Day in the Life, Winter 2014

Another Day in the Life!  If you want to know about these, read more on Laura's blog here:
http://navigatingthemothership.blogspot.com/2014/01/winter-day-in-life-coming-up.html

Or, if you want to read my past posts, find them here:
http://baby-mamas-drama.blogspot.com/search/label/day%20in%20the%20life


I wish I had done one of these when MJ was a baby.  I think I remember how I felt about things, and what I spent my time doing, but I'm sure this is colored by later experience.  To the extent that I have the ability to plan my life, this will be the last 'Day in the Life' post written under the influence of a newborn.  As before, I wrote this as a 24-hour post because that's how newborns operate.

This was January 20th to 21st, 2014.  MJ was 4 yrs and 4 months, Greta was 18 months and Teddy was 3 1/2 weeks.  As you might expect, this was written in a haze.  I decided to write this on the day my Mom left town.  She arrived a week-and-a-half before Teddy was born and had been staying with us since.  I had been dreading her departure and wasn't sure how we'd manage without her.  Part of me was looking forward to it, just because I'd been dreading it for so long.  I'm a rip the band-aid off quickly kind of girl, and when I dread something I just want it to be over.  (But Mom, we miss you a great deal.  It's nice that we're figuring out how to survive on our own, though.)

She'll kill me for including this, but I love this picture.  It's Nana being an awesome Nana.

8:15 p.m. The girls are in bed, so my Mom and I sit down to watch Downton Abbey. Hubs is working an evening shift, so she stayed an extra day to help with the kiddos.  It's nice to have someone to watch Downton with, because the hubs totally dislikes it.  He watched half of an episode, commented that no one had made a single joke and was done with it (he must not have watched a segment with Maggie Smith, though.)  We hold Teddy while we watch and he drifts off to sleep.

Testing the low-light capabilities of my iPhone and introducing Teddy to British drama.

9:15 p.m. Finish the show, hugs goodnight and goodbye because she'll be catching a cab to the airport early in the morning.  My Mom is a crier, I know I've inherited this from her.  If she ever leaves without tears I'll wonder what's wrong.  I know I should go straight to bed, but with Mom around I've been getting extra sleep and I'm not very tired.  I climb in bed and read Looking For Alaska.  Since Teddy was born I've been reading books on my phone.  I like that it's one handed, and since I always have my phone with me I don't have to wonder where I put down my book.  I thought I'd hate e-books but have really been enjoying them, may have to invest in a Kindle.  

9:45 p.m. Greta wakes up and cries half heartedly.  I debate going in but feel it will only make things worse.  Not sure why she's awake.  She has a charming and weird habit of piling books in her crib (like, 10 at a time) and "reading" them in the dark after I put her to bed at night.  Then she falls asleep on top of them, and I wonder if these wake ups are because she wakes up uncomfortable from sleeping on a pile of books.  She finally falls back asleep, so I brush my teeth and slather on moisturizer. (I've really started to notice the eye wrinkles emerging).  I climb in bed at 10.  Toss and turn until 10:30, because I slept in too late this morning and drank coffee too late.

1:10 a.m. Teddy wakes up.  I give him a bottle and go potty (I can't stop calling it "potty", even when the 4-year-old isn't around.  Wonder when I'll go back to saying "take a piss").

1:25 a.m.  Start pumping.  This is the terrible part of exclusively pumping, though usually he takes a few minutes to settle so it's probably not time lost.  I also don't pump for very long at night, so it's really not too bad.  I check the internet, whilst trying not to wake up too much.  While I pump I replace Teddy's pacifier and hope he falls into a deeper sleep.

The scene while I pump, every night, every day.  The swaddle/wubbanub combo works magic.

1:36  a.m.  Finish. 9 oz.  Only so much because he slept so long (he went to bed at ~8, while we were watching Downton Abbey).  This is a mixed blessing; it's not good for my milk supply, but I appreciate the sleep too much to complain, and I'm still producing plenty. I rinse the pump stuff.  When MJ was a baby I was so high strung about washing and sanitizing pump parts.  This time I'm much more lax, and it allows me a lot less stress.  I often just rinse the parts and let them dry.  Considering breast milk is antimicrobial I've decided this is plenty clean for overnight use.  I potty again and put Teddy's pacifier back in his mouth again.  He looks awfully awake but I turn the light off anyways and hope for the best.

1:46 a.m. Climb in bed.  Chug some water.  Hopefully asleep by 2:00...

4:50 a.m.  Teddy up.  I wake up my Mom because she wanted to feed him again before she leaves, then I start pumping.  Didn't sleep very well during that last stretch.  Not sure why but Greta starts crying again.   She's been so upset the past couple days. Teething?  I just don't know.  She calms herself down and I hope she doesn't wake early.  One kid awake at night is enough.

5:00 a.m. Finish pumping.  6.5 oz.  Wash stuff.  Store milk (I store it in a cooler bag in my room at night so I don't have to take it down to the fridge).   Give my mom a hug and crawl back into bed. She says she'll change Teddy and put him back to sleep.

5:45 a.m.  Mom leaves.  Teddy promptly wakes back up and I bring him into bed with me.  He does this every night, where he is restless but still sleepy for the last few hours of the night.  I get intermittent sleep until 7:00.  He's restless so I give him another bottle.  I swear I hear someone downstairs and wake up hubs to go check (I was being delusional).   He also checks on the girls, who are awake. He  gets them dressed and climbs back into bed until 7:30.  He informs me he'll get up with them so I pop in earplugs, hoping Teddy will sleep a bit so I can sleep a bit.  At 8:00 I'm still periodically popping in his pacifier.  I try him in the swing.  No good.  This is the first kid we've had who doesn't like the swing, and I find it frustrating (though not as frustrating as hubs finds it).

8:20 a.m.  I give up.  I pump and decide I'm up for the day.  Hubs takes MJ to school.  She is already lamenting Nana's absence, as are we all.

8:40 a.m.  Give Teddy a bottle.  Greta makes the morning joyous, as she often does.  She continues to make me feel like such a rockstar in the morning, thinking I'm the most amazing thing in the world when she first sees me. Lands in timeout, many times, for harassing Vito.  I put Teddy in the Moby so that he'll calm down, as he wants to be held constantly. I have a feeling this kid is going to live in the moby for a while.  I eat a breakfast of Cheerios and a hard-boiled egg, and Greta insists on sharing it with me. I'm excited I finally convinced the kids to eat hard-boiled eggs, they're the ultimate in portable protein. Greta and I "discuss" different body parts, which is her poking me and me telling her what she's poking.  She knows "belly", "eye", "nose", "cheek", "toes", "tongue", and "arm".   

9:10 a.m.  Commence bottle washing and kitchen cleaning.  The morning rush, getting 2 very hungry children fed and MJ off to school, is always crazy and leaves quite a mess.  The bottle stack in the morning is always pretty immense.  Hubs comes down from the shower and we discuss the day.    I have dreaded this day, my mom leaving, for weeks now. In some sense it's nice to know the worst is finally over, though.

Love watching these two play. As hubs has expressed, he likes the kids once they find him funny.  Greta finds him hilarious, so they're best buds.

9:30 a.m. Take Teddy out of the Moby and hand him to hubs, so I can go to the bathroom and take a shower.  Lucky thing he has an easy day today.  I weigh myself, 13 more pounds to go to get to pre-baby weight.  15 pounds to get to pre-pre-baby weight (I was only 8 months out when I got pregnant, hadn't quite hit pre-pregnancy weight.  8 months... that makes me sound like a crazy person).

9:50 a.m. While I'm taking a shower hubs comes in to lament his realization that he has to work during the Super Bowl.  I'm not as sympathetic as I should be, I feel like I can't handle any one else complaining to me, whether through words or crying.  I ask him to leave.  He sets Teddy down so he can take a conference call, who promptly starts screaming for 5 minutes while I finish getting out of the shower.  I know it's illogical, but I fear he has been conditioned to only sleep while being held, which was much easier when there was an extra pair of hands around.  (the rest of the week has shown me this is true, but I don't think it's anyone's fault, just how he's made.)

Post shower.  Clean, but that's about as much as I can say.  The chaos surrounds me.  I thought about throwing out the unflattering photos, but that just wouldn't be authentic, now would it?

10:00 a.m. I get Teddy to sleep in his cradle, swaddled with a pacifier.  I have to close the doors to his room so Greta can't get to him.  I start putting the huge piles of clothes away.  I keep having to put Teddy's pacifier back in and finally decide he's hungry.

10:15 a.m. I get pumping stuff, bottle and nipple shield. I attempt to nurse Teddy but he immediately falls asleep.  I had hoped he would learn to nurse before my mom left.   I'm not sure how much longer I can continue pumping.  I find this so frustrating.  Greta retrieves piles of clean socks from Nana's room and scatters them about while I try to nurse.  All he does is sleep while  latched on just like when he first started nursing.

Thankfully Greta is happy to entertain herself while I pump, but it always involves destroying his room.

10:30 a.m. I give up and put him back in his cradle.  Five minutes later he's up again and I try again. He falls asleep again.

Sleepy boy.  He's awfully cute, even when he refuses to nurse.

10:40 a.m. I give in and give him a bottle.  He takes 2 ounces and pukes up a fair amount.  So of course, now I question if he was hungry at all.  I pump while he lays in his cradle and Greta makes a mess of his room.

I cannot take my eyes off her for a second.  Not surprisingly, she has no sense of his fragility. 

10:55 a.m. Finish pumping.  Rinse stuff.  Husband comes downstairs after finishing his conference call and I start crying.  He loves when I randomly bombard him with tears.  I just feel overwhelmed and tired, not sure how I'm going to do it all.  Teddy does not want to be put down for a moment, which wouldn't bother me if he was the only kid, but he's not.  

After I collect myself, I put Teddy in the Moby and do dishes.  Hubs helps feed Greta lunch and I get a marinade ready for some salmon I bought the day before at the grocery store.  He's being super helpful today (and doesn't even know I'm doing a day in the life).  He cuts up some green beans for dinner and gets Greta a third helping of lunch (this girl eats!). She's been much happier today, thankfully.

No picture of my day would be complete without a photo of my coffee cup.  It is crucial to everything.

11:30 a.m. Everyone is fed.  Teddy is asleep, finally.  I put him in his cradle and cross my fingers- he stays asleep!  I put the rest of the laundry away.  Bedroom isn't clean but at least it's not buried so deep.  Greta plays downstairs with dad.  I hope she'll go to sleep soon while Teddy is sleeping.  She comes upstairs and helps me put clean sheets on the guest room bed.  She keeps trying to climb on it and put her baby to bed but I tell her she has to wait until it's made.

Greta loves "helping" with the laundry, though that means it will end up somewhere unexpected.  Here, the basket has become a baby crib (which means the clothes have been dumped on the floor somewhere).

12:00 p.m. Teddy starts making noises.  I try giving him his pacifier but he's clearly hungry; I feed him another bottle but he's still not satiated.  I give him another ounce, for 4 ounces total (a ton for him!) and then I Moby him.  Hubs leaves for work and Greta waves goodbye to him from the window; this occupies her for a good 10 minutes.  Greta is not acting very tired but it's her nap time so I decide to try, largely because I'm aching for a break.  She piles 7 books on my lap then climbs up to read.  Some of the books are on the long side and she gets fed up and throws them on the ground; even she knows she has a short attention span.  When we finish the pile I put her in her crib (with the pile of books) and say "Night-night".  Still not sleepy looking but happy, so I'm hopeful.

Teddy, all Moby'd up.  I don't know how I'd survive without this thing.

12:30 p.m. I put Teddy in his cradle and pump.  I hear her with one of her noisy books while I pump, but eventually there is no sound so she must be asleep.  I rinse pump parts but decide not to deal with anything else so I can get a break. I lay Teddy on the bed next to me, eat some popcorn (in bed!) and catch up on some emails while he looks around.  I get out his play mat, which I can't do while Greta is awake because she'll stomp on him.  He stares at the toys intently so I convince myself he is being enriched.  Among other things, I look at flights for a trip we're taking to Florida in March with some friends.  Just thinking about the sunshine is enough to warm me up.

Mesmerized by the playmat?  Or so I tell myself to assuage the guilt of a much-needed break.

1:50 p.m. I lay Teddy in his cradle and wonder if he’ll sleep.  With some objection, he finally sleeps.  I peruse Pinterest for some projects to do with Greta and read the New York Times.

2:30 p.m. Greta is up!  I hadn't even realized how long she'd been asleep until I looked at the time.  For the first time all day I feel somewhat calm and rejuvenated, maybe I can do this.  The quiet and rest was needed.  

OMG!! A new toy arrived while I was sleeping!!!

When I get G from her crib she is a hot mess for no apparent reason.  Usually long naps mean happy Greta but apparently not today.  We head downstairs (she insists on being carried) and she drinks an entire sippy cup of water; thirsty, I guess.  I cut up a cantaloupe and she has some for snack.  I manage to get all the dishes put away and the dishwasher loaded.  I'm feeling very accomplished, it's amazing how much more productive I can be without a baby strapped to me.

3:00 Despite some squawks Teddy is still asleep so I decide to get as much done as possible.  I pick up the living room a bit and have a dance party with G; we've been loving Justin Timberlake lately.  We play with stacking animals and she is amazed by them, for some reason.  Then she puts them in the oven, obviously.  She decides she wants to play on her own (one of my saving graces in this new 3-kid-adventure is how much she loves playing by herself.)  I call Fossil to order some new parts for hubs watch, and they inform me that they no longer carry those parts, and offer an $85 gift card if I send the watch back.  Score for me!

I don't even bother taking the Moby off.  Greta is enjoying making faces in the mirror (and looks so much like MJ in this photo.)

3:20 p.m. Hubs come home.  He has decided to reorganize our first aid kit and stopped to pick up supplies.  My fatigue hits me suddenly, out of the blue.  I go upstairs to pump; hubs stays downstairs to work on his first aid kit and watch G.  I'm already looking forward to bed time.

What?  Don't your kids play with pill bottles too?  

3:30 p.m. Finish pumping.  4 oz.  Hubs and I have a discussion of where MJ will be in school next year, because we have to decide if we're going to submit her registration for her current (private, expensive) school.  Next year she would be eligible for public preschool but we currently have her enrolled in private preschool, so trying to decide whether to continue her in private kindergarten or try to get her into public kindergarten.  It's slightly complicated and all because of when her birthday falls.  You can read about it here.  Anyway, we decide to pay the registration for private kindergarten and possibly swallow that cost if something public works out.  

I warm up the car to go get MJ.  When I leave G is scattering Vito's dog food throughout the house and hubs is still organizing the first aid kid.

I know this will end badly, but sometimes I just let it go.  These days even more so.

4:00 p.m. I get in the van (by myself!  Teddy's still asleep!) to go pick up MJ.  I turn in her school registration and talk to everyone (teachers, staff) about Teddy.  I've only briefly seen them since he was born and apparently MJ has been talking about him constantly.  They're starting a unit on pets and MJ begs me to bring in Vito and leave him at school for the day.  Instead we decide to bring him in briefly in the morning next week, and the secretary offers to help watch Greta while we visit (though I think she wanted to watch Teddy, but he's easy to stick in a carrier when we're out.)  

In the van MJ discusses Martin Luther King Jr. Day (which was yesterday).  I had meant to talk about it with her but never did, so I'm glad they did at school.  I'm a bit amazed by the level of detail they went into in school, including talking about how he was killed for his beliefs.  There is some confusion, though, because MJ is under the impression that it was MLK who threw Rosa Parks off the bus.  She also feels that Rosa Parks was being "bad" because she wasn't listening when they asked her to move.  I discuss civil disobedience, trying to figure out how to frame it so that she doesn't use it as an excuse not to listen.

Somehow, the conversation devolves into a discussion of who was born first, Santa Claus or MLK.  I love post-school conversations.  We also discuss who she played with at school, and she says "nobody", which feeds my weird mom fear that she's struggling with friends at school.  Her desire to change the subject just feeds my fears.  ::sigh::

4:45 p.m.  We arrive home.   There is dog food everywhere on the kitchen floor.  Having the husband watch the kids is sometimes a mixed bag.  MJ kindly helps pick it up and I put Vito's food on the counter, which of course leads to frustration for Greta. I peel and boil potatoes for mashed potatoes, then preheat the oven for the fish.  Unfortunately, it doesn't light.  Our oven has intermittent lighting problems and probably has for 2 years.  It also sometimes flashes an error code.  I bought a part to fix it 6 months ago (!) and finally installed it a couple days earlier.  I knew it would fix the error code issue but didn't know if it would fix the lighting issue.  I am disappointed to find it has not and sheepishly ask Aaron to light the stove.  I am amazed he has put up with these oven problems for so long, I probably would by much less tolerant if the roles were reversed.  I promise him I'll call an appliance repair man.

5:00 p.m. Convince hubs to check on Teddy, who has been sleeping for 3 hours now.  In the chaos of working on dinner I'm not sure if hubs woke him up or if he happened to wake up.  At any rate, hubs feeds him 2 oz while I finish dinner.

5:15 p.m.  We eat!  I'm feeling pretty accomplished for getting a real meal on the table after our first day with 3 kids, though I know much of it is because hubs has been around to help.  It is the only fish recipe I like and thankfully the family loves it, or we would never eat fish.

A not very pretty picture and a very messy table.  But photo evidence nonetheless.

  

5:45 p.m.  Teddy is still not content, so I give him 2 more oz and we FaceTime with Baba (my mother-in-law).  Hubs is being very helpful picking up from dinner while we sit, and the smoothness of the day is not lost on me.  I am too spacey to be much of a conversationalist, but the girls chat in their own way.

6:10 p.m.  Pump.  G puts babies to bed around me, which is her newest past time.  She also spends time hitting them with a spoon; I'm not sure what this is supposed to represent, but I swear she didn't learn it from me.

This baby is being put to bed on the changing table.  (She was gleeful when she found it there the next morning.)

I don't even remember when this happened.  Sometimes moments of the day glide right past me.

6:20 p.m.  Finish pumping. Another 4 oz.  Bedtime is in sight.  We go downstairs and I finish cleaning up the kitchen and pack MJ's lunch.  I send MJ upstairs to put pajamas on.  Tonights tantrum (because there is always some sort of bedtime tantrum) is because she wants to tuck her dad in.  We all go upstairs to read books. I put Greta's PJs on while hubs starts reading, and when I finish she melts down and flails on the floor.  I read, then lights go out and the night light goes on.  Greta gets a 4 oz bottle of milk (I know) while I chat with MJ about her day.   I put Greta in her crib with her pile of books and give the girls hugs and kisses.

7:10 p.m. Pump again.  4 more oz.  Moo.  Grab a beer and my book.  Chill with Teddy until he falls asleep.  Another day down.

The cycle starts again.

MJisms

MJ:  Watch me do a magic trick!!  It's amazing, you'll never believe it.

Me:  Okay.  I'll watch.

::MJ squints her eyes and looks at the light hanging over the dining room table::

MJ: Do you see that?  Isn't that amazing?

Me:  Do you realize that just because you can see something doesn't mean I can see it?  Whatever you're doing to make the light look weird only you can see, no one else.

MJ:  ::silence::

The birth story

Little man is 3 weeks old today.  Seems like if I don't get this birth story written soon, it may never happen.

Read at your own risk (menfolk).  As with any birth story, there is talk of potentially icky things.

Prologue
For those of you what may not know my back story, this was my third birth.  My first birth, 4 years ago, ended in an emergency c-section after 2.5 hours of pushing.  The OB who performed the c-section later referred to it as "Vaginal birth with C-section".  You can read about it here and here.  I spent the next 3 years blaming myself for the c-section, thinking I wasn't pushing effectively because I got an epidural.

So for my next birth, 1.5 years ago, I planned very carefully.  I decided I wanted a VBAC, and was told I was a good candidate for it.  I switched to a small practice with an exceptionally good VBAC success rate.  I hired a doula.  I had the birth I wanted in the beginning, arriving at the hospital 8 cm dilated.  I didn't get an epidural.  At first.  But after an hour-and-a-half of pushing, I was shaking so badly I knew I wasn't effectively pushing, and ended up with an epidural.  This was ultimately a good decision.  After 2 more hours of pushing, she was born.  But not without a lot of drama that very nearly resulted in a repeat c-section.  It was almost exactly like my first birth.  With that experience, I forgave myself for my first birth and moved on.  Recovery was better than the first birth, but a VBAC was not the magic bullet I had hoped for.  The full story of Greta's birth can be found here.

And then this guy.  I spent the last few months of pregnancy facing great indecision on whether or not to have a scheduled c-section.  Although a lot of the midwives were fond of telling me this birth would be totally different because I'd done it once, what they did not seem to recall is that they'd told me the same thing last time.  I was so very close to a c-section last time.  If this guy was a bit bigger?  Or later term and under greater distress?  I knew my chance of a c-section was fairly high, despite what many of the midwives told me.  I did have one who had a frank discussion with me, and said "It's clear you don't have easy births, and whatever you decide is entirely understandable."  It was so nice to have someone acknowledge that (and she ended up being the midwife who was at Teddy's birth).

I ended up deciding to go for the VBAC, because I just couldn't bring myself to not even try.  I knew I'd jump to a c-section fairly quickly if it looked like I was heading that way, though I also knew it'd be a hard labor no matter what.  I don't have easy labors.  That's how it is.

I stumbled on this article a few days before my due date.  I have a tendency to search the scholarly literature when I'm in late pregnancy.  It is a nice review of the VBAC research, and points out the interesting statistic that women who have an emergency c-section after they have fully dilated have only a 13% VBAC success rate in a subsequent pregnancy.  Seriously.  This made me feel like a little bit of a rock star for Greta's birth, but also made me wonder why I was told I was an "excellent candidate" for a VBAC.

That's quite a prologue.  Now for the actual story.

Chapter 1
(Don't worry, there's only one chapter.)

With my first two births, I felt totally euphoric before birth began.  So of course I expected the same sensation to precede my third birth.  There were a couple times, in the weeks leading up to my due date, that I was convinced I was about to go into labor.  I did not.

The night before I actually went into labor I was feeling anything but euphoric.  We had some friends over for dinner and I was feeling borderline antisocial.  Perhaps it's because I had such a rough late pregnancy this time.  I thought I had a rough time the last two times, but it was nothing compared to this.  I was tired, I was sore, I was very, very over it.   As everyone is at 40 weeks & 1 day.  But still.

Hubs and I crawled into bed at a very reasonable 10 p.m on December 27th, the day after my due date.  He often works nights and weekends but had had a very normal schedule since early December, and it was nice to have him home.  My mom had arrived a week earlier, so everything was in place.  But I felt that all eyes were on me, waiting for something to happen.  This was the very reason I had not had any family in town for earlier births, but this time we really needed someone to watch the girls when I went to the hospital.

Anyway.  I couldn't sleep.  I had been having trouble sleeping in general, but this time I really couldn't sleep.  I tossed and turned until 2 a.m., trying to not wake up hubs.  I played Candy Crush on my phone, which has been very good at putting me to sleep.  For that matter, I finally beat Candy Crush. I also read the entire internet.  All of it.  At 2 a.m., after beating Candy Crush, I finally got out of bed.  I felt very hot so I took my temperature. 99 degrees.  I googled whether a slight fever is an indicator of impending labor.  It is, along with every other symptom known to man.  I went downstairs and got an apple and some juice.

I sat on the couch and stared at the Christmas tree.  I was glad I had not had him before Christmas, because I got to enjoy a wonderful Christmas with the girls.  But now I was ready.  I wondered if I felt a contraction, but I had wondered that many times over the past couple days.  The day before, at my midwife appointment, I had been 1.5 cm dilated.  I got back in bed at 2:15 or 2:30 and finally fell asleep.

At 3:00 a.m. I was woken up by a contraction.  With my previous births I'd woken up after a night of sleep with contractions, so I always wondered if they came on gradually.  This time, they clearly came on pretty suddenly.  I timed the next several; 5 to 7 minutes apart, about a minute long.  The pain brought back memories of labor.  When I'd gone into labor before I'd felt energized and excited.  Yes, they hurt, but things were happening!  Baby was almost here!  This time, I felt very much that I didn't want to do this.  I wanted to quit.  This was going to be hard.

By 3:30 I gave up on sleep and got out of bed.  I finished packing my hospital bag, and put absurd things like makeup in there.  Hubs woke up and asked me what I was doing, and I explained I was in labor.  I don't think he believed me at first.  My contractions had gotten rather weird; 2-5 minutes apart but very short.  After everything was packed hubs convinced me to get back in bed and try to sleep.  He was being remarkably sweet, not at all annoyed by being woken up.  He watched me for a bit, and when I had a contraction he smiled "Ahhh.... that looks like a real contraction."  I was glad at that moment that he'd been through this before and he knew what we were in for.  He held my hand and half-dozed while I laid there.  The contractions returned to normal, about 7-8 minutes apart, 1 minute long.

At 4:45 I got out of bed.  I had some peanut butter toast and at some point decided they were getting worse.  I did not want to wait so long this time to go to the hospital.  I knew my labors progress fairly quickly (apart from the pushing part) and I wanted to be settled into our room before things got too rough.  So I called the midwife at 5:30.  She had just gotten back from the hospital and I felt bad waking her up, since her shift was done at 8:00.  She encouraged me to labor at home for a bit, but I decided to head in at 6:00.  It was time.  I did not want to do this, and I just wanted to check things off the list that had to get done.  The biggest hurdle in front of me was transitioning into the hospital.  On the drive to the hospital hubs was jazzed.  Cracking jokes.  I tried to play along.  I informed him I fully planned to get an epidural.  My head was not in this.  I was tired.  I just wanted to be done.

We arrived at the hospital and I was thankful to be able to walk myself.  To not be screaming in pain in the entry way.  I was also thankful that I had some tough contractions on the way so that I didn't look like a faker.  I got settled in my room.  Answered their questions.  Abided by their poking and prodding, which I would not have been able to do if I'd waited.  When they finally checked me I was 4 cm.  That seemed like a good number, and I was glad we had come when we did.

I was finally able to get in the tub.  The midwife arrived.  She was one of my favorites, very kind and patient.  After watching me for a while she agreed I had come at the right time.  Everyone was encouraging me to get up and move.  I couldn't help feeling they just didn't get it.  I'm fine right where I am. I am enduring, I want to be left to endure.  Getting up and moving requires energy I just don't have.  They seemed to think that I was stalling, but when they finally convinced me to get out of the tub and check me at 8:00, I was dilated to 6 "stretchy to 7".  It was then that I decided I needed an epidural.  I had already decided it, really, but that was the time.

The midwife clearly felt I was making a bad decision.  She was borderline pushy in trying to dissuade me from getting an epidural.  In my first two births I would have appreciated this.  This time, though, I knew something she did not seem to remember.  I knew I still had a long haul in front of me.  I knew that early labor goes fast but pushing does not.  I was nowhere near the end.  I was exhausted.  An epidural would allow me to rest and save my energy for the pushing phase.  At 9:00 the epidural was in and the new midwife had come on.  When they checked me right after, I was 9.5 cm dilated.  So I had sat still during transition while they inserted a giant needle in my back.  Go me.  The anesthesiologist was a borderline D-bag, but he did a superb job.  It took away the pain but I could still move my legs.  It was exactly what I needed.

I was finally able to get some rest.  I was feeling absolutely delirious from exhaustion.   At 11:00 Teddy was still rather high up, and they made the decision to break my water (something that had happened spontaneously in my first two births.)  He immediately started having some heart rate issues, so they had me turn on my side until his heart rate returned to normal.  This was bringing back memories of my past two births.  The midwife made the decision to allow me to "labor down", since his heart rate was good and the epidural was in, which means that I just laid there and allowed my body to do the work.  I didn't push to try to speed things along.  At noon they had me try pushing, because he was coming down so slowly, but not much came of it and his heart rate dipped down again.  So I laid there and napped some more.  I don't remember what station I was at what time, but I slowly made progress.  The midwife suspected, as did I, that once pushing really began his heart rate would suffer, just like my last births, so she let him get as far as possible before I had to start pushing.  Sometime around 2:30 I mentioned that I was starting to feel the urge to push.  I could feel the contractions, they just weren't particularly painful.  I could also feel all my pelvic muscles.  Like I said, the ideal epidural.

By 3:00 everything was in place.  I started to push, and he made some progress.  At some point, he got rather stuck, and the midwife later told me that she watched as his head slowly turned with each contraction, until he was finally able to push past a bone.  She said it was very weird to see.  I wore out pretty quickly and his heart rate was really suffering, dipping down very low.  The midwife decided to call in the NICU team, "just in case", as well as the on-call OB.  Luckily for me, the OB in the hospital that day happened to be the OB from the clinic I go to, and the same one who was at Greta's birth.  She remembered Greta's birth and this was following suit.  I started to wonder if I was close to a c-section, but they didn't seem to think so.  Finally, the OB told me I had one more chance to push him out or she'd try the vacuum.  He came out on that push.

But of course, the drama wasn't over.  He was very blue.  I'm not sure if I'll ever forget the mental image of how blue he was, and he wasn't crying.  Hubs didn't even cut the cord, they just snipped it and moved him to the warming table.  It seemed like forever until he cried, and I was sobbing, very scared.  The midwife was working on getting the placenta out, and massaging my uterus, and she seemed to think I was in pain while in fact I was just listening for crying.  His birth hadn't been nearly as scary as MJ and Greta's, and yet here he was not breathing.  Finally, I heard him cry.  Hubs later told me it was about 80 seconds before he took a breath.

And then he was fine.  He "pinked right up" and nursed pretty well.  He was 9 lb 5 oz, with a 15" noggin (that puts him in the 93rd percentile).  I had a second-degree tear but apparently not very deep.  Although I was sore, I was able to get up and walk right after (the epidural had apparently worn out).  I made the mistake of feeling "down there" and it all felt like I would imagine someone's face would after getting beaten up.  But by the next morning everything felt pretty normal.

Three days later I was walking around the Mall of America like a normal person (except that I was at the Mall of America 3 days post-partum, making me definitely not normal).  It was a phenomenally easy recovery compared to my other two.  It dawned on me, for the first time, how much of a woman's first couple months can be dictated by the birth itself.  That women who have an easy birth are not even in the same hemisphere when discussing those first weeks (or even months) with a new baby.  Because the way I felt, and my capabilities, were worlds away from my first birth experience, and probably still a world away from my second birth experience.  I was so thankful for my midwife, and for her appreciation for how my body worked, and how I birth.  She read my chart and knew what to expect, and she wasn't impatient.  She later told me she had to keep catching herself when she felt like maybe I should start pushing, and remind herself to let me go as long as possible before pushing.  And she was right.

All in all, I'm really glad this was my last birth.  Pregnancy and birth is not a magical time for me.  I love newborns, I do fine as a postpartum gal, but the precursor is only something to be endured.  I'm so thankful for modern medicine, and for this beautiful, healthy baby boy.

The first week down

(I started this post when he really was just a week old.  But, as with everything, I am behind.  So now he's 11 days old... practically an old man in newborn terms.)

First off, welcome back folks.  Nothing like having a baby to make you reassess your blog priorities.  (What?!  Really? I don't know).  I moved my blog to Tumblr in August, because I found that Blogger didn't allow me to do a few of the things I wanted to do.  While it did many things well, ultimately I was very frustrated with the platform, so I'm back!  Good old blogger.  I think I'm just not young and hip enough to really get Tumblr.  All the cool kids are doing it, I know, but I'm no longer cool and no longer a kid.  If you have any questions about that transition feel free to ask, but I'll leave it at that.

I apologize for cluttering your feed, that will stop now, too.

And if you haven't already heard through some other social media outlet, I had a boy!  Theodore.  We're still thinking about nicknames... Teddy?  Theo?  TJ?  They're all in rotation.

I'll get to the birth story... sometime.  It was far and away my easiest birth, which is lucky because adding a third kid... is no joke.  I already feel Mama guilt because he's already not getting the attention the others had.  The first few days home I kept forgetting about him, that he was part of our family.  One day I almost walked out of the house without him.  Maybe part of this is having an easy birth, because I often forget I just gave birth.  With the others it was ever-present in my mind.

There are many moments that I feel like "what did we do..."   But there are also many moments when I'm so glad that he's here.  So glad that he's ours.  I look at his sisters, swarming around him, and am so glad he's part of our chaos.

He is, by and large, a very easy baby.  When he was first born, he took about 80 seconds before he breathed.  It was terrifying.  And he finally cried after a couple minutes, but apart from that nothing much could make him cry.  His first couple days he made barely a peep.

But then he got home.  And he got loud.  He's usually happy, but if he gets hungry he screams so loud.  It wakes up every other child in the house.  So we aim to not let him get hungry.

He nursed well the first day, then not well at all.  Nothing would wake him up.  In the hospital they weren't too concerned, but it continued and when we had our first doctor's visit he was down 11% for weight.  So we tried a couple other things.  I tried a nipple shield one time and he has never latched well since.  I had needed a nipple shield with my girls due to trouble latching, and it was never so addictive.  But then he continued to drop, down 14% for weight, so we had to start the complicated pump-and-supplement routine.  Given our experience with the nipple shield, I knew it was dangerous, but felt it was unavoidable.  Since having a bottle, he has only latched and nursed well twice. Ugh.

So now, I am basically exclusively pumping.  Which is terrible.  I continue to try to get him to latch, and he sort of does but then just stops nursing.  Greta was the same, and then one day she just figured it out, though my supply tanked after a couple months and the lactation consultant thinks she was just never very good at nursing.  So maybe I'll be able to provide milk longer this way?  I just don't understand how it is that three children have had such nursing issues. Is it my anatomy?  Am I doing something wrong early on?  Is our lactation consultant offering bad advice?  All of them have lost a ton of weight, all of them have had to be supplemented from early on (with pumped milk) and none of them have ever been great in the long term.  Why?  These boobs have served me well enough in life, but they seem to struggle when it comes to the little ones.  But this is the first time I've been exclusively  pumping.  I just don't have the time for breastfeeding drama.  I can't sit and work on it for 2 hours or feed every 40 minutes when there are two other kids to tend to.  So maybe this will be better in the long run?  My supply is already way up from what it was, maybe this is sustainable... maybe....  though relying on a pump seems like a terrible way to function.

But apart from that, super easy baby.  Sleeps well.  Falls asleep easily.  We haven't had to use any device, such as a swing or bouncy seat, to keep him happy.  I just set him down, and he stares around and if he's tired he's goes to sleep.  No drama, no fuss.  Our pediatrician today commented "So... this isn't your first baby... so I assume you guys know that's not predictive of anything?"  Yes, I suppose we do, but it does give us hope... we keep saying we need a calm one....

The girls have adjusted well.  MJ is happy about having him here but otherwise unfazed.  He basically impacts her not at all, especially because she is such a Daddy's girl these days.  Greta is doing better.  The first day was a little confusing, I think.  But she is generally not jealous, unless she is tired and wants to sit in my lap while I am holding him.  She doesn't have a general jealousy, wherein she is upset whenever I hold him.  She has very specific jealousy, when I would have been holding her and am instead holding him and she wants her place back.  Even that, though, is getting better and she is often satisfied to sit next to me.  She brings him toys and pacifiers (if she can get her mitts on one) and is always concerned when he cries.  In fact, it is just about the only thing that wakes her up at night these days, and if she hears him crying she is wide awake.  Her concern for him is endearing, and I am hopeful they will become good pals over the next year.  Their closeness in age is overwhelming at times, and she can't be left with him for even an instant because she just doesn't understand all the ways she can hurt him.  But she seems to really like him, and likes having him here.

My Mom has been here for the past 3 weeks.  She will be here for about another week and a half (if she can stand us that long), and I am terrified for her departure.  The hubs will be back at work and real life will be... real.  As easy a baby boy as he has been, the reality of tending to three kids needs is daunting.  I have narrowed it down to this: it will mean no break at all during the day and an 8 or 8:30 bedtime.  Which means there will just be no time in the day for anything other than the children.  I know that's sort of what I asked for, but it is still hard to adjust to.  Especially with no family around and therefore no real breaks.  Come February I think I will be looking for a babysitter for help one day a week.

This post is getting long... I feel that Blogger better enables the rambling that I am so very fond of.  So look forward to more of that.

Here's a photo of the 5 of us:

It's unflattering to pretty much everyone other than the menfolk.  But that's okay, because it's real.  My friend Erin took it last week, 4 days post-partum, and looking at it brings the reality of it all back to me, again and again.  There are 5 of us now.  And this is it, this will be our family forever.  It's so very exciting to me.  It's like that moment you finally meet all your teammates and you start to feel each other out.  Start to envision your future together.  Try to picture what obstacles you'll overcome and whether you'll win the championship.  This is my team, and I couldn't be happier about it.

The Christmas season, the Christmas baby

39 weeks and 4 days. Today is the day (in gestation equivalents) that Greta was born. MJ was born 8 days later than this.

I have so far managed to not get too impatient. My Mom arrived 5 days ago, and it has been such a blessing to have her here. I was in a very, very bad state for the week prior to her arrival. I essentially put myself on self-imposed bed rest a couple days before I hit 38 weeks, because I could barely walk. The round ligament pain was so intense it would cause my knees to buckle, and I spent much of my day in tears from the pain. I stopped doing much of anything, laid on the couch most of the day, and was incredibly thankful that Greta was good at entertaining herself.

After a couple days of this, I got a bit better. Picking up Greta seems to have been the main culprit. The added weight, plus the awkward position I had to carry her in because of my giant belly, was just too much. I still was in pain by the end of the day, but I could do the barest minimum of tasks (load the dishwasher, for example).

My Mom arrived last Wednesday, and I am finally back to feeling like a fairly functional human. Having someone here to help has made all the difference. Yesterday I managed to bake cookies (oh my!) and put away three loads of laundry and clean the bedroom and change the sheets on all the beds. A week ago the idea of putting away half a basket of clothes was beyond me.  I am always glad to have my Mom visit, but I have never before been so glad to have her here.  I’m trying to not wear her out, but being as she is currently in bed with a stomach bug I’m not sure that I’ve succeeded on that front.

Aside from that, I’m just trying to be patient. I feel like I’m close, within a few days, but I’m trying to not think that way because I know how crazy it will make me if I’m wrong. There’s enough happening at the moment to keep me occupied, but once Christmas passes the waiting will feel especially difficult, I suspect. Husband will be back at work, my Mom will still be here if she hasn’t gotten sick of me yet, and all eyes will be on my uterus.

Sleep is really, really terrible. I seem unable to sleep more than a couple hours at a stretch. So I tend to fall asleep at midnight, sleep a couple hours, toss and turn for a couple hours, sleep a couple hours then get up. Then muddle through the morning and take a nap when Greta takes a nap. I am unable to remember how I functioned when I was pregnant with Greta and working full time. This time around, I have developed some sleep apnea as well, and wake up gasping for breath because my throat has closed off.

I am doing my best to try to enjoy my time with the girls, though. MJ is off school for the next two weeks and I’m trying to embrace everything 4. A couple weekends ago her and I met up with Erin and Annie and few other folks at a Holiday High Tea. It’s always so nice to spend some quality alone time with MJ, and makes me remember how special this age is, and how I so often miss it out of frustration or distraction. So I’m making strides, and it is helping. I’m trying to do something special for her or with her each day; the other day I made a scavenger hunt for her. Today it was letting her stay up late to eat cake. These little things have already brought us closer, and I need to keep it up. She’s been changing lately, in good and bad ways, and I see that she’s becoming her future self. I need to be more careful about the paths that I lay down for her. I read something about how the way we talk to our kids becomes their inner voice, and I want her inner voice to be different than the way I’ve been talking to her. So I’m trying to change that.

She’s become more sullen lately, not always the happy and exuberant child but sometimes grumpy or moody, and I’m finding this difficult to adjust to. But that is also making her more human. More of a real person instead of the animated character that is a toddler. She gets sad about friendships at school, or about arguments that DH and I have, and this is what makes her human. So I need to learn to appreciate this, too.

Greta, on the other hand, I’m finding to be just joyous. Trouble making, mess making, but gleeful and happy. I thoroughly enjoy this age, and although I was a little sad when she started walking and left babyhood behind, I’m finding it so fun to see more and more of her personality emerge. She understands quite a lot now, including “time-out” which she has landed herself in all of 3 times for viciously harassing our poor dog. She understands full sentences such as “Go find your sissy, I think she’s upstairs.” She constructs block towers (4 blocks high! and then MJ doesn’t understand why I’m not impressed by the same thing from her…) She loves to wrestle, drag baby dolls around the house and read books non-stop.

She loves her sister, always, and wants to be doing whatever MJ is doing. I find myself sympathizing so much more with Greta as the younger child, when she gets left out of something and is sad about it. I was talking to my Mom about this, who was the oldest, and she similarly sympathizes more with MJ. It’s a part of parenting I had not thought about before.

But these girls are just amazing. I feel lucky to be their mom, and lucky that I am currently past the tough couple weeks in which I was not appreciating anything about being anyones mom. I can’t believe Christmas is in 2 days! I feel like I missed a good two weeks of this Christmas season because of this pregnancy, which makes me sad. I love everything about Christmas, and haven’t gotten to do nearly as much as I had hoped to this year. I guess I still did pretty good, but much of it was a blur. The tree is up, the presents are wrapped and under the tree. The cards are sent. I didn’t think I’d get to those cookies we baked yesterday but was so happy that we did. I would have liked to do more crafts and made the season more magical, but at this moment I feel lucky for having survived. I feel blessed for our warm house (whilst it is VERY cold outside), far too many presents, my health, the help that I’ve had when I have needed it so very much, this baby that will eventually arrive, and for moments of pure joy amongst all the very tough ones.

On a side note, I think I will be moving this blog back to Blogger. My Tumblr experiment has been interesting, but I just don’t like the platform and am thinking of migrating back. I realize I may lose followers (again) but that is just the way of it. Ultimately, this an archive for me, and I find this archival format very frustrating. So look for some changes at some point….

A note for my future self, in case I think it's a good idea to have another baby.

Here I sit, 37 1/2 weeks pregnant. Impossibly pregnant, except that every day it gets even more impossible. This is my third pregnancy, you’d think I’d be able to wrap my head around the discomfort and difficulty of late pregnancy. Much like labor itself, though, I think it is a defense mechanism that we forget how terrible it is. Nature’s way of making sure we do this again, and that we don’t scare other baby-makers too much.

Although I had told my husband while we were dating that I thought I wanted 4 kids, I have now decided 3 will be the final number. At least, in-so-far as I get a say in the matter (because I realize sometimes nature has other designs). While I still think 4 sounds wonderful, I have come to realize that I am not the right mother for 4 kids. I am not patient enough. I am not a graceful enough pregnant person. I am downright bitchy for much of pregnancy. Early pregnancy because I am sick and so hormonal, late pregnancy because I am in so much pain and sleeping terribly.

It has dawned on me lately that my daughter (the oldest) is forming memories of everything that’s happening right now. She is becoming the person that she will forever be. And I am her role model. Of late, I have not been the best role model. She has ongoing problems talking kindly to other kids at school, and I can’t help but feel responsible for this. For the past 2.2 years I have been either pregnant or sleep deprived. The only mother MJ has known for all that time is some version of hormonal or tired, or, often, both.

It is time that she has a mother who is her normal self. Maybe not her best self, but at least a better version of herself. I need to be able to appreciate the children I have. To appreciate them where they are in time. To have the energy to teach them things and be kind to them. To form memories with them that are rich and wonderful. I haven’t been able to do these things, and I fear I will get worse before I get better, because I will have 2 kids under 2 years of age and will just be crazy all the time.

Anyway, future self, when you see cute, cuddly babies and smiling, gleeful toddlers, just remember that with that comes at least 15 months of hormones, fatigue and grouchiness, and ask yourself whether your current children deserve that from their mother. Because that’s how you operate, like it or not. Also ask yourself whether you are willing to give up the memories you couldbe making with the children you have simply because you’re too tired to make them.

It’s weird to wrap my head around the fact that it will probably be about 30 years before I have a front-row pass to babies again. I realize now where the longing for grandchildren comes from, because I already have it.

The one month (or so) countdown.

I find it interesting, when I take the time to think about it, that now that I have so much more to say about my children, and about parenthood in general, I say a lot less. On this blog, at least. Part of it is time. There is certainly less of that. A lot of it is an inability to distill my thoughts down to discreet stories. There are simply too many wonderful, cute, frustrating, infuriating and inspirational moments in every, single day, to say much meaningful about them all. And choosing just a few is hard, so I don’t bother.

I’ve been writing a lot less. I’m not real pleased about that. I’ve noticed that many, many blogs completely die once the writer has a third child. I am 35 weeks, 3 days pregnant with our third. Does that mean I only have about 5 more weeks of life left in this blog? I hope not.

I have a lot of thoughts about this pregnancy that I hesitate to share, in part because I worry someday that baby boy will read this and mistake my thoughts for regret. I have no regret. This baby is very much wanted, and I have no doubt he will be an amazing addition to this family. The simple fact is, we didn’t think too much about all of this. I had such a difficult time getting pregnant with Greta, that I figured if we wanted a third it would have to be a conscious decision and there would be real effort (i.e. medication) involved. If it happened by accident, then, in my mind, it was meant to happen, and we were saved from having to make a difficult decision.

But I have wondered lately, if we hadn’t had such a hard time having Greta, if we would be having a third at all. If we had felt that we could time this pregnancy to our convenience, we probably would have aimed for about 2 years apart, which would mean I’d be thinking about getting pregnant right about now. And I can tell you, I can’t imagine I would have had the energy after chasing Greta around all day, to think that would be a wise decision. So we would have waited, and eventually decided we didn’t want to start at square one again. And thus, we would have two wonderful children and stopped there.

I found out I was pregnant about a week before Greta started crawling, and I think that if I hadn’t gotten pregnant EXACTLY when I did, we would have made the decision that we just couldn’t handle three. Because crawlers, and toddlers and runners are no joke. They have the ability to get into just about everything, and yet lack any understanding of why that’s a bad idea. This is really the peak of trouble making and lack of rationality. And it’s right when we’re going to add a newborn to the mix.

In some sense, it will be easier, because newborns are lumps and just lay there. And Greta will (theoretically) be a little calmer by the time the boy is moving. But also, she will be trying to shove small objects in his mouth, will harass me while I’m trying to nurse and climbing on top of the table while I am attached at the boob. So that will be hard. I already know, if this boy is not an efficient nurser and I don’t have a miraculously strong milk supply, I may just not last very long. The last two have been complicated, and I had all the time in the world to feed them.

People keep asking me if I’m excited. (Note to future self: do not ask women pregnant with their third if they are excited). I always hesitate and then feel bad for not immediately being like “Yes!! And I love unicorns!” I am excited to have a third child in our family. I think 2-3 years from now will be amazing. But this next year? I am mostly just terrified. I don’t even know how the logistics will all work. When on earth am I going to sleep? How will I ever get a shower? How am I going to manage to carry Greta and the baby to the car? How am I going to get Greta the socialization she needs?

Greta is still so much a baby. She still prefers to be carried up and down stairs. She barely has words. She mostly sleeps through the night, but I still give her a bottle before bed (hope there are no dentists reading). She’s not even 16 months yet! I recently realized I’ve been pregnant for as much of her life as I’ve been un-pregnant.

Furthermore, I’m pretty much all she knows. When MJ was born, she was going to daycare. So she had a second support system, with teachers she loved and a place that remained stable even when home became chaotic. Greta has none of that, she just has me during the days. So I feel much guiltier about the effect this baby will have on her (for that matter, I felt no guilt about the effect a baby would have on MJ.) I feel like I’m taking part of her babyhood away from her, and forcing her to grow up faster than is fair.

Also?

I just realized I’m very, very tired. So that will have to be it for now, baby boy. I am excited to meet you. I’m excited to add you to the mix. You’re like a new, unknown ingredient in this amazing pot of stew we’ve been working on. I have no doubt that you will meld wonderfully, I just look forward to finding out how.

Getting so big.

This post is only… oh… about 2 months late.  I still consider this payback for arriving 5 days after her due date (that was a rough 5 days).

Not really, though.  I’m just behind on life.  Actually, I’m mostly behind on blogging, I’m pretty caught up on life.  It really is one or the other, rarely both.

The first video I took when MJ was 3 1/2 years old, inspired by Erin’s video of Annie at 3 years old.  I decided I want to do one of these every year, I just got started a bit late.  It’s interesting to see the difference that 6 months makes, even just in her appearance.  She’s lost more of her baby fat, and more of her baby speech.  She’s really, truly, getting so big.  

She’s turning into such a beautiful girl, and I’m not talking about her appearance.  I’m talking about her spirit.  Despite some fears I had when she was 1 year old and biting everyone, she’s incredibly kind.  She cares deeply about others and almost always tries to do the right thing.  She helps everyone in her family.  She is kind to strangers.  She is so inquisitive, which drives me batty but makes me proud at the same time.  She picks up pacifiers that babies drop, holds the door for strangers, gets concerned when another kid is upset, and is an all around good person.  

On top of that, she is so friendly that we know every one of our neighbors.  Not because we have met them, but because she has met them.  I’d be willing to bet she’s the most well known person on this block.  She has calmed considerably in this past year.  She loves to sit down and work on a puzzle or color a picture.  She will actually persevere until they are finished, which gives me hope that she is developing commitment to tasks.  She will delay gratification, saving a piece of candy for the very end of the day rather than eating it right away.  These are the traits I most hope to see in her, as they are the traits that I’m convinced will take her far in life.  It is so exciting to see the person begin to emerge from the baby.

She unexpectedly busts out vocabulary that I find shocking.  Like “omnivore” and “compromise” and “oxygen”.  I am probably harder on her than I should be, because I so often forget that she is as young as she is.  

On the downside, I feel that I’m starting to see some longterm tension in our relationship.  The husband says that we’re starting to get like Claire and Haley on Modern Family (the mom and daughter) and that I’m far too critical of her.  I’m working on that.  I’m working on infusing more positivity into our interactions, and I feel like it’s making a difference.  I’m working on lowering my expectations a bit, for the sake of our relationship.  I’m starting to realize that this is our future together, and whatever tone I set now will carry on for years to come.  I’ve been thinking a lot about what kind of relationship I want to have with my daughter, and what I can do to make that happen, without sacrificing my job as her mother.  I’ve often felt that it’s my job to be loving but tough.  I’m starting to wonder if it’s just my job to be loving, and to find other ways to achieve tough.  Helping put her in situations that are tough, rather than being the tough one myself.  If anyone knows the answer to this, by all means let me know.

But anyway, the videos speak for themselves.  Where she’s at in life.  What she thinks about.  She’s losing some of her spitfire, and a whole new girl seems to be blossoming.  But when someone crosses her, or someone she cares about, the spitfire comes right back.  I guess this is a good thing?  She’s becoming a more nuanced person.  These “Ode to MJ” birthday posts are going to get harder to write as she develops a more rich personality.  But I look forward to the challenge.

Little girl, that is so very, very big, I will love you always.  Here’s to an amazing 5th year on this planet.

love, Mom

MJ at 3 1/2 years old.

MJ at 4 years old.

Day in the life, Fall 2013.

MJ is a recently minted 4-year-old. Greta is nearly 15 months old. I am nearly 7 months pregnant (that sounds terrifying). I had meant to do this all week, but every day I realized at about noon that I had forgotten to document anything. So I chose the last possible day, Sunday, October 21st. On Friday we drove to Menomonie, Wisconsin, for the wedding of some friends. MJ had the time of her life, and she followed the bride around all. day. long. Thankfully, the bride is a sweet bride (as opposed to the other kind) and didn’t mind that MJ appeared in probably half of the pictures taken that day. The girls were up late Saturday night; Greta fell asleep about 9, and MJ didn’t fall asleep until 11, thanks to a late afternoon nap.

Husband and MJ.  At one of the points in the night when she was actually sleeping.

7:15 a.m. Kids are up. Really, Greta is up, because MJ was up off-and-on all night long. I think every time I got up to pee (which is often these days) she woke up and wanted to chit-chat. And she seems to chatter in her sleep, which I hadn’t realized, so that there never seems to be an end to the talking. I don’t know how pioneers did it, with one room cabins. Two nights in a hotel room with 2 kids, a drunk husband (not judging, it was a wedding after all) and a dog and I’m spent. So I talk husband into taking them down for breakfast through a very grumpy half-haze. My whole body aches, and my hips are particularly sore. 10 minutes later they’re gone and I actually manage to fall back asleep. Vito doesn’t even whine for once (though I discovered later that husband had taken Vito with and I hadn’t even realized it).

8:15 a.m. The crew is back in the room. You can hear the stampede coming down the hallway before they even get to the door. Husband comments that I’m the one that looks hungover, and I know he is right. I feel hungover. Two days with little sleep due to MJ has me worn out. I thought Greta would be the problem child, but I was wrong. MJ woke up at 4:30 a.m. on Saturday morning and never went back to sleep, and then didn’t fall asleep until 11 p.m. on Saturday night. At any rate, I get them dressed for the pool and husband takes them down. Thankfully, he’s being very helpful (if a bit begrudgingly, but I’ll take it). I grab some breakfast downstairs and chat with some of our friends that are also staying at the hotel. Our friends 21-month-old son managed to clog their toilet with T.P. which makes me laugh.

Yep.  7 months pregnant, in all my glory.  The detritus of a weekend in a hotel room behind me.  Greta dashing through the frame.

8:45 a.m. We meet up at the pool. I watch MJ swim and marvel at how good she’s gotten. We’ve had her in swim lessons for about a year-and-a-half, but this is totally new. Even two months ago she still couldn’t swim comfortably on her own. Now she is swimming, underwater, back-floating comfortably. I feel like everything has clicked within the last month or so, and it’s exciting to see. After watching her for a while, I take G upstairs.

9:00 a.m. I rinse Greta off and commence packing. As expected, I spend as much time keeping G from unrolling the toilet paper, eating the dog food and climbing on (falling off) the bed as I do packing.

G wearing an unnecessarily fancy dress because I forgot to pack her normal clothes.  Dashing around while I try to pack.

The bouquet that MJ charmed out of a bridesmaid.

9:20 a.m. Husband and MJ return. There is so much screaming. Mostly happy screaming. Some frustrated screaming. Some fighting over a doll. A moment when the door opens and every animal in the room escapes. We chat with some friends in the hall; I’m thankful to know that everyone we might be disturbing is at least already awake. We herd everyone back inside to finish packing, and I do my best to not be frustrated with them all (but know that I fail). We finally finish packing, husband carts it all to the van.

9:40 a.m. We are all in the car and on the road. I am so happy to return home. It has gotten cold, there is a threat of snow and it feels like winter has hit. The dreariness is disheartening, compounded by the fatigue, but the promise of home is comforting.

10:00 a.m. I take advantage of the long drive to chat with my Dad. He has just sent an e-mail that airplane tickets have been bought for an upcoming visit, and MJ is psyched. MJ is quiet in the backseat watching the iPad and G seems to be asleep, as I haven’t heard a peep from her. That makes for an early nap, and I’m not sure how the afternoon will play out. The husband and I have an unnecessarily long discussion about what to have for lunch. He wants Pho, I want anything but. We settle on picking some things up at the grocery store.

11:00 a.m. We arrive at Kowalski’s. Greta wakes up with a smile plastered across her face, a nice contrast to everyone else in the family. Shortly after walking in, MJ starts sobbing about an accidental scratch I give her and I realize she will likely need a nap; this is the curse of allowing her a nap the day before. It’s hard to break the nap cycle because it messes with her sleep so much. The cold of the grocery store makes my boobs hurt so badly I have to leave while Aaron checks out; this is a weird phenomenon I’ve had with every pregnancy. One that I won’t miss.

11:30 a.m. We all arrive home and drag everything inside. We turn the furnace on, which we have avoided until now. This truly means winter is on the way. We also turn the (gas) fireplace on, thankful for some instant heat while the radiators clang away. MJ instantly starts playing bride, singing at the top of her lungs and prancing around with the bouquet she swindled (sweet-talked) out of a bridesmaid the day before. I need a break from the prattle! The never-ending talking wears me down more than anything. G starts digging through the diaper bag for food and I talk her out of an apple.

Noon. Husband and I start working in the kitchen, making lunch for the girls. Tuna for him and MJ, grilled ham and cheese for G and I. We start putting groceries away, going through the mail, trying to tidy up the chaos of our Friday departure.

12:30 I send MJ upstairs to nap. On the rare occasions when she naps these days she likes to sleep in the guest bed. I guess it’s a treat for her, and it makes it easier to convince her to nap. Even so, I hear her stomping around upstairs and she comes down 5 minutes later complaining she can’t sleep. She gets sent back upstairs and all gets quiet pretty quickly. The husband and I have settled in for a lazy Sunday. We read the paper, G plays, happy to be back among her toys, I think. The house is finally starting to get warm and it puts everyone in a better mood. I can no longer dissuade her from the apple, and she sits in her little Ikea chair to eat it. I am shocked when she understands “You have to sit down if you want to eat an apple”. The things she understands continue to surprise me these days. She loves apples and it’s about the only thing she’ll sit down for an extended time for. When she’s done, she discovers a hilarious game, where she puts her teether in my mouth and her mouth and we play tug-of-war. She can’t stop laughing, and there’s something about a toddler laughing that leaves anyone powerless to not laugh.

MJ post nap.  

1:45 p.m. We wake up the big girl. Specifically, husband wakes her up. She’s such a daddy’s girl, which works well for me, as it frees me for the other one (and the upcoming one). She comes downstairs half asleep and immediately says “I couldn’t fall asleep” which makes everyone laugh. Seeing our two cute kids causes husband to again make the argument that we should really have 4 kids. This is something I never thought I’d have to talk him out of. I think a 3rd might break me, and a 4th most definitely. MJ asks what we’re going to do for the rest of the day, and we both say “Nothing”. We leave the baby gates open and G roams around the house for a while, which is pretty new territory for her. She’s good on the stairs and generally safe, but I generally like to keep her pretty close. Meanwhile, we put a chicken in the oven for dinner. MJ “makes” the guest room bed, which really means she has piled all of her toys and blankets and our pillows on it. I do a sub-standard job of not being annoyed by this.

The well made bed, shortly before disassembly.

2:45 p.m. After Greta melts down for no apparent reason I put her down for a nap. It is apparently a day for weird sleeping, and I hope this doesn’t mess with her bedtime. She’s pretty good about going to bed regardless of her nap situation. MJ, husband and I all help pick up the house. I have a hard time bending over these days and I usually task her with getting stuff on the floor, even though it’s usually (mostly) G’s fault. Thankfully she’s great at helping and hasn’t yet objected to the inequity. I guess she has, and I pointed out that I help pick up her things, make her food, etc., and I’m asking for her help with Greta. That has been as much complaint on the subject as I’ve heard (other than just general grumpiness about picking up). She also puts away everything she has piled on the guest bed. I allow MJ to get my heels from my closet since she helped pick up. She picks some black ones but is dissatisfied with the heel height (i.e. they are too short) and she is unsure why I would have such small heels. Some other heels are much more to her liking, and we play Cinderella, wherein she puts my heels on my feet. After a bit, we take Vito for a short walk. It’s raining outside so we make it quick, but it’s nice to get a chance to walk around the block with just MJ.

These apparently have an acceptable heel height.

A game I can get behind.

Her chosen footwear.  Sparkly, of course.

4:10 p.m. Come back from Vito’s walk and wake up G. She’s pretty easy to wake but not that happy to be awake. It becomes apparent pretty quickly that she’ll still sleep later. We feed her while we all cook in the kitchen. We make pumpkin soup, mashed potatoes and stuffing to go with the roast chicken. It’s total chaos, but nice to have everyone together. MJ insists on helping so I teach her how to peel potatoes. She’s too slow so I peel them and then give her one to practice on, which pacifies her. Despite my caution I know she will inevitably cut herself, but it seems like as good a time to learn as any, and the cut won’t be bad. After not too long, she of course cuts her finger, which leads to much crying and drama, but quickly turns into her singing a song of her own making titled “I am tough”.

Have you ever seen a more forlorn look?  

5:00 p.m The cut is still bleeding because MJ keeps messing with it. She refuses to just apply pressure and not “check on it” I’m tired, so husband finishes dinner while G and I play peek-a-boo on the couch. She has a diaper induced meltdown.

Another picture of G, because this is one of the rare days when I realize I’ve snapped barely any of her.  Girlfriend loves the pumpkin.

5:15 p.m. We all sit down to eat. Everyone chows down, even G who has already eaten a fair amount. MJ eats more than I’ve seen her eat in a long time. Lately we’ve been almost forcing her to eat because she just hasn’t been hungry much, and then she’ll devote her little bit of calorie consumption to snacks or dessert if given the opportunity. I want her to have a healthy association with food, but I also don’t want her to think that fruit snacks pass as food. During dinner she announces that she wants the tooth fairy to visit, and I explain that the tooth fairy won’t come until she’s older and loses her teeth. So she immediately starts whacking her teeth with her spoon, attempting to knock them out. I am alarmed at this plan of hers and quickly explain that the tooth fairy only comes when your teeth fall out naturally. She looks at me and says that it looks like my teeth will fall out soon, since I’m old.

She’s become 3-dimensional of late.  She drags the stool around and climbs on things when we’re not looking.

Sometimes I think we’re looking cuter than we really are, and I ask husband to take a picture, because I want more pictures of myself with the kids.  At least one of us is looking cute.

5:50 p.m. MJ returns to peeling her practice potato and finally finishes! She is so proud of herself. I am proud that she didn’t give up on peeling it after cutting herself. She is disappointed that it’s too late to make it into the mashed potatoes but vows that next time it won’t be.

The finished potato.

6:00 p.m. Bath time! The division of labor is usually that husband takes them upstairs for bath time and I clean up from dinner. I know he gets the easier task, but the quiet is a nice reprieve. G is not doing so well, lots of crying, and I hope that she can make it until bedtime at 7. The house is such a disaster, and I am so tired, I’m not sure where to put my time. I wipe down the dining room table, feeling like it must have been a week since that has happened. I replace some bulbs in the dining room chandelier, since it’s darker outside now, and instantly the brightened room is nice. The girls pile back downstairs for a bedtime snack of cheese and crackers. I started instituting a bedtime snack a couple months ago, to get MJ to not wake up so early and to get G to sleep through the night. Often we eat at 4 or 4:30, so it makes sense, but on a night like tonight? It seems a bit silly, but they eat regardless. I often worry that my oldest is being underfed and my youngest is being overfed. Hopefully neither are true.

6:55 p.m. Bedtime. Finally. I’ve been dreaming of this all day. Jammies. Bed. Stories. A short discussion about going to the library the next day, since we need some new reading material. I give Greta a bottle of milk. I’m not sure she still needs this, but she often drinks 6-8 ounces so I’m reluctant to cut it out. I convince myself that since she doesn’t fall asleep while sucking on it she isn’t destroying her teeth too badly. Still, I know it’s something we need to stop sometime. Husband and I take turns reading, G crashes around the room. We end with lights out, a bit more bottle, and tuck in. The girls are quiet quickly.

7:10 p.m. I head back downstairs to finish picking up. Husband picks up all the toys off the floor so I don’t have to bend over. He heads back upstairs. I don’t have the baby monitor because I haven’t unpacked it yet, but I assume he’ll grab me if needed. I finally finish at 7:40 and head back upstairs; I instantly hear G screaming. Why did he not come get me? He said she’s been upset for a while, and goes down to get another bottle for her. He gives it to her, and after a bit more fussing she falls asleep. Perhaps over-tired? I don’t know. Long day, long weekend. I stay up to read and play Candy Crush (which I’m determined to beat so-as to rid myself of this addiction). I stay up much too late (as I usually do) and don’t go to bed until 11.

(But p.s. I don’t stir until 5 a.m. I don’t remember the last time I slept 6 hours straight without even needing to pee. I go back to sleep and MJ sleeps until 7:30. She plays by herself for a while and G doesn’t wake until 8:30. Thankfully, no one had to be anywhere first thing so we all got to catch up on sleep. Nice way to end the weekend).

29 weeks and a lifetime awaits

2.5 months to go.

I could have sworn I wrote a post a week ago. Or 2 weeks ago. Or something. But I guess I only wrote that post in my head.

In 4 months time I will have a 1 month old. Oy.

My most overwhelming feeling is panic. Kind of a “Holy crap, what have we done” sort of feeling. (Baby boy, I have no doubt that someday that feeling will be replaced by love and joy, so don’t hold this against me.)

I’m up about 25 pounds, so it should come as no surprise that I’ve also started to get the “You sure there’s only 1 in there?” jokes that every middle-aged man thinks make him funny. I’ve also gotten some of the creepiest belly rubbing I’ve had with any of my pregnancies, enough to scare baby boy into staying put for a while, I’m sure.

I have been trying to get our life sorted. The girls have been sharing a room for about two months now (did I ever mention that?) and I’m finally trying to get their room all organized. The room sharing is going shockingly well, apart from the past few nights when G has woken up screaming because she wants me to come play with her at 3:30 a.m.. Part of what is difficult is when we don’t have anywhere else for MJ to sleep when G is having a difficult night. I am determined that G will be as close to a perfect sleeper as possible for when the newborn arrives, so I haven’t been very indulgent of her wakefulness and she has been figuring it out pretty quickly. But I’m certain we will need overflow sleeping when the newborn arrives. Somebody is guaranteed to have a bad night or need to sleep away from the chaos, and I think we’re going to put a twin mattress in our family room (which is basically sealed off from the rest of the house) for just those moments.

I’m sorting through all their clothes. Giving away baby girl clothes. Deciding to give away maternity clothes. I guess this is my commitment that this is our last, mostly because I simply can’t imagine that I am a sane or calm enough person for any more. But then I look at our babies… how could I ever face the possibility of no more babies in the house? I’m not sure how I’ll ever make peace with that, but maybe I’ll be too busy to have to make peace with it and I will only realize it once my ovaries are shriveled raisins. That seems like a healthy way to approach this.

Even the hubs looks at our amazing kids and claims he wants one more after this one… I think he just says it to mess with me, but… I know it’s going to be hard to say goodbye to this phase of our life. Having babies, starting families, building our clan… it has been such a monumental, life changing phase. What is the next life-changing phase? Retirement? That sounds depressing.

G has been amazing lately. So much work but so much joy. I was counting up her words today, those which she uses with regularity. We’ve got Mama, Dada, Nana, dog, bye, hi, no, and uh-oh (that she verbalizes) and milk and more (that she signs). But words she understands include cracker, pear, diaper, ball, shoes, night-night, Vito, and many more that I realize every day. She will even help in her little ways by putting things away when I ask her. But she will also get a devilish look in her eye before she attacks the dog, pulls her sisters hair or throws a jar of paint down the stairs. With MJ I found myself looking forward to when we could have conversations, and with Greta I am sort of enjoying that we can’t. The non-stop 3-yr-old jabber, while developmentally appropriate and signifying a healthy curiosity, makes my skin crawl. I seek quiet in my every day, and 3-yr-olds are anathema to that. So anyway, I am enjoying our limited word exchange.

MJ has also just been amazing. Starting to get absorbed in things. So much calmer than she used to be, so much easier to talk to and reason with. So much easier to explain “No, we can’t go play with the neighbors, even though you see them, because I have to make dinner.” Whereas before that would be so difficult for her to accept, she now understands the reality and the necessity and doesn’t rebel so much against the inevitable. I love talking about her interests. And fairies. And unicorns. And reading chapter books with her before bed, long enough that they have a real plot and real characters and she gets invested. I love hearing about her friendships at school, and who she played “House” with, and who was hogging all the crowns.

But this is supposed to be about you, little boy. I guess it will never be all about you, it will always be about how you fit into this little family. About how you’re the same, or how you’re different. I was so nervous before G was born about how she would fit in to the family, if she would get along with MJ. But she has fit so well, as though her presence was simply inevitable. I look forward to seeing how you fit. What niche you make for yourself. How your sisters will look out for you, because I know they will. How your poor future girlfriends will never be good enough for their baby brother. How they will paint your nails and dress you in heels. How they will someday have crushes on your friends.

Every day, I alternate between never wanting these sweet little moments to pass and between fearing that if the day doesn’t end soon I will lose my mind. I feel the same about this pregnancy. Much like a freight train, though, there is no stopping it. And much like growing up, I wouldn’t want to. But I can still be terrified about it all.

(p.s. Once I have this third kid, proof reading will be history. Let’s start practicing now.)