Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, you're such a wiggler

My boy does not like to sit still for one second. If there is something to see, an object at which to point, a corner to inspect, you can bet your booty Buddance is doing just that. He could walk in circles all day and never get tired, the boy is an endless bundle of energy.

The constant movement thing would not be so bad, but even at times that I would like a little snuggle, I rarely get that. Lately I have been trying to do quiet time with Buddance in the afternoon, so he doesn't scream his head off from exhaustion when he is eating dinner. During the quiet time I'll play a soft song and hold M close to me, hoping that he will rest his head on my shoulder. Mostly he struggles to push away from me and will occasionally pull my hair, choke me while trying to stand up and look over the chair, or lunge for his bookshelf, nearly knocking himself unconscious. It just so happens that every once in awhile Buddance will forget that he supposed to be moving and rest his little body against me.

Those moments are pure bliss.

To feel my baby relax on me, nestled close to my neck, breathing with me, my cheek resting atop his head...there is nothing better. No-Thing.

In other news, I am sad to report that I think breastfeeding is drawing to a close. I am so happy to have been able to breastfeed for so long, I hope Buddance reaps the benefits of my milk for years to come. I think back to the beginning and how hard the entire process was, I was not sure that I could even breastfeed. It's almost a year later, and I am so thankful I stuck it out. I love the bond it created between Buddance and myself, and I loved knowing that for the first six months of his life he got that strong and big all because of me. That is an ego booster for sure!

As Buddance weans, I think the process will be harder on me than it is on him. I am going to miss having that time with him and being so close to him. However, while feeding the Bud used to be a peaceful time during our day, now it has become a little more, shall we say...energetic. Buddance has started treating the times that he breastfeeds just like he treats the rest of his day, which means he does not stop moving during the entire process.

Instead of the docile little baby I used to feed, I am now trying to pin down an infant wrestler and encourage him to eat. Literally, our feeding sessions remind me of something you might see on WWE if they had a version called WWIE (World Wrestling Infant Entertainment). The boy is moving all over the place, flailing his legs about, picking his head up every five seconds, swinging his arms, patting me on the head, hitting me in the face, grabbing at my lips, putting his fingers in my mouth, yanking on my hair, pulling at my shirt, and moving the entire time he eats. It's a workout for me to feed the kid!

Stay tuned for the WWIE Smackdown, in which the hero of our story, Momma, just may make a come back and reclaim her body as her own!

Baby Frankenstein

My boy is walking!

Albeit slowly, hesitantly, and not as often as I would like, but nonetheless, he is taking steps on his own! It is wonderful to see the changes in his abilities over the last few months, everything is happening so quickly.

Last week I came home from work on Tuesday evening and J excitedly told me that M took his first steps from the side table to the coffee table and then from the coffee table to towards J. That evening we got M to walk between the two of us, screaming praises and squealing about the "GOOD JOB" he was doing the entire time. It was awesome.

The next day however? M decided that he was going to boycott walking on his own and much preferred to walk using either Momma or Dad's pointer finger, thankyouverymuch. That kid. He is a stubborn one. In fact, when either one of us would let go of M's hand and try to encourage him to just stand on his own, not even take some steps, he dissolved into a pile of wailing tears. M is so determined to walk using some assistance that if someone is sitting on the floor near him, he will search out one of that person's fingers, take firm hold, and start dragging the person behind him. You can bet that if you don't get up and move with him, the big fake cry and scrunch face will automatically appear, along with a back-arch and some tears if M is feeling especially dramatic.

This week M is finally back to taking a few more steps on his own. I am guessing that he is slowly realizing that he can go places on his own if he puts forth the effort. The problem is, he can only go slow and Frankenstein-like to places on his own. With outside assistance, M can quickly make the rounds through the house and inspect several things at once, but he has less control over where to go because usually the person in possession of the finger which he is holding has ideas about where they want to go as well.

Such a dilemma for such a little boy. Go slowly on his own to all parts of the house, or go quickly through house bypassing all the interesting stops because Momma needs to unload the dishwasher and put away the cereal boxes.

Got Sleep?

Okay Buddance. I am totally rooting for you. You can do this! You can sleep through the night, I just know it. You don't have to wake up at all, in fact, I can bet that you will feel better if you actually stay asleep. Even though I will give you lots of dumb advice in your life, this is one piece of advice you can trust:

Sleep = a good thing

Also, my under eye circles will thank you tremendously if you don't yell at us around 3am.

p.s. - you looked really cute today when we unzipped your onesie, all you needed was a few gold chains and a Pontiac.

Everyday happiness

We got back from a run and I am lying on the floor doing sit-ups. You are busying yourself with the vacuum, and don't pay attention to the fact that I am steps away from you, sprawled out on my back. Suddenly you hear me call your name and your head turns my way. You break into a big smile and crawl towards me. Once you reach me, your little hands grab my shirt and you slowly pull yourself onto your knees. You are so proud of your accomplishment, and I am proud as well. You are becoming a little boy and losing traces of your baby self every day. I count the number of sit-ups I do out loud so you can hear numbers and each time my abdomen crunches together you smile, because your hand, and subsequently your body, move with me. Every so often you will slap my tummy and poke at my belly button, which makes us both laugh. We watch each other in the mirror, smile at one another and then you are off, climbing over me, on to your next adventure. And though I wish I could play with you forever, I know you need to explore and learn, that is your job right now. Thanks for playing with me baby boy, you are so much fun.

Thankful

I will be the first to admit that I have a lot in my life to be thankful for. The fact that I got pregnant, had a healthy baby, and enjoy motherhood make up only the tip of my iceberg of thankfulness. Yes. I just typed iceberg of thankfulness. How lame. But, in my defense, I am trying some new sleeping techniques with M, because the insanity that is his sleeping schedule has GOT. TO. CHANGE. So far, the only changes round these parts have resulted in less sleep for Momma and Daddy, but we are staying positive. Which is, in my opinion, a crucial part of not wanting to chuck your screaming baby out the window at 2:17 am.

Anyhoo, perhaps if my brain can manage, I can type out a thrilling entry on sleep later on this week. Right now I am not so sure why I am even trying to come up with coherent words at this moment since my brain is on permanent mush mode. Wait...it is coming back to me...slowly...ummmm...thankfulness. Not to be confused with tankfulness, which I previously typed and have no earthly idea if that is even a word. It's officially not a word, thanks to the red squiggly line that Word bestowed below that combination of letters. Okay. Seriously. What in the hell am I even talking about at this point?

Focus! Back to the core of this entry, which at this point, there really isn't a core. I guess what I am trying (very hard) to say is that being a new parent has brought change after change to my life, most of the changes have been exceptionally good, but a few I could live without. However, the one change that I was dreading, and pretty much knew without a doubt would occur once I birthed a kid...never did.

I suffered from depression in college, severe depression. It came on slowly; I didn't understand what was happening. I lost my appetite. I started crying frequently. I quit attending classes. I stopped showering (my poor roommates). I poured a bottle of painkillers down my throat and tried very hard to swallow them, but couldn't follow through. I was hospitalized. I scared a lot of people. I got medication. I found a therapist. I slowly got better. It took intense self-examination and an extremely long time for me to talk about what I went through, what caused my breakdown and depression. I knew that I could never be truly free from depression; I just hoped that I would be able to keep it under control and realize when I needed help.

Once I got pregnant, I was thrilled beyond words. But, through my entire pregnancy the one thing looming at the back of my mind was post partum depression, and to what degree I would suffer its wrath. It still baffles me to this day, but somehow after I gave birth, I never once felt the cold, merciless fingers of depression clawing at my insides. I don't know how I escaped, since I was a prime candidate to be swallowed up into that void of sadness and confusion. Yet somehow, I made it through unscathed. Relief that depression hasn't taken its toll doesn't begin to describe how I feel each and every day. Life can be tough, I won't deny that simple fact, but it could be much tougher trying to manage everything through the haze of depression, which I have not had to do in a very long time. I can only pray that I will continue moving away from that part of my life and towards the part which encompasses baby kisses, chubby thighs, hot chocolate, good books, family hugs, and peanut butter ice cream.

Sweet Pete, life is really great and for that I am thankful.

The long awaited BIRTH STORY, which took almost as many months to write as I was pregnant

I woke up on a Saturday morning, 11 days before my due date and felt the need to clean the bathroom. And not just clean, but clean. As in scrub the floor with a toothbrush and polish underneath the toilet. (That urge to clean with such gusto should have opened my eyes to what was about to happen, but...it did not.) Once I completed all those tasks I gravitated to the baby’s room, which was still in a bit of shambles, and started going through all the papers that were left from cleaning out the office. As Jim and I sat on the floor going through old pay stubs, bank statements and mortgage paperwork, I felt a cramp grip my abdomen. At first it took a second to register what had actually happened and then I got excited because OMG! my baby is coming! Now is the time, seize the day! Sound the trumpets, roll out the red carpet, all that jazz. But then I calmed down and realized that oh, my due date is about two weeks away, that cramp I felt was most likely Braxton Hicks and I was being the typical over-reacting first time Momma. So, I went back to sorting boring paperwork on my bedroom floor and didn’t think anymore about the cramp, until the next one came. Two hours later. Yes, crazy over-reactive first time silly Momma, thinking that cramp could be real. Twas most definitely Braxton Hicks, because when I got up and moved around the cramp *Poof!* disappeared, not to mention it was TWO hours after the first cramp. And those sorts of things never happen with real time labor, get with the program woman. (I will say that I had not had ANY Braxton Hicks during my entire pregnancy, so this was all new and exciting to me.)

The day continued on and I went about my business as usual. My business alternated between lying on the couch and then waddling into the kitchen and gazing longingly at my cabinets to find a dollop or two of Nutella I may have missed in my last spoon licking fest. Clearly, I was very busy during the last few weeks of my pregnancy.

As the afternoon wound down, I decided that I would spice things up a bit and sit in my rocking chair, instead of stretching my beached whale self out on the couch. At one point I thought I should go for a swim, but then I talked myself out of it, I had swum on Friday and was worn out from the exercise, and from cleaning my entire bathroom with a toothbrush (freak). I sat down in the rocker and turned on the T.V. and low and behold, there was another cramp. It had been a couple of hours since the last cramp, but as usual, when I got up to move around, the cramp subsided.

Friends of ours, who we had not seen in quite some time, were coming over for dinner that night and Jim was making his super yummy homemade pizza dough recipe. As dinner time approached I tried my best to help Jim with what I could, but I actually had another Braxton Hicks, this one was about 30 or 40 minutes after the last cramp, and I was feeling so worn out. Our friends arrived and we stood in the kitchen catching up for a little while and helping Jim out, when lo and behold another cramp hit. It was perhaps about 15-20 minutes after the previous cramp and for a moment I panicked and thought ‘I could really be in labor!’ but then I reminded myself that first cramps are usually nothing, and I was doing this little thing called over-reacting (the theme of the day).

I left the kitchen and went to sit down in the living room. Our friends were very nice and they stayed in the kitchen to cook with Jim (and talk loudly so that I might still be included in the conversation) while I sat in the living room and tried very hard to overcome the pains that were coming closer and closer together. During dinner prep one of our friends came into the living room with me, but I could barely concentrate on what she was saying because my uterus was talking much more forcefully. There were a couple of contractions that actually forced me up out of my seat (not an easy feat at 38 weeks pregnant) and it was getting harder to get rid of the pains by simply changing position. I had very little appetite and was feeling pretty shitty all around.

Dinner was ready after a little while and it was all I could do to force a piece of pizza down my piehole. Jim gently reminded me that I should try hard to eat something because if this was real labor then I may not eat again for a really long time. I begrudgingly agreed, and managed to gag another slice of pizza down. After eating I remained in the rocker and tried to rock my pain away, and what do you know? That seemed to work! The pains that had been coming faster and harder were fading and at that point it confirmed to me that everything I had been experiencing was indeed Braxton Hicks. Our guest left after dinner and Jim and I settled down to watch some good ole Saturday night T.V.

After numbing some brain cells with two exciting back to back episodes of Cops, I managed to waste another hour watching more crap on T.V. and then finally decided to go to bed around 10:30. I slowly got ready for bed and settled down for a good nights rest (minus the several trips to the toilet) around 11. Except my baby boy (I didn’t know he was a boy then, but eight months later (slacker), I am certain he is, in fact, a boy) had other plans.

Around 1 a.m. I woke up with a start. I had another contraction that lulled me from depths of sleep and reminded me that I was not a fan of my uterus when Braxton Hicks came knocking. It took awhile to get back to sleep, the contraction was pretty painful. Finally I fell back asleep and hoped and prayed that was the last pain I would feel until my baby actually arrived. Wrong!

2 a.m. – the mother of all contractions wakes me up, and as I jolted up from the pain, I wondered why in the hell Braxton Hicks had to be so painful and why on earth they had to come so frequently. Granted, an hour apart isn’t frequent in contractionland, but come on, I was a novice and totally didn’t realize what I signed up for. I thought about trying to go back to bed, but another contraction came only about 15 minutes later and I knew that I was going to be up for awhile. Little did I realize how long…

I went into the bathroom so I would not wake up Jim and sat hunched over on the toilet to protect my weak little body from the evil contractions threatening to destroy me. I think I had one more contraction in the bathroom and then broke down and woke up Jim, because I realized that those little devils were painful and I NEEDED support. Jim woke up bleary eyed and confused, and it took him a second to get oriented, but once he realized what was happening he helped me recall my breathing techniques and stayed close by so I could dig my nails into him when the pain started, and rub my back. The contractions continued on, and being the brave solider that I am, I faced off against the contractions with my awesome breathing skills. Things were going swimmingly for about two hours, but the contractions were most certainly stronger and closer together and then the puking started. To say that was surprising is an understatement, and though we were warned about contractions that induced vomiting in our birth class, I just didn't think it would happen to me. I think I threw up around 7 or 8 times total, and each time I threw up, it became more painful. After awhile there was nothing left for me to regurgitate, so I started throwing up stomach acid. FUN! TIMES! At one point I took one sip of Gatorade in hopes that would help prevent dehydration, but as soon as the liquid went down my throat, it came right back up.

Around 5 am I decided that I needed to get in the shower and let the warm water distract me from the pain. The shower was blissful, and I remember wishing I could just stay under the water forever and not have to face anymore contractions, but that just wasn't possible. So, after what seemed like a veeerrrrylooooongtiiiiime in the shower, I emerged from the soothing water and promptly started throwing up again. Jim decided that he would call the doctor and let her know I was in labor, however it was so early in the morning that the answering service was still on and the message clearly stated that if the doctor received a call that was not an emergency there would be a fee for the call. I immediately told Jim to hang up, I did not want to be charged a fee to be told that I was in labor! I had a few more contractions, and tried very hard to practice my stellar breathing, but that was slowly going out the window.

Jim watched me contract and throw-up a little longer, and made the executive decision to call the doctor again, maybe about an hour after our first attempt? I don't remember. I do remember that I was in such pain I didn't care by then if we were charged $100 a second for the phone call, I just needed to be somewhere besides my bed, lest this baby decide to make it's grand entrance into the world. Jim was on the phone with the doctor, describing my symptoms, when everything started, and so on. The doc wanted to talk with me after speaking with Jim for a little while. As Jim handed me the phone I felt the stab of another contraction coming and I could barely say 'yes' or 'no' before having to drop the phone and succumb to the pain. The doctor confirmed with Jim that we should go ahead and leave for the hospital, and those words sent Jim into a flurry.

Jim ran downstairs and started trying to put everything together for the car, he needed to eat, so he shoved some pizza down his throat, and then rushed my suitcase and pillows out to the car, he brushed his teeth, got himself some snacks for the long wait and raced around the house at top speed. Meanwhile, I was still hanging out with my baby, who was lodged inside my body and being a big fat pain in the uterus. I could not believe that we were leaving for the hospital and that in a short time I would meet the kid who was residing inside of me for the last 9 months! I started to get really eager, and I let out a cry of excitement, which prompted Jim to yell and see if I was still alive. I suppose in my current state, a 'happy' cry and an 'in pain' cry sounded much the same. Jim flew up the stairs to make sure the contractions hadn't killed me and then hurried me out the door into the car. We were on our way!

While in route to the hospital I started feeling queasy again. Luckily, it was early on a Sunday morning, so when I asked Jim to pull to the side of the road so I could vomit, there was not a lot of traffic on the road. I remember Jim asking me if I was serious about pulling over, as if he didn't believe his wife, who had just thrown up the entire contents of her stomach and more, could possibly throw-up anymore more. It surprised me too, but who was I to argue with this baby? I puked (theme of the day) and then we resumed barreling down the highway to the hospital. Jim pulled into the garage, parked (I wanted him to be with me when I walked into the hospital) and started unloading my bag and pillows from the car. We were about to walk across the lot and out of the garage when the mother of all contractions hit me and I could not stand up. I bent over in pain and Jim kept persistently trying to remind about my breathing, which: Thank you very much and shuttupa your face. I thought at one point I would have to crawl through the doors of the hospital. Thankfully, that did not happen.

Jim had to check me in, and after what felt a lifetime, we were finally allowed to go upstairs to the labor and delivery floor. The whole time Jim was checking in at the main desk I sat on a nearby chair and clutched a pillow around my mid-section. I remember trying to breathe, and by this I do not mean "practice my breathing techniques", I mean simply BREATHE because it seemed as though this labor was killing me slowly. We took the elevators up to the delivery floor and went to a second desk to check in, the triage area. We sat down and watched as three different nurses ignored us and I wondered what I needed to do to get the attention of someone, anyone, on this floor. Were flashing lights and a neon sign required for an intake? I had inadvertently left mine at home during our rush out the door, please excuse my hastiness, but nevertheless, COULD ONE OF YOU PLEASE NOTICE THAT I AM IN LABOR AND NEED A FUCKING INTAKE? Thanks.

Finally a nurse looked at me and asked me to come on back so they could check me out and find out far along I was. Considering it took me about five minutes to get up out of the chair, because I was IN PAIN, I'd say I was pretty far along. Only that's the thing. I wasn't. I changed out of my clothes, and into a paper sheet designed to only cover half of my body, and expose copious amounts of flesh to innocent bystanders should I turn the wrong way, then hoist myself onto the examining table. The nurse strapped various belts to me and we learned that I was 4 centimeters dilated. What? That cannot be right. I was already two centimeters dilated before I went into labor, and you mean I have been laboring for almost SIX hours and have only gained two centimeters during that time frame? Labor blows.

At this point everything becomes a little more fuzzy because of the equation:

PAIN = MEMORY LOSS

I was wheeled down the hall to a labor and delivery room and asked if I wanted an epidural. For a long time I wanted to believe that I could sail through labor without and epidural, that I would not need to sequester my pain because I was going to stare down labor and would not be beaten into submission by pains my uterus was emitting. I was young and foolish, and also, foolish. When the nurse asked if I was going to get an epidural I cast my eyes away and whispered "Yes". I was sad that my uterus had taken over, and had beaten me into submission at a mere FOUR centimeters. But, pain was pain, and I couldn't take it anymore. I was told I would need to wait a little longer for the anesthesiologist to come and give the epidural. Jim tried his best to distract me, but I just lay on the bed wishing I could sleep, breathe, leave, do anything but be on the bed. Finally, after what felt like eons, the anesthesiologist arrived and hooked up the epidural. It took about 20 minutes for the pain to start subsiding, but after that, I was a new woman. The epidural was given to me around 9:30 or 10? I think.

And! When I finally did get the epidural, I was 6 centimeters dilated! I made it further than I thought I would, and while I didn't make it all the way through labor without drugs, I was proud of myself for making it that far.

After the epidural kicked in I was able to relax for the next hour or so. Jim and I rested in the room and nurses came in every so often to check my progress and see how I was doing. I had to get a Pitocin drip, which meh, didn't bother me at all. Around noon I told Jim that I felt my contractions start to pick up and become more intense. I called the nurse in and she confirmed that I was 10 centimeters dilated. WOO HOO! My doctor came in and she told me that I would soon be able to start pushing, the were going to monitor me a little more just to make sure that everything was okay.

My doctor came back in the room, still dressed in her regular clothing, which was surprising to me because I thought she would don scrubs for the occasion. (She did, but not until the baby was almost out.) The nurse trained me about how to push, three long pushes for 10 seconds each, and then the festivities began! I began pushing and in between pushing I would talk with my doctor, the nurse and J. We talked about how I ran a marathon, and made comparisons between running and childbirth, we talked about baby underwear, we talked about a lot of things. During the beginning of my labor I thought, this is a piece of cake, this should take no time at all. Only, I was very wrong. After pushing for what seemed like an eternity, my doctor told me that I was getting closer, and she was going to put on her scrubs after I went through another cycle of pushing. Only, I went through about five more cycles of pushing and she didn't put on her scrubs. By this point, I was tired. I tried not to look at the clock at all, because I didn't want to get discouraged, but I had been pushing for about an hour.

And so, the pushing continued. And I became more and more tired. Perhaps scrubbing the bathroom on my hands and knees the morning before was not the best use of my energy. Silly me. At some point in time the top of the baby's head emerged, but I don't know how long I'd been pushing at that point. (J later told me that it was so bittersweet, because the top of the baby's head emerged when I would bear down and push, but then the head would slide back inside after I stopped pushing, so it was as if no work had been done at all and I was starting all over again with each push. Luckily, I had no idea this was happening, because I probably would have been a little aggravated that this was happening.) After awhile my doctor said AGAIN that she was going to put her scrubs because the baby was almost out. I should have known she was lying, but in my delirious state, I got very excited. What my doctor MEANT to say was: "Push for another 45 minutes and then I'll put on my scrubs and your baby will arrive."

After I had been pushing for an hour and 45 minutes my baby finally decided that it was time to break free. I remember the doctor telling me to push in conjunction with a contraction, and then she asked me if I had enough strength to push again immediately after I was done pushing. I didn't know if I could do it. I was tired, worn out and wanting to be done. But...whaddaya know. I did it! My baby's head emerged, and I was fully ready to keep pushing and huffing and puffing (because a doctor friend of ours said that pushing out the shoulders is often the hardest part of birth) but, that wasn't the case. The baby came out quickly, and J looked at me and declared "It's a boy!" and then before I knew it he was in my arms and I gave a yelp of surprise, because it all happened so quickly once his head came out. I just laid there, dumbfounded, and completely and totally in love. He was here. He was finally here and life was perfect.

I got to hold him for a little while, then he was taken to another part of the room to be weighed, etc, while the doctor put me back together. He was so tiny, so small, and I wanted nothing more than to be able to protect him forever and ever. Good gracious I love that boy. He is, without a doubt, awesome.

(Oh my holy heavens, this took me FAR too long to write. If I am able to have more children, I do hope to document their births as well. However, it may take me years to write about those births, seeing as how I only have ONE child right now and this took me eight months. Am slow.)