague contraction business--maybe some water breaking?? It would really make things a lot easier.

xoxo,
pensive pen

can't help myself

Dear Past Penelope,

Though your musings about revealing/not revealing this baby's name were quite charming, it's too bad for you that Current Penelope can longer keep her mouth shut. I wanted to keep the name a surprise for several reasons, one being that it's fun, two being that people tend to be so much more vocal in their mean name opinions before the baby actually arrives, and three, because someone might steal it. But whatev. The name is common enough that if you want to steal it, go ahead. I won't be offended. We're naming our son after my grandfather and my husband, respectively, and you can't really take that away. Also, I feel like girl names are just touchier. Probably they're going to be more flowery or unique in some way that if someone tries to steal it from you, you should, as J.Lo says, have the right to stab them. With a dagger.

Anyway, without further ado, the name is:

Nicholas Scott (L-Beam)

He will probably go by Nicholas or Nick, because that's what I like. Say what you want. To me, it's rather perfect, and feels very right.

xo,

pen in the moment

between complacency and panic

(With a little bit of rage.) So, about being pregnant for the second time. Sometime last fall, shortly before K.Lo became mobile (and Intelligence returned from vacation), I decided yes, I am SO ready for a second baby. It was like, let's GO, let's get on with it, woohoo. And in many ways, I feel the same. It's not something I can really verbalize, it's just, that's what I wish for, another baby. And here I am, on my way.

It was such a short time ago that I had K.Lo, the physicality of pregnancy feels very familiar. And yet... and yet. One very positive thing is that this go-around, I feel I know what to expect. I know that every pregnancy is different, just like every baby, but the basic facts of what will happen, what it will all feel like, are all stored in my Points of Reference. So in a lot of ways, I'm taking it all in stride, la-dee-da, hum-dee-ho, falling asleep on the couch at 9 every night and trying to eat a little healthier this time. I know what's going on.

But then, there are these moments. The wow, really? moments. Like, I did that once? I carried a baby to term and then got the thing out? I feel like I must have been so tough--how was it such a short time ago? I made it through all the blood tests and the unspeakable poking and prodding and the general day-to-day discomfort? Really? Beyond morning sickness, which was absolutely wretched and way too long the first time, I went through the achy waddling phase and the killer heartburn and the contractions and whatever else, too? And lived? I just... it seems slightly impossible to me, in these moments. The moments that are laced with uncertainty and panic.

But I guess... I'm doing it. There's not much turning back now, so.

I went to the doctor this morning, met with everyone's favorite nurse, Vapid J, who has such a pre-programmed list of things to say that I don't think she even really listens or can process her way through a question to give a unique and proper answer, should the situation call for it. Exercise helps you through the nausea, she says. That's my personal favorite. Oh, and the seabands, the fucking seabands for morning sickness. She says she likes them so much, but I'm like, what do you mean, you like them. Have you ever used them, and for morning sickness? I don't think so. I think she likes them because they sound quaint. My wrists had indents in them so deep two years ago from seabands, it made me want to vomit even more. I mean, if they work for you, great, fantastic. But I just want to sit down one day and tell Vapid J where she can stick her seabands--and I would too, if I thought it would make her blink.

Anyway, the second part of the visit involved a blood draw across the street in the new lab building, which I can already tell is going to be a joy to visit on a regular basis. I shouldn't complain, since it's still pretty close, I don't have to drive anywhere for results. And I probably won't have K.Lo with me most of the time, like I did today. The stairs are the first thing that frosted me, but maybe I was just in a bad mood from Vapid J. Then they must keep the place about 62 degrees cold. And then, okay--I know she didn't mean to do it, this lady from the lab. I know she probably draws blood at least 15 times a day perfectly, and I've had my blood drawn several times in life, but--WTF. WTF WTF WTF. When drawing the third vial out, that needle somehow shifted in my vein, and literally took my breath away. My bicep still, STILL, aches an hour and a half later. My arm is blotchy with these weird pale spots and my muscle feels like it's being squeezed and/or bruised. WTF!!!

See, I'm becoming a wuss. With a slight bit of rage. I think I need to get in touch with my complacent side again. I miss Complacent Pen. Maybe a nap would find her again.

Dear Saturday Night Appletini,

Alas, but I cannot partake of you, and it is so sad, because I had such big plans. What to do without your fantastic electric green yumminess, not unlike a sour apple Jolly Rancher. Perhaps a glass of wine, a solitary beer, consumed at a slower-than-snail's pace? What a tease, what torture, to be within a good buzz's reach.

Not that I'm complaining, not really. Okay, maybe a little bit. But only because, how often do I purchase apple martini mix? Like, never. So close I was, and yet so far. See you next year, perhaps? In the meantime, there are friends, and the promise of another Bug.

Adieu for now--not quite sadly,
prego (yowza!) pen