Geez, Where Have I Been?

Oh yeah, in babyland. It’s a whole new world but a predictable one. My day/night goes something like this…nurse, burp, change diaper, nurse, coo, nap, repeat. Somewhere in there, I get a glance of my husband. It’s like being stuck on a merry-go-round except that you’re madly in love with the circular affair. Okay, I don't want to sound like the Mary Poppins of newborns. I have begrudgingly gotten up at 2:30 a.m. (while cursing under my breath) to begin the cycle all over again but that’s only when I’ve been asleep for about three hours straight. My mood fares better on two or less. Any more than that and I get greedy.

There is nothing more charming in the world than to see your child (Egads! MY child?) smile. W does it mostly during his "drunk sailor" skit. He nurses for about 10 minutes then his eyes begin to roll in all directions and his oral grip slackens. His head lilts to the side with the nozzle of my boob barely touching his lips and he grins the cheekiest, toothless grin, like a sailor that has washed ashore and discovered a never ending fountain of hooch with his name all over it.

He's asleep in his swing right now. It gently clicks tick, tock as he is lulled back and forth. I wish I had one of those in my size. Swaddle and swing me. He’s dreaming of God-only-knows-what-a-3-week-old-boy dreams of and making puppy whimpering sounds. It’s very sweet.

We’re leaving for the beach tonight. Whoo-hoo! Set me free! It will be the third time I have left the apartment since baby arrived three weeks ago. "Hello, stir crazy." We will see how we all fare in the car together for a few hours. I don’t foresee any major snafus on the way but fingers and toes are crossed. I think the biggest challenge will be getting all of the baby gear in the truck. Our days of traveling light are over.

My baby looks very Latino here, no?

If Raising A Baby Were A Foreign Language...

I'd be nearly fluent by now. Doing something 24/7 is an interesting challenge. W and I watch the world (or at least our little corner of the world) pack up its day and go to sleep each evening and then watch it as it unfolds into a new day in the twilight of the morning. We are up and down all night but I'm not complaining. I wasn't counting on consistent sleep being a part of this deal anyway. It's a beautiful thing actually. He and I have our own quiet exsistence as the hours and days tick by. He evolves as my tiny infant son and I evolve as a mother and we do this together, just he and I. For this time together, I am grateful.

Baby Things

I have a whole new collection of baby necessities surrounding me in our small apartment. It's a jungle gym of brightly colored, over-priced plastic. Most of these have ridiculous names, many with dual meanings that are appropriate either way. For example:

Snap 'N Go - What it is: a collapsible stoller frame that a car seat fits easily in to.
What it could mean: After feverishly trying to put the damn thing together, you SNAP and GO to the nearest bar.

Pack 'N Play - What it is: a portable playpen with a changing table for baby.
What it could mean: What mommie wants to do after a long day with baby, PACK, head to a hotel and PLAY with her imaginary cabana boy come-to-life.

My Breast Friend - What it is: a fabric covered donut/shelf sort of thing that fits around your upper torso allowing baby to rest on it while you nurse. It's a great invention!
What it could mean: A buddy who would happily take your place with their boobs and feed your baby for you giving your tortured nipples a much needed break.

Many Days of Firsts

I've been floating in a sea of baby-love for the past 10 days. It's a great ride. I never imagined how good life could be.

This is W. Z. weighing in at 7 lbs. 12 oz and was 20 inches long on 9/10/05 - also his daddy's birthday. Some b-day present, huh? Came in this awfully gooey wrapper though. As advised by my doctor, he was removed via the belly, in retrospect, a horrifying event. Thankfully, the medication kept me from fully digesting the enormity of the manipulated delivery. One thing I will never forget is hearing the doc say, "You're going to feel a little pressure in your chest." I'm thinking, "Why my chest? The baby is coming out of my belly?" Seconds later, an unnatural tugging sensation seemed to suck my lungs, heart, and throat (these parts weren't that numb) outside of my ribcage via my incision. It felt like someone had parked a VW on my upper body. The pressure was unreal and terrifying. Days later, I had a lingering soreness that continued to remind me of that moment.


My son was born in that moment, too. I heard his cries and tried to process the information as "that's MY baby crying." It was too surreal to fully grasp. Groggy from the drugs, I got my first glance at a very upset little person and struggled to make a connnection in my mind and heart. Again, only the fear of the operating room activity consumed me. My husband drifted out of view as they stiched me up and got the vitals of the baby. I heard Willem's cries and I heard my husband exclaim, "Oh my God, Oh my God" with tears choking his voice. I didn't know if that meant something was wrong or all was right. The masked faces surrounding me were busying themselves with getting the surgery done and flipping the table for the next patient. I felt removed, like an object with no real purpose. I was on so much medication.

We spent 4 glorious days in the hospital and I'm not being sarcastic. Hubby and I had a cozy room to welcome the many guests who came to congratulate us. We got to spend much quality time together with our baby (no internet access provides for that). In the backs of our minds, we felt the safety and comfort being exactly where we needed to be in case anything should go awry. The nurses were great (it helps to ply them with cake and truffles), the food barely edible, and the mesh panties super comfortable. I could've claimed a whole box of those. Boy-short meets soft texture.

So we're home now. Hubby has the freedom to come and go as he pleases. His life is pretty much the same. I, on the other hand, have become someone else and I like this person. It's an amazing thing to live in a bubble of adoration, complete bliss, and love something like you could never imagine. Never.

A Day Of Lasts

I awoke at 6:30 this morning and knew I was doomed. I wouldn't be going back to sleep on the last morning I have to spend with my warm, sleeping husband without the peeps and murmurs of a tiny person in the background. The brain is busy with details, scenerios, conversations and last minute things to do. The whole day is going to be filled with thoughts of "this is the last time I will..." Tomorrow will be a day of many, many firsts.

Just rewrote my birth plan. It's a mommy's version of a rock star rider that tells a venue what she needs. Like a rock star, I got to include the drugs and rock-n-roll, but no sex. I will be seeing lots of groupies throughout the day but no sex. No sex for a LONG TIME. But sex is what got me in to this mess in the first place. I think not having any for a while is a good idea.

My mom and her crazy-assed sister from LA are coming in tonight. My Auntie Bonnie is a force of energy, passion, presence and compassion all wrapped up in a raven-haired package and steeped in Cherokee blood. It will be amazing having the two of them here for the weekend embracing and loving this baby in to the world. I couldn't ask for more incredible adoration to be shed on this child from the get-go. The might of those two together could turn the tides.

The proud papa-to-be is probably rousing now and looking for his pregger wife who is sipping decaf at the coffee shop across the street...or perhaps he is still dug in and soaking up the fleeting peacefulness of our cozy nest. Of the latter, I'm not jealous.

Okay, This Is The Real Victory Lap

So I’ve been going through the first stages of labor since Sunday. Evidently, in my world, there was to be no second stage. Although I’ve made some progress, it hasn’t been as significant as it should be. I wanted to believe it was because Mother Nature was letting me get some more things crossed off of my “To Do” list, i.e., dye hair, remove hair, make up guest bed, relearn how to use car seat, stock up on Gatorade, get Thank You cards finished, etc. Today my doctor confirmed otherwise. Since my sweet husband has genetically donated a large melon of a head to our baby, we have to go in for the kid and pull it out of a space somewhere to be determined next to my bikini line. Looks like my stripper days are over. Poor tyke’s head can’t get close enough to the light at the end of the tunnel to barrel through. I was always told I had small but nice child bearing hips but I’m realizing now that hips really have nothing to do with it. I was given three options at the doctor's office…wait for baby to do its own thing which means it could be another week and baby will be even BIGGER, induce now and probably have a c-section anyway, or schedule the c-section and have a chance to put on lip gloss and style a foxy updo for the photos. We voted on the latter. So, the big day is this Saturday at 8 a.m. with a 6 a.m. arrival time at the hospital. This is also daddy-to-be’s birthday. He has chosen to share his birthday with his son or daughter, which I think is incredibly sweet! Also guarantees kool-aid AND champagne each September 10th. Tomorrow I will start my maternity leave and finish up a few details before my life changes FOREVER!!! Mixed feelings abound.

Victory Lap

Baby is due this Sunday (yes, that’s September 11th, as in 9/11 and I’m sure, dear readers, that you’re thinking to yourself “Gosh, I only gave money to the 9/11 disaster in NYC and she’s giving back a WHOLE PERSON!” Don’t beat yourself up about it.). I really, really want to deliver it soon...like right now. Yesterday would’ve been nice, too. I could've given Labor Day a whole new meaning to this little family of mine. I’ve been enduring the Braxton-Hicks contractions since Sunday and they’ve done nothing but wear me out. Being the trooper that I am (and can’t stand the thought of being left out of anything), I went to a midnight outdoor show on Sunday to see Guy Fantasy perform (he’s soooo foxy!!) and bounced around in a boat with my sister-in-law on Monday afternoon. Neither event took this labor thing to the next level. So now I’m waddling around even more now than ever and experiencing weird pains in scary places. Like when I get up to walk, I feel like I have been whacked with a baseball bat in the pelvic bone. One of my wonderful pregger girlfriends said that I'm producing relaxin which encourages the bones to become loose and separate. I thought it was an old football injury coming back to haunt me. All of this is a sign of progress, forward momentum and for that, I am grateful. I have another doctor visit tomorrow and if he says I am not making any progress, I'm going elsewhere for a second opinion.