Baby Update

Abby had her two week appointment with her pedi last Thursday, and she got a great report!  She’s gained almost a pound over her birth weight, which means that feeding is going abundantly well.  Dr. B. said that good weight gain also indicates that all of her other systems are developing normally, so hooray!  Just what this paranoid mama needed to hear.

I’ve swung back and forth like a super emotional Pong between the extremes of newborn care…when Abby sleeps in her bed, I rejoice at her independence and then worry that she’s feeling neglected and not getting enough love.  So, I pick her up and worry about training her to depend on me for sleep.

She’ll get hungry after two hours and I’ll worry that she’s eating too often…but when she sleeps long and it’s been almost four hours, I worry that she’s gone too long without food.  Or, I worry that she’s sleeping so much during the day she’ll be up all night.

I’ll hear her dirty her diaper in her sleep, and I won’t want her to sit in her mess for too long, but I’ll be reluctant to disturb her in the middle of a good nap.

I’ve read Baby Wise, and I’m attracted to the idea of a schedule, but I haven’t had much willpower to try to force my sleepy newborn to stay awake after feedings, or to make her wait for too long to eat when she’s clearly hungry, or to wake her from a good nap to keep her on an eating schedule.  I don’t really feel too much guilt about this, except when it’s the middle of the night and either Stephen or I have been up for hours doing the “rain dance” with a baby who won’t fall asleep…and I wonder if these long nights are my own making.

But, despite all of this, I am doing better about enjoying the ride, and I’m trying to be confident as I figure out what routines will work for this mama and baby.  And as far as the big picture goes, Abby is really a pretty easy baby compared to some stories I’ve heard, and we’ve been blessed abundantly with lots of little girl clothes, we have lots of delicious food in the fridge from our church and school friends, and I have enjoyed incredible support from my mom and mother-in-law.  I am definitely counting my blessings!

Here’s a sweet pic of Abby, for those of you who aren’t on Facebook, by my talented photographer friend Abbey:

 

Head in the Sand

Here is installment one in a series of short snippets from the past weeks:

As you’ve noticed if you have tried to call, e-mail, or Facebook message me lately, I’ve allowed myself to “go dark” for the past few weeks.  For a natural introvert such as myself, all of those polite social behaviors reqire energy…and I’ve been avoiding all non-essential energy output since we’ve been home with Abby.  I’ve figured that this is the one time in my life people will forgive me for antisocial behavior.  But, I’m starting to regain my footing, both physically and emotionally, so I’m hoping to re-establish human contact over the next week or so.  See you around!

 

Time’s Up for Turniphead

Yesterday I came home from my doctor’s appointment discouraged by my lack of progress.  We had scheduled the induction date, but I had hoped it wouldn’t come to that.  Too unmotivated to nest, I put on my pajamas and flopped on the couch in front of one of my favorite movies.

When Stephen came home and found me, very un-O-lan-like, sleeping in front of a blue TV screen, he  kicked into action.  We talked for a bit about the doctor’s visit, and then he went to pick up some Chinese take-out for dinner.  We ate in front of the TV, watching three episodes of Alias in a row to finish off our disc.  I went to bed early to enjoy my last night of sleep in my own bed.  Just what I needed!

After getting home from work today, I finished my final round of chores, thinking “this is my last…” for every one.

1.  Drop off Alias to Blockbuster.
2.  Gas up car, splurge on car wash so baby gets a clean ride home
3.  Eat lunch– finish as many leftovers out of fridge as possible
4.  Toss remaining leftovers
5.  Empty trash
6.  Run dishwasher, put away clean dishes
7.  Fold clean towels in dryer
8.  Take a nap!!
9.  Pack final items in bag
10.  Last shower- wash hair and shave legs
11.  Send last-minute instructions to sub, who starts my job tomorrow.  (Now let it go!)

Things are about to get crazy around here!

 

Waiting.

Turniphead is due today, whatever that really means.  For three weeks, I’ve been “full term,” meaning that he or she has been physically mature enough to be born.  We’ve been told “it could be any day now!” for the past 20 days, and still counting.

My bag is packed and sitting by the door.  A list of the things I’ll need at the hospital but have been using in the meantime is taped right next to it.  The carseat base is strapped into the back of my Sentra.  Gone are the days when I would justify going one more day without shaving my legs or washing my hair…now I’m showering compulsively, just in case I have to go to the hospital before I get another chance.  I have a hard time leaving work undone at school, just in case I don’t make it back to finish the next morning.  I can’t go to sleep with dishes in the sink or clothes draped over the chair, because what if I go into labor during the night?

On top of it all, I’m monitoring my own body like a hypochondriac.  While I know that at some point, labor becomes unmistakable, the early stages seem to be less predictable.  My water may break, or it may not.  If it does, I might notice, or I might not.  I might feel sharp cramps or dull aches.  I might feel pain in my abdomen, or maybe in my back.  Or both.  So…basically, any sort of strange and persistent discomfort between my ribs and my knees could signal the early stages of labor.  Gues what?  That’s what the last month of pregnancy is–discovering all sorts of new and strange pains and pressures.

I went back to work last week, so I’ve had the huge blessing of full and busy days to keep my mind occupied.  But I haven’t ever completely shut out the constant running narrative beneath the surface…”Ouch–is this it?  Is this the last time I’ll be able to go to the movies/go to bed/go out to eat/clean the floor before TH comes? Could someone else finish this if I didn’t come back tomorrow?”  I mentally plan my escape from every public place I visit just in case labor pounces on me with sudden, violent force.

It’s all very mentally fatiguing!

In the meantime, every day that goes by lets me get a few more things taken care of, a little more rest, another chapter read in my book, another episode of Alias watched without distraction.  So I’m trying to enjoy these final days, reminding myself that TH is a lot lower maintenance inside than out.  Because I never know when he or she will be ready to make an appearance.  It could be in the next five minutes.  Or the next five minutes… Or the next…

 

WWOD?

Well, folks, the end is near.  On Monday I’ll be 37 weeks, which means that TH has officially made it “full term,” although we don’t expect to see him or her make an appearance for at least another three weeks.  As D-Day has grown nearer, I’ve thought more and more about my pregnancy role model, the character O-lan from The Good Earth.  Now if you’ve read the book, don’t take this too far…there are lots of ways that I’m happy to be very different from O-lan.  But I keep picturing the scene in the book where O-lan is hugely pregnant, but she is still working out with her husband in the fields.  At lunch time, O-lan goes into the hut, prepares some food for her husband, delivers the baby, and comes back out in the afternoon to finish the day’s work with the new baby in a sling.  What a woman!

This month we’ve attended classes on labor and delivery, and I went for a two-hour lesson on, well, feeding the baby.  As I sat there in the classroom studying charts and graphs, watching instructional videos, and listening to nurse “experts” explain the “how-to’s” of these natural events, I couldn’t help but wonder what O-lan, or some of my other favorite natural women (Carolyn Ingalls, Abigail Adams) would say if they could see me.  I have been a little amused by the irony of taking a class to learn about functions of the human body that women (and babies) have been able to figure out for pretty much all of human history.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to stay busy and productive, O-lan style.  Okay, well, I do take pretty frequent breaks to sit and read, and I have opted for home organization projects and church volunteer work rather than manual labor in the fields.  But I still like to think of myself as a picture of self-denial and efficiency.

Next week will be my last true week of “summer”, as the A/C will come on at work in August and I’ll start trying to spend some days at school finalizing my fall plans.  So on my list of things to do for the week:

-buy hypoallergenic detergent and do a load of baby laundry
-get a haircut!  Something short and easy to take care of
-get nails put back on!  I always give my nails the summer off, but I am ready to be able to look at my hands without disgust once again.  (O-lan would definitely not approve.)
-work on new family budget
-finish book club selection A Thousand Splendid Suns
-clean out pajama drawer, get rid of old PJ’s
-put nice scented drawer liners into clean PJ drawer and closet shelves
-catch up on baby thank-you notes
-wash bird poop off of car…again
-try at least one new recipe for dinner, cook at home at least two additional nights

 

It’s Not You, It’s Me

If sleep was a person, I’d marry it. I love sleep so much I have wondered at times if I need to repent of the sin of sloth. During the school year, my first thought as the alarm went off was almost always, “How many hours until I can get back in bed?” I loved Saturdays and school holidays because they gave me even more hours to stretch out in the comfort of my cool sheets and soft blankets, blissfully progressing back and forth through my REM cycles. Stephen learned long ago not to take it personally when I would say, “This is my favorite part of the day,” as I eagerly slipped between the covers and sighed with pleasure as I felt my muscles totally relax.  Three seconds later, I’d be snoring. I would be cranky if I didn’t get a full eight or nine hours every night. On the weekends, I would sleep a little longer, but I never let it take over the whole day; I’d always get up at 10:30 or after 12 hours. Like the restrained passion of Edward and Bella, the fact that I always stayed a breath away from complete indulgence made my love for sleep even more intense.

Giving up sleep has been one of my primary concerns as I’ve prepared to transition into motherhood. While I’m sure TH will be a prodigy in sleep as well as in all other arenas, I’ve learned that even “good sleepers” only give their mothers six or seven hours of uninterrupted sleep at night, and that for most mortals, getting to this point is actually a huge accomplishment won after months of fatigue.

But for the past few weeks I’ve started to get a glimpse of how I’m going to manage this transition: by the time TH arrives, Sleep and I will already be “on a break.” Between my general discomfort and constant need to use the restroom, it’s been months since I’ve slept through the night, myself. My nights are full of tossing and turning (and getting up), and after six or seven hours of fitful slumber, my back is aching and telling me it’s time to get out of bed. (On the plus side, it usually sounds pretty good to go straight to the gym and walk out the kinks, so it’s been helpful for my motivation to keep up with my exercising). During the day, I have to keep moving to stay three steps ahead of sleepiness; when I slow down to rest or read a book, I end up drifting off to sleep…

…but what’s the harm in a nap? you ask. Surely, as a pregnant lady on summer vacation, I’m entitled to some guilt-free midday snoozing? But this is the other way that Sleep has become my nemesis. A nap may feel good for the moment, but it ruins any waking hours that follow. I stay sluggish, fussy, and unmotivated after a nap, no more well rested and not good for anything else, either. So I avoid naps as much as I can.

It’s kind of like a mother eagle taking the feathers out of her nest as it gets time for the baby chicks to fly on their own, or like the high school sweethearts who start bickering over stupid things during their senior year, subconsciously preparing themselves for when they get to college and break up.  By the time August rolls around, Sleep and I will be so on the outs I’ll hardly even notice that we haven’t gotten to share the qualitiy time we once loved. So I’m giving Sleep the breakup line I hate so much…I just need to focus on other people for a while, so that in the future we can get back together and really appreciate our relationship that much more.

 

Identity vs. Role Confusion

“Okay, there are two things that I remember about my childhood…First, I remember being with my dad.  He would get these far-off looks in his eye, and he would say, ‘Life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan.’  I just wish I’d realized at the time that he was talking about MY life.”*

I guess in some ways my life is turning out just like I planned…college, teaching, marriage, baby.  But what I did not foresee as I made my little hopeful life map is that it would be a struggle for me to adapt to life changes, even when they are exciting, anticipated, and planned for.  I’ve been thinking hard about my own sense of identity and value lately.  Here’s what it boils down to:  on days when I have accomplished many things (goals accomplished, house clean, quality products to show for hours spent working), I feel like I have been a success.  On days when I have less to show for my time, I feel discouraged, wasteful, and “blah” by the end of the day.

I feel like I am fighting against a semi-lazy nature, and so I over-compensate by trying to be over-productive.  On days when I have less to show for myself, I feel like I have lost the battle.  Normally, I’m forced by contract to put in a long day’s work at school.  This summer, I’ve been able to stay in producer mode as I’ve tackled organizing and decorating projects and as I’ve thrown myself into lesson planning for my first quarter of school.  I’m realizing that I take a lot of pride in my productivity, and that I use the checks on my to-do lists as measures of my own value and worth.

So it’s made me a little panicky as I’m watching the weeks tick by.  Even now, I’m struggling to keep up my momentum as my body gets bigger and the days get hotter.  It’s  harder to fight off naps during the day.  And even if I manage to beat my body and make it my slave, I know that I can’t put off this transition forever.  In August, school will start without me (sort of).  Possibly in the same week, I’ll be introduced to my new to-do: a baby who will have no regard whatsoever for the tasks I hope to complete in a day.

Although I may harbor secret hopes that I’m growing a super-cooperative baby who will be born with a natural sense of schedule and contentment, I am aware that it is likely that I’m facing a new lifestyle where I won’t necessarily be able to measure success by the number of tasks I can check off of my to-do list.  I’ll get to the end of a day of “work” and the baby might still be crying, wet, dirty, and/or in need of feeding…my laundry will still be piled up wet, dirty, and/or in need of folding…my house will bear the signs of my distraction with dishes stacked up in the sink and beds left unmade.

Just thinking about it makes me feel like breathing in and out of a paper sack.  I believe that raising children is a blessing and a high calling and one of the most (ultimately) satisfying endeavors in life.  But I’m still expecting this transition to be a shock to my system, especially at first.  Right now I feel like I’ll be jumping off of a moving train onto the platform.  Gone will be the measuring of days by appointments and tasks, replaced by days measured in less “productive” terms of hours slept,  ounces consumed, and diapers changed.  I’m open to the idea that it will really be more like jumping from one moving train to another, and that Baby Days will not feel as unstructured as they look to me now.  But either way, I’ll get whiplash.

What can I do to prepare myself better for this mental transition?  Maybe some of you can tell me.  Or maybe the shift will happen lots more naturally than I’m expecting–that the actual presence of Turniphead (who, at that point, will have a much more normal name) will help me see my new world with surprising clarity.  Maybe I’ll look back on these summer fears as the final expressions of a mind defined by a pitiably narrow sense of purpose.  I guess we’ll see.  And if you keep following the blog, you’ll find out when I do.

*While You Were Sleeping…best movie of 1995, if not of all time.

**Disclaimer:  I hope that those of you who are stay-at-home moms don’t feel like I have no respect for what you do all day.  Quite the opposite!  I am imagining my own shortcomings in adjusting to having to create my own schedule, to apply myself to less finite tasks, and to work with little to no thanks or appreciation! I know that the “productivity” that I take such pride in is mainly the result of having someone else holding my feet to the fire, not my own personal discipline.  Those of you who devote your days to your children with joy and satisfaction make me hopeful that I can do it too.  I’m just thinking ahead to making this transition in the midst of rollercoastering hormones and sleep deprivation, and wondering how my little brain will take it.

 

Big News

I’ve always had these days, but they come with more frequency lately–the “I have nothing to wear” blues.  I made it through the day in a shirt that was cute but kind of tight-fitting, but I ran out of patience as I gathered my things for my final event of the day, computer time at Starbucks.

I have already compromised my vain principles to wear Stephen’s shirts around the house as pajamas, but I have never sunk so low as to wear them out in public.  But today I was tired, hot, and scratchy, so I set my dignity aside and pulled on his favorite soft American flag t-shirt before I walked out the door.

“It’s okay, lots of women go to Starbucks in oversized, ill-fitting clothes.  They don’t look great, and you might not either, but it’s not like you’re going there to pick up dudes anyway.”  I positive self-talked myself all the way to the bathroom.

There at the mirror, I was confronted by a shocking revelation: it seems that I have underestimated the enormity of my situation.  And by situation, I mean stomach.  The shirt wasn’t even that baggy on me!  It fit!  And I still have seven weeks to go!  I might neeed therapy in addition to a personal trainer when this whole thing is over.

 

Catch 22

So I’m trying to make healthy choices by drinking lots of water (or at least, what I consider to be water equivalents–lemonade, tea, Kool-Aid…) since it’s super hot outside and apparently bodies need lots of water anyway.  I feel like I’m drinking CONSTANTLY and I’m not even drinking my “recommended” amount.  It’s something like two gallons!  But even at this level of dehydration, it’s super annoying because Turniphead is sitting right on my bladder like it’s his royal throne.  Even if I’ve only had three tiny sips of liquid since my last potty break, a little jump or squirm from the The Child sends me running for the ladies’ room.  I feel like I’m spending a disproportionate amount of time in the bathroom, which is really getting in the way of my ambitions of productivity.

As a solution, I’m thinking of turning my bathroom into a home office.  I’ll get a Camelback backpack and fill it with my daily ration of water.  I’ll keep the straw in my mouth so that I can drink constantly and keep my hands free.  (Maybe with 24-hour water drinking I can get my two gallons drunk.)  I’ll set up my computer on a lap desk and install a wireless router on my Clearwire box.  This may be a disturbing mental picture, but I think that all of my fellow small-bladdered companions can understand that desperate times sometimes call for desperate measures.

 

Velcome to Babyland*

In the absence of anything more interesting to talk about, I thought I’d show you some pictures. We just got a new camera from Stephen’s parents, so I’ve been having fun trying to tap into my inner photographer.  The camera is a handy pocket-sized Nikon S220…I don’t really know much else about it, except that it is cute and purple, and that it takes pictures that are more than sufficient to keep up with my photography skills.

TH’s room is coming along nicely, and I thought I’d let you see the progress.

My mom has been awesome to make all sorts of wonderful things for this room, including the curtains and the quilt that is on the end of the bed.  Here’s a bigger view:

Leslie helped me one afternoon with the cute art on the wall over the bed, which are scenes from “Babar and His Family” glued onto canvas squares.

Here’s the other side of the room:

The bedding is more of my mom’s handiwork, as is the cute pillow which coodinates with the quilt.  I love the poster above the bed, which says “Good Stories Make Great Friends.”  Aunt Laurashmaura says this is a sure sign that I’ll be raising a nerd, but what can I say…it’s true!  The red rocker was that awesome find from the garage sale in the Woodlands way back in March, and I love the way it blends right in.  The crib is vintage… the one that all of my sibs and I slept in.  I know that all the latest baby advice says not to use old cribs, but I’m risking it.  I figure, if Alan couldn’t find a way to kill himself in this bed, it must be pretty safe, as no child of mine could possibly be more accident prone OR daredevilish than him.

Here is one of the first members of Turniphead’s stuffed animal collection, affectionately named Stephen the Hater Bear.  He is currently modeling one of TH’s cute FuzziBunz diapers while guarding the rest of the stash.

This was from the surprise shower that my Temple book club threw earlier this month.  We got some great stuff from our gift registry, as well as several very cute kid books!  Part of the fun surprise was that my sisters were all there, even Laura and Katy from out of town!

And, last but not least…the latest pic of the Bump, just for Carolyn:

I had no idea I was looking so POINTY until I saw this picture!  This is the least weird of all of the pictures I made Stephen take.  You can notice the belly looking a little more round and normal in the first picture of this post.

*If this quote doesn’t automatically ring a bell, you should watch Father of the Bride, Part II more often.