I'm sure you think I'll write something prophetic about how growing up is full of various moments of clarity, foresight, fortune, and luck, but we're not quite there yet developmentally. Instead I want to share the realization that I've had that all of these moments in the past six months - these little baby steps - towards being "human" and adulthood are marked by brief psychological and physiological leaps that are easy to miss. I'm not talking about the first smile, or the first step, but the times when I can tell, at least, that something has shifted - when his awareness has expanded.
For example: our nightly routine is to put Mason down at around 9pm and then have a little time to ourselves before going to bed a few hours later. For the past 5 months or so that we have done this, it has worked like a charm, but now he is stirring an hour or so after falling asleep and can't be put back to sleep unless we go to bed with him. He has realized when we are not there. We decided on night #2 of being parents that co-sleeping was for us. We loved the idea of the family bed and waking up next to him each morning is a moment that, no matter how bad a night I've had, always makes me smile. We were undecided when to "move" him to his own crib (that Dad lovingly built and has been used only for folding laundry since). Our pediatrician did it at 4 months, some books say 6 months, others say to expect 2-3 years. I keep talking myself out of it: "Oh, it's winter and it's cold in the back bedroom. I'd rather keep our heating bill down than have a baby with ice cubes for hands." But now that he's waking up and distinctly aware of whether or not we are there, I'm realizing that we've missed our window. Moving him now will be a challenging prospect, indeed.
But I don't see this missed window as negative thing. In fact, I am secretly glad because, in reality, Mason's life is an extended process of detachment. In two or three years (or sooner) he won't want to be in Mommie and Daddy's bed, he'll want his own. I've decided to enjoy this period of family intimacy while I can, while I still can wake up every morning to the sweetest toothless grin in the whole world, next to my two most favorite people. Just for a little while longer.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Mason - 6 Months
It's a gloomy, rainy day today, but it's Mason's 6-month birthday! I can't believe how fast the time has gone by. It seems like just yesterday we brought him home to a house full of relatives and I was in a sleep-deprived blur for two weeks.
Of course, he is still growing like a fiend! We had his well-baby check up and immunizations today and he is officially 20 lbs, 2 oz and 28" long (head is 17", I think). (When he was born he was 8 lbs, 8 oz, and 20" long, so he's right up there in the 92nd and 88th percentiles, respectively).
He has continued to astound us with his skills - pretty much sitting by himself except for the occasional helping hand, rolling all over the place (which he does even more exuberantly when naked - hmm??), his new guttural laugh that sounds like a machine gun, bringing his hands together and grabbing for objects, especially paper!, and expressing his vocal dexterity with everything from a whispery whimper to a chest-heaving yelp (he's doing that right now, actually). I think he's actually aware of 3-dimensionality now, which is interesting and knows what cause and effect is - this morning he was grabbing at his mobile and noticing how he could get the rest of it to move when he shook it. He is starting to also realize that he can make noise and now shakes his rattle-ly toys vigorously to emit sounds. Wait until he discovers pots and pans!
The big event this month was that we started him on solid foods - though it was not as exciting as we had hoped. He wasn't really into it and after trying rice cereal, sweet potatoes, and bananas (definitely NOT!), we decided to take a break. I just tried again this week to a much better reception. He cracks me up when he looks at me with his big bright eyes as he churns this textured food around in his mouth for the first time, learning how to swallow and not to choke it. He seems to really dig it now and eagerly opens his mouth for more. He LOVES drinking, though. After I feed him a little bit, I give him a small glass of water and he eagerly gulps it down (though, also occasionally choking). I've decided to try to skip the sippy cup stage and just go straight to adult cups. I know it might be a messy prospect, but hopefully a way to by-pass the constant-sippy-cup-clingy stage I see so many other babies and toddlers in (much like pacifiers).
We are looking forward to his first Christmas (LOTS of paper!) and seeing him try more foods this next month. Also - with my new job, we will be learning how to adjust our schedules around work, nap time, meetings, etc. No doubt, he will be a good sport and find new ways of entertaining himself. Which, I think he is done doing for now, so I must sign off...until next time.
Of course, he is still growing like a fiend! We had his well-baby check up and immunizations today and he is officially 20 lbs, 2 oz and 28" long (head is 17", I think). (When he was born he was 8 lbs, 8 oz, and 20" long, so he's right up there in the 92nd and 88th percentiles, respectively).
He has continued to astound us with his skills - pretty much sitting by himself except for the occasional helping hand, rolling all over the place (which he does even more exuberantly when naked - hmm??), his new guttural laugh that sounds like a machine gun, bringing his hands together and grabbing for objects, especially paper!, and expressing his vocal dexterity with everything from a whispery whimper to a chest-heaving yelp (he's doing that right now, actually). I think he's actually aware of 3-dimensionality now, which is interesting and knows what cause and effect is - this morning he was grabbing at his mobile and noticing how he could get the rest of it to move when he shook it. He is starting to also realize that he can make noise and now shakes his rattle-ly toys vigorously to emit sounds. Wait until he discovers pots and pans!
The big event this month was that we started him on solid foods - though it was not as exciting as we had hoped. He wasn't really into it and after trying rice cereal, sweet potatoes, and bananas (definitely NOT!), we decided to take a break. I just tried again this week to a much better reception. He cracks me up when he looks at me with his big bright eyes as he churns this textured food around in his mouth for the first time, learning how to swallow and not to choke it. He seems to really dig it now and eagerly opens his mouth for more. He LOVES drinking, though. After I feed him a little bit, I give him a small glass of water and he eagerly gulps it down (though, also occasionally choking). I've decided to try to skip the sippy cup stage and just go straight to adult cups. I know it might be a messy prospect, but hopefully a way to by-pass the constant-sippy-cup-clingy stage I see so many other babies and toddlers in (much like pacifiers).
We are looking forward to his first Christmas (LOTS of paper!) and seeing him try more foods this next month. Also - with my new job, we will be learning how to adjust our schedules around work, nap time, meetings, etc. No doubt, he will be a good sport and find new ways of entertaining himself. Which, I think he is done doing for now, so I must sign off...until next time.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Tra-di-tion! Tradition!
Family traditions are what make growing up memorable and are things that can and should be passed down to our children and children's children. Thinking back on the various ones that my family had and thinking ahead to what we want to instill for Mason, I'm left with quite a bevy from which to choose:
1) Every Easter my Dad would create amazing Treasure Hunts that involved tricky mathematics, computer problem-solving and script-language, and literary genius. Skull-cracking, but fun.
2) My great Aunt Marion would always go out and purchase a new game before we would come for a visit. Then, she would sit down with us and figure out how to play the new game all together. She really loved helping us learn.
3) My family always reads Christmas stories and opens up one present on Christmas Eve. Just like my Mom, I aspire to insanely decorate the house with little Christmas centerpieces. I'm not talking tacky blow-up Santa, but fabric swatches, candles, nutcrackers...the whole shebang!
4) My Dad took each kid on a business trip abroad and my Mom and Grandma took us on Cross-Country trips each summer. Both were the beginnings of our sense of adventure and love of travel.
5) After we graduated from college, we took a rafting trip down the Grand Canyon for 16 days. Life-changing.
6) As a gift to each of us, my Dad gave us a good watch. I know I will have mine forever.
These are the traditions that made my life unique and memorable and I hope to continue them. Most importantly, though, Michael and I will create our own as we grow as a family, too.
1) Every Easter my Dad would create amazing Treasure Hunts that involved tricky mathematics, computer problem-solving and script-language, and literary genius. Skull-cracking, but fun.
2) My great Aunt Marion would always go out and purchase a new game before we would come for a visit. Then, she would sit down with us and figure out how to play the new game all together. She really loved helping us learn.
3) My family always reads Christmas stories and opens up one present on Christmas Eve. Just like my Mom, I aspire to insanely decorate the house with little Christmas centerpieces. I'm not talking tacky blow-up Santa, but fabric swatches, candles, nutcrackers...the whole shebang!
4) My Dad took each kid on a business trip abroad and my Mom and Grandma took us on Cross-Country trips each summer. Both were the beginnings of our sense of adventure and love of travel.
5) After we graduated from college, we took a rafting trip down the Grand Canyon for 16 days. Life-changing.
6) As a gift to each of us, my Dad gave us a good watch. I know I will have mine forever.
These are the traditions that made my life unique and memorable and I hope to continue them. Most importantly, though, Michael and I will create our own as we grow as a family, too.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thanks and Giving
This is my favorite time of year because it always means time with family, which nowadays is a rare occasion since both of our families live all over the country. I woke up this morning and realized that we weren't going to be eating Thanksgiving dinner with any family members this year, just a couple of our good friends. But then I realized that instead, we have our own small family unit enjoying our first Thanksgiving Day together and it made me smile.
I have a long litany of things I can be thankful for this year - healthy baby, generous and supportive parents, superstar husband, heat, food, that Federal Tax Dividend check - but I too often focus my thoughts and my energy on various negative perceptions - what we don't have or can't have since we don't have two incomes, why Mason isn't sleeping through the night. Of course negative energy begets negative energy and, in fact, draws in even more like a black hole. What I want for today (and more often) is to really appreciate the present and all of the positives in my life. I was reading a piece that Michael Berg wrote about Thanksgiving, which puts all of this into perspective: "...our joy and fulfillment is dependent and exactly correlated to our appreciation of these blessings. More energy, and therefore fulfillment, can be flowing to us – when we strengthen and grow our gratitude."
Not only do I want to be thankful for what I do have, but I want to give it back to others. I want to call my Mom and tell her how much I appreciate that she raised me well. I want to tell my Dad that I'm thankful that he introduced me to Paris and started my love affair with the city and with international travel. I want to let Michael know that I couldn't be a good mom without him. I want to thank my friend, Annie, for getting married this day four years ago, thereby allowing Michael and I to meet. I want to give Zola a bone to chew on to let her know (even though she has no concept of "thanks") that she is a good dog. And my brothers, Will and Sam, for giving me great music and learning not taking myself too seriously, respectively. And most of all, although he doesn't understand it yet, thanks to Mason for giving me that toothless grin that expresses pure happiness each and every day.
I have a long litany of things I can be thankful for this year - healthy baby, generous and supportive parents, superstar husband, heat, food, that Federal Tax Dividend check - but I too often focus my thoughts and my energy on various negative perceptions - what we don't have or can't have since we don't have two incomes, why Mason isn't sleeping through the night. Of course negative energy begets negative energy and, in fact, draws in even more like a black hole. What I want for today (and more often) is to really appreciate the present and all of the positives in my life. I was reading a piece that Michael Berg wrote about Thanksgiving, which puts all of this into perspective: "...our joy and fulfillment is dependent and exactly correlated to our appreciation of these blessings. More energy, and therefore fulfillment, can be flowing to us – when we strengthen and grow our gratitude."
Not only do I want to be thankful for what I do have, but I want to give it back to others. I want to call my Mom and tell her how much I appreciate that she raised me well. I want to tell my Dad that I'm thankful that he introduced me to Paris and started my love affair with the city and with international travel. I want to let Michael know that I couldn't be a good mom without him. I want to thank my friend, Annie, for getting married this day four years ago, thereby allowing Michael and I to meet. I want to give Zola a bone to chew on to let her know (even though she has no concept of "thanks") that she is a good dog. And my brothers, Will and Sam, for giving me great music and learning not taking myself too seriously, respectively. And most of all, although he doesn't understand it yet, thanks to Mason for giving me that toothless grin that expresses pure happiness each and every day.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The Making Of A Foodie
After doing our research, debating the time frame, and choosing the right time of day, Michael and I, and most importantly Mason, have taken the plunge. We have started solid foods. Although we wanted to wait until he was 6 months old, his recent sleep patterns (i.e. he's tending to wake up every hour to two hours at night), his interest in our eating, his weight, and daily milk consumption has made us think that he's ready.
Of course I had to do my dutiful research and read several books and cross-referenced information in order to formulate exactly how this is going to work. I know most moms probably just think that it's a matter of popping open a different jar of baby food every few days and figuring out what he likes, but from what I've read, I've come to the realization that this is really a big deal. What Mason eats in the first few months lays the ground work for a life of eating well.
I admit to being pretty excited about this process. Just imagine if you've never had a kiwi before, or sweet potatoes, or yogurt, or beans. This is the beginning of all of these new flavors and colors and textures and it's all new to him. There is a whole world of food out there to discover!
We started this morning with, of course, brown rice cereal mixed with a little bit of breast milk. I think most of it ended up on his face and fist and he seemed to have more fun sucking on the spoon than anything else, but we did it and I think he actually liked it. Now begins the real fun.
We are both in agreement that giving Mason organic, whole foods is most important and offering a variety within the first year. I've read about making our own baby food and am not sure if I have the time or energy, but perhaps the cost savings might make it sensible. At the very least, I think I can manage making the suggested "Super Porridge" daily, which will eventually be a blend of whole grains and legumes for two meals a day mixed with a variety of fruits, vegetables, and egg yolks. Sprinkle in a little kelp, nutritional yeast, and desiccated liver and we've got a well-rounded menu. Key to making our own food, however, is owning a microwave with which to defrost stores of frozen food cubes mass-produced once a month. This is a step I'm not sure we will take, but maybe we all have to get out of our comfort zones a little.
So while the minuscule morsels he ingested this morning wasn't earth-shattering, it was the beginning of (hopefully) a life-long love of food.
Now, on to the fois gras!
Of course I had to do my dutiful research and read several books and cross-referenced information in order to formulate exactly how this is going to work. I know most moms probably just think that it's a matter of popping open a different jar of baby food every few days and figuring out what he likes, but from what I've read, I've come to the realization that this is really a big deal. What Mason eats in the first few months lays the ground work for a life of eating well.
I admit to being pretty excited about this process. Just imagine if you've never had a kiwi before, or sweet potatoes, or yogurt, or beans. This is the beginning of all of these new flavors and colors and textures and it's all new to him. There is a whole world of food out there to discover!
We started this morning with, of course, brown rice cereal mixed with a little bit of breast milk. I think most of it ended up on his face and fist and he seemed to have more fun sucking on the spoon than anything else, but we did it and I think he actually liked it. Now begins the real fun.
We are both in agreement that giving Mason organic, whole foods is most important and offering a variety within the first year. I've read about making our own baby food and am not sure if I have the time or energy, but perhaps the cost savings might make it sensible. At the very least, I think I can manage making the suggested "Super Porridge" daily, which will eventually be a blend of whole grains and legumes for two meals a day mixed with a variety of fruits, vegetables, and egg yolks. Sprinkle in a little kelp, nutritional yeast, and desiccated liver and we've got a well-rounded menu. Key to making our own food, however, is owning a microwave with which to defrost stores of frozen food cubes mass-produced once a month. This is a step I'm not sure we will take, but maybe we all have to get out of our comfort zones a little.
So while the minuscule morsels he ingested this morning wasn't earth-shattering, it was the beginning of (hopefully) a life-long love of food.
Now, on to the fois gras!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Dear Mason,
My Mama/Baby class had a homework assignment a few weeks ago to write a letter to our baby describing what we hope for them and what we want to teach them. I, of course, leaped on the opportunity to wax poetic about all the great things I want to accomplish as a mother. And I figured you readers out there would love to know, as well. So for posterity, and the chance that the letter might be erased from our hard drive, I'm posting it out here to cyberspace.
Dear Mason,
We are laying here together in front of a good fire on a cold Sunday morning. I’m drinking my coffee...you are playing with your bee toy looking at me with the tip of your tongue sticking out. I wonder what you are thinking. I’m sitting here this morning thinking of all the things that I hope for you and for your life and wanted to write them down, so that some day you may read them (and hopefully I will have succeeded.)
I want you to appreciate and enjoy good food, good wine, and good coffee. Suggestions are: anything French, Silver Oak, and Jamaican Blue Mountain.
I want you to understand that everything should be enjoyed in moderation.
I want you to be creative - whether it is through painting, music, photography, design, film, or sculpture. I want to absorb you in art, so you can find your own form of expression.
I want you to learn about trust, respect, honesty, gratitude, and integrity. I’m not sure how those lessons will come to fruition in your life, but hopefully I can give you the tools to understand their meaning when it matters.
I want you to say “Please” and “Thank you” and say both with sincerity.
I want you to know that lying, cheating, and stealing are not worthwhile endeavors.
I want you to see beauty in all things. Great and small. Trivial and earth-shattering.
I want you to never be afraid of dancing or singing in front of other people.
I want you to travel. Visiting the far reaches of the world gives you perspective and humility and can open your eyes to what a beautiful (and sometimes terrible) world we live in. If you can, visit Angkor in Cambodia, the Galapagos Islands, London, Paris, and Africa.
I want you to find the value in hard work - learn how to push yourself in school, in sports, and in relationships. Life is not easy and success often takes time, but in the end all that work is worth it because it forces you to grow as a person.
I want you to be healthy in mind, body, and spirit. Be wise and self-confident, not conceited; be active, not obsessively body-conscious; be positive, not pessimistic.
I want you to embrace your family and your true friends - they represent where you came from and where you are going.
I want you to help others. This builds character and keeps your ego in check.
I want you to love to read. The Classics, Shakespeare, the Economist, newspapers. By the time you grow up, you will be even more in the age of the internet and less of print media. Nothing compares to curling up and reading a good book.
I want you to learn another language - Spanish, French, Russian, Mandarin - whatever strikes your fancy.
I want you to have a healthy appreciation for money - it is meant to be spent on things you love, invested, or given to those in need. Don’t spend more than you have. Don’t become materialistic. Be thrifty when you can.
I want you to love the outdoors and find a hobby that lets you enjoy it - hiking, climbing, paddling, running, biking, etc. We live in a beautiful world with many natural wonders, but they all hang in a fine balance. Appreciate it and protect it while you can. We will raft the Grand Canyon together someday and then you may understand.
I want you to discover your own sense of spirituality. It comes in different forms to different people, but is important to know yourself and what you believe - it is a life-long journey.
I want you to know what love is. The best way we can show you is to give you it unconditionally and help you understand how powerful it is.
I want you to find happiness through all the things I have mentioned. It is possibly what life is all about.
I hope that when you read this you are that person.
Love,
Mommie
Dear Mason,
We are laying here together in front of a good fire on a cold Sunday morning. I’m drinking my coffee...you are playing with your bee toy looking at me with the tip of your tongue sticking out. I wonder what you are thinking. I’m sitting here this morning thinking of all the things that I hope for you and for your life and wanted to write them down, so that some day you may read them (and hopefully I will have succeeded.)
I want you to appreciate and enjoy good food, good wine, and good coffee. Suggestions are: anything French, Silver Oak, and Jamaican Blue Mountain.
I want you to understand that everything should be enjoyed in moderation.
I want you to be creative - whether it is through painting, music, photography, design, film, or sculpture. I want to absorb you in art, so you can find your own form of expression.
I want you to learn about trust, respect, honesty, gratitude, and integrity. I’m not sure how those lessons will come to fruition in your life, but hopefully I can give you the tools to understand their meaning when it matters.
I want you to say “Please” and “Thank you” and say both with sincerity.
I want you to know that lying, cheating, and stealing are not worthwhile endeavors.
I want you to see beauty in all things. Great and small. Trivial and earth-shattering.
I want you to never be afraid of dancing or singing in front of other people.
I want you to travel. Visiting the far reaches of the world gives you perspective and humility and can open your eyes to what a beautiful (and sometimes terrible) world we live in. If you can, visit Angkor in Cambodia, the Galapagos Islands, London, Paris, and Africa.
I want you to find the value in hard work - learn how to push yourself in school, in sports, and in relationships. Life is not easy and success often takes time, but in the end all that work is worth it because it forces you to grow as a person.
I want you to be healthy in mind, body, and spirit. Be wise and self-confident, not conceited; be active, not obsessively body-conscious; be positive, not pessimistic.
I want you to embrace your family and your true friends - they represent where you came from and where you are going.
I want you to help others. This builds character and keeps your ego in check.
I want you to love to read. The Classics, Shakespeare, the Economist, newspapers. By the time you grow up, you will be even more in the age of the internet and less of print media. Nothing compares to curling up and reading a good book.
I want you to learn another language - Spanish, French, Russian, Mandarin - whatever strikes your fancy.
I want you to have a healthy appreciation for money - it is meant to be spent on things you love, invested, or given to those in need. Don’t spend more than you have. Don’t become materialistic. Be thrifty when you can.
I want you to love the outdoors and find a hobby that lets you enjoy it - hiking, climbing, paddling, running, biking, etc. We live in a beautiful world with many natural wonders, but they all hang in a fine balance. Appreciate it and protect it while you can. We will raft the Grand Canyon together someday and then you may understand.
I want you to discover your own sense of spirituality. It comes in different forms to different people, but is important to know yourself and what you believe - it is a life-long journey.
I want you to know what love is. The best way we can show you is to give you it unconditionally and help you understand how powerful it is.
I want you to find happiness through all the things I have mentioned. It is possibly what life is all about.
I hope that when you read this you are that person.
Love,
Mommie
Monday, November 10, 2008
Mason - 5 Months
I can't believe I have a 5-month old asleep in my lap. How time flies and how fast he is growing! We are guessing that Mason is about at the 20 lbs mark - making carrying him around in his car seat quite the workout and fitting him into 6 month clothes a challenge. (He's now awake and giving me the sleepy-incredulous look). I can definitely see this little boy's personality start peeping out. He knows how to get Mommie's attention and can be a bit (I think) feisty sometimes and insistent. But maybe that's the way all babies are. He needs lots of variety, that's for sure. I can't really leave him to play in one place for more than 30 min. He gets bored quickly, but from what I've read (and depending on what you believe) this is a trademark of Gemini. Maybe he's just itching to get from one place to another himself, but frustrated that he can't yet and still needs my help.
The most exciting developmental milestone is that he can now roll over both ways and from belly to back and back to belly (though not as often). He is sitting with the help of his arms for stability, but not yet solidly balanced, so he still does face plants every so often. He is more expressively babbling for specific purposes - though most of his rantings are hard to decipher. Mostly, he loves to hear himself go on long, monotone sentences ending in -ahhhhhhhhh or -ehhhhhhhh. He enjoyed "razzing" (blowing bubbles and making juicy sounds) for about two weeks, but seems to be over it now. Mason has these moments of verbal clarity very early in the morning (like 5am) when he seems very deliberate and enunciates whatever he's looking at. A couple of weeks ago he clearly said "Da" and "Mister Zooie." Amazing!
We've had a warm spell for the last couple of weeks and we enjoyed being outside in the fall weather and going to various Halloween parties and movies. I'm not looking forward to the cold months, as it limits us to mostly indoor activities (i.e. walking around the mall and staying in our house). I did buy a fleece suit with a built-in hood, mittens and foot covers, so I can at least wrap him up and take him for walks occasionally.
Mason's hair seems to be coming in slowly - it's looking like it will be a light brown/blond sort of mix - and more like Michael's than mine. Eyes are still undetermined - definitely leaning towards dark smokey blue or hazel. He officially has pudgy fingers and feet.
Our big adventure this last month was starting him on cloth diapers, which is so far working out very well (but keeping me quite busy with laundry on a daily basis), but it a fair price to pay for environmental and financial savings.
Already I'm missing some of the things that marked the early months, which is a good thing, ultimately, but sad in how fast it has happened. Gone are the chirps and gosling sounds he used to make when he was a wee-thing. Gone are the grunts he used to make when he filled up his diaper. Gone are many creases and wrinkles in his arms and legs. Gone is the long ear hair that made him look like an elf. Gone is the heart-shaped bruise on top of his head. Gone are the 3-hour naps. But there are new things to replace those and they unfold each and every day...
The most exciting developmental milestone is that he can now roll over both ways and from belly to back and back to belly (though not as often). He is sitting with the help of his arms for stability, but not yet solidly balanced, so he still does face plants every so often. He is more expressively babbling for specific purposes - though most of his rantings are hard to decipher. Mostly, he loves to hear himself go on long, monotone sentences ending in -ahhhhhhhhh or -ehhhhhhhh. He enjoyed "razzing" (blowing bubbles and making juicy sounds) for about two weeks, but seems to be over it now. Mason has these moments of verbal clarity very early in the morning (like 5am) when he seems very deliberate and enunciates whatever he's looking at. A couple of weeks ago he clearly said "Da" and "Mister Zooie." Amazing!
We've had a warm spell for the last couple of weeks and we enjoyed being outside in the fall weather and going to various Halloween parties and movies. I'm not looking forward to the cold months, as it limits us to mostly indoor activities (i.e. walking around the mall and staying in our house). I did buy a fleece suit with a built-in hood, mittens and foot covers, so I can at least wrap him up and take him for walks occasionally.
Mason's hair seems to be coming in slowly - it's looking like it will be a light brown/blond sort of mix - and more like Michael's than mine. Eyes are still undetermined - definitely leaning towards dark smokey blue or hazel. He officially has pudgy fingers and feet.
Our big adventure this last month was starting him on cloth diapers, which is so far working out very well (but keeping me quite busy with laundry on a daily basis), but it a fair price to pay for environmental and financial savings.
Already I'm missing some of the things that marked the early months, which is a good thing, ultimately, but sad in how fast it has happened. Gone are the chirps and gosling sounds he used to make when he was a wee-thing. Gone are the grunts he used to make when he filled up his diaper. Gone are many creases and wrinkles in his arms and legs. Gone is the long ear hair that made him look like an elf. Gone is the heart-shaped bruise on top of his head. Gone are the 3-hour naps. But there are new things to replace those and they unfold each and every day...
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
E-Day
I remember this day four years ago when I was living in Colorado. I had helped my friends Leanne and Jeff campaign a little bit - going door to door - to promote John Kerry. It was an uphill battle because the state was decidedly Red. Still, we did our part to get the word out and it really opened my eyes to the world of political campaigns. That night we watched the returns come in at Coopersmith's in Fort Collins. I remember being there until at least 11pm waiting for Ohio - then it turned red, like all the rest - and the mood of the local Democratic campaigners was very grim. Another four years of George W. was in store for the nation and now look where it has taken us. I've seen gas prices almost double, I've seen the stock market crash, and I've seen this "war on terror" continue and we're not winning.
Today feels like New Year's Eve to me and I always take a moment to ponder what the coming year will bring for me. I feel similar because tomorrow is the dawn of a new day - a new age of possibility. Today I'm pondering what the next four years will bring if either of the Presidential candidates is elected. I think the next President will lay the groundwork for our nation and the world - setting the stage for the next 50 years in the economy, environment, and foreign relations. I think of the decisions that each Presidential candidate will potentially make that will impact the life of Mason - that in a way, I'm deciding what kind of world he will live in and, most importantly, if that world will be prosperous. Though he can only babble in the next room now, in 18 years he, too, will be voting today.
We will be watching the numbers come in tonight in great anticipation. I might even resign and let Mason watch a little bit of TV, as well. What's most interesting is both Colorado and North Carolina are considered swing states (though at last check I think Colorado had been relinquished as Blue - how things change in four years!). I'm proud that our votes are making a difference this year. In North Carolina it can still go either way (though based on early voting numbers Dems have the upper hand and already more voters state-wide than the last election total!) I know Buncombe County is solidly Blue, but we have to wait and see if the more rural counties will out-pace the heavy Democratic showings in Charlotte and the Triangle.
My hope is that my choice for President will succeed in facing the challenges that confront our country, so that in 18 years we will still have a land of the free in which Mason lives. Otherwise, we'll be moving to British Columbia.
Today feels like New Year's Eve to me and I always take a moment to ponder what the coming year will bring for me. I feel similar because tomorrow is the dawn of a new day - a new age of possibility. Today I'm pondering what the next four years will bring if either of the Presidential candidates is elected. I think the next President will lay the groundwork for our nation and the world - setting the stage for the next 50 years in the economy, environment, and foreign relations. I think of the decisions that each Presidential candidate will potentially make that will impact the life of Mason - that in a way, I'm deciding what kind of world he will live in and, most importantly, if that world will be prosperous. Though he can only babble in the next room now, in 18 years he, too, will be voting today.
We will be watching the numbers come in tonight in great anticipation. I might even resign and let Mason watch a little bit of TV, as well. What's most interesting is both Colorado and North Carolina are considered swing states (though at last check I think Colorado had been relinquished as Blue - how things change in four years!). I'm proud that our votes are making a difference this year. In North Carolina it can still go either way (though based on early voting numbers Dems have the upper hand and already more voters state-wide than the last election total!) I know Buncombe County is solidly Blue, but we have to wait and see if the more rural counties will out-pace the heavy Democratic showings in Charlotte and the Triangle.
My hope is that my choice for President will succeed in facing the challenges that confront our country, so that in 18 years we will still have a land of the free in which Mason lives. Otherwise, we'll be moving to British Columbia.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
"Mister Zooie"
One of those developmental milestones that Mason had so far not reached in the expected time-frame (I think 3-4 months is typical) is the so-called "razzing" where babies make noises whilst blowing bubbles with their lips closed. It's quite a funny activity and within the last week he has started doing this most of the time. With the razzing has come a bit more vowel and consonant sounds that are long and drawn out and at varying volumes.
Last Saturday night, Michael had a show and got home at 3am, which woke me up and, in turn, Mason who was ready for a feeding. So, the three of us were wide awake in the middle of the night and Mason started making his little sounds. Michael, for the fun of it, decided to say "Da" to see if Mason would repeat it (Michael has been on a Da-da kick for a few months now.) Then, without any ado, Mason said "Da" and that was that. We both looked at each other in disbelief. Maybe it was the sleepiness that allowed him to speak so clearly?
On Wednesday morning we were all in bed, refusing to get up and Mason started his babbling once again. It went something like this:
"Baaaabaaaaahhhhgggaaahhheeee....Mister Zooie...."
Again, we both looked at each other in disbelief. No, it didn't make any sense, but the words were very clearly anunciated. Mason had just said his first (real) words and he isn't even 5 months old. Sweet.
Last Saturday night, Michael had a show and got home at 3am, which woke me up and, in turn, Mason who was ready for a feeding. So, the three of us were wide awake in the middle of the night and Mason started making his little sounds. Michael, for the fun of it, decided to say "Da" to see if Mason would repeat it (Michael has been on a Da-da kick for a few months now.) Then, without any ado, Mason said "Da" and that was that. We both looked at each other in disbelief. Maybe it was the sleepiness that allowed him to speak so clearly?
On Wednesday morning we were all in bed, refusing to get up and Mason started his babbling once again. It went something like this:
"Baaaabaaaaahhhhgggaaahhheeee....Mister Zooie...."
Again, we both looked at each other in disbelief. No, it didn't make any sense, but the words were very clearly anunciated. Mason had just said his first (real) words and he isn't even 5 months old. Sweet.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Adventures in Cloth Diapering
Before Mason was born, I had spent months planning and preparing and making all kinds of decisions including whether or not to use cloth diapers. Since Asheville is home of the hippy-bourgeoisie, cloth diapering is very de rigueur. Since I was born pre-1985, cloth diapering seems normal to me. I distinctly remember pre-folds lying around the house and the white-tipped safety pins everywhere. If my mom could do it, so could I and with stern conviction I dutifully went out and purchased an array of diaper styles, as there are quite a selection from which to choose.
Now, although my mom did it with ease, I admit to being thoroughly intimidated by cloth diapers. I'm not really sure why - perhaps it's the extra work involved, perhaps it's the comfortability one has to develop with poop. Cloth diapering requires a certain amount of conviction because you can't just throw a dirty diaper away and forget about it...nope you have to let the poop-filled diapers mingle in sudsy water and hope they get clean...over and over again.
But I was resolute! Upon suggestion from the sales lady (and in retrospect, more of a sales pitch) I purchased several different kinds - Lovely Buns wool cover and inserts, Imse Vimse newborn inserts, recycled wool-sweater covers, Mother Ease, and Little Beetles. She explained that babies fit into different styles of diapers and it's best to try a variety and find out which style is the best fit. I brought them home and cleaned per their instructions - putting the cotton inserts through 7 loads of laundry to get their wicking properties working and linolin-ing and air drying all the wool covers.
Now there have been great strides made in the world of cloth diapers and I wanted to be on the forefront of the technological advances. I passed over the traditional pre-folds (at a mere $2.25 a piece) and instead chose the snazzy built-in snap and elastic versions (at $17-27 a piece.) When I announced this to my mom, she was shocked and remembered only paying $.50 each 30 years ago. The thing that was toughest for me to adjust to was that all of these flashy cotton diapers still needed wool covers to go with them that would wick away the moisture once the diaper was soaked. On an 8 lb baby, it seemed very bulky, but I went along with it anyway.
After Mason was born and we eased into parenting at the hospital with the help of plentiful Pampers and learning within the first few days that babies need a diaper change about every 1-2 hours (so at least 10 times a day), the thought of launching into the cloth diaper experiment was even more overwhelming. I was too busy learning how to be a parent to even want to worry about washing diapers constantly. That and the fact that all the ones I had purchased were ridiculously big steered me back into the disposable diaper camp. I told Michael that we would wait a few weeks and try it when we had our other routines down.
A few weeks came and went. Occasionally we would try out one of the diapers, but it would quickly get pooped in and had to be changed and, as noted above, since most of the diapers were ill-fitting, he exploded right through them. Soon enough, he had grown so big that he didn't fit into the newborn-sized ones that I had purchased. They were obsolete before they had really been broken-in.
Although I was comfortable with our fate as a disposable-diaper family, I still felt...guilty. The environmental impact of cloth diapers vs. disposables is arguable. What is saved in landfills, is spent in laundry water and electricity. (Though water and electricity are for the most part renewable and landfills are not.) What kept nagging at me was the cost-savings of the diapers themselves. Even if I purchased the more expensive and snazzy diaper option, I would make up for the cost within about 3 months of using disposables (we go through about a package a week at $13 bucks a pop) and they would last until he would be potty trained. And research has shown that cloth diapers babies are quicker to potty train because they feel the discomfort of going to the bathroom in a cloth diaper more readily than in a disposable.
In my Mama/Baby group, 3 out of 7 babies are in cloth diapers. Granted, this is Asheville, but again I felt that if they could do it, so could I! I had noted last week that several were using the same brand, bumGenius One Size, and were very pleased with them. I went home and did a little research and found that it was a pocket diaper with velcro straps that was essentially designed just like a disposable and, best of all, was designed such that the outer later was the waterproof fabric and didn't necessitate an additional cover. Even pre-folds require a cover in addition to the Snappis or pins I would need, which didn't make them an option for me - just too many components and too much bulk. I admit that once I get something in my head, it's hard for me to shake and it happened with the bumGenius diapers. I had to have them. Obsessive-compulsive, moi?
After perusing Craig's List (I have purchased almost every baby item through either Craig's List or eBay), I found someone selling new and used ones. So, I skipped over there and found that she was selling new ones at a discounted price and promptly snapped up 3 just to try out. After taking them home and putting them through the paces for a day, I was hooked. Even Michael is a convert. I emailed her back and got 7 more.
Today is the first full day of dutiful cloth diapering. So far, so good. No leaks, no ill-fitting clothes, and best of all, a happy cost-efficient mommy. Now with only 10 diapers, I will be doing laundry every day, but hopefully we can expand our collection to, say 16-20, so I can cut back to every other day. A local baby shop, The Littlest Birds, sells these diapers and what I can consign there can be converted to new diapers, so I'll just slowly grow our collection.
In the meantime, I've got to get some laundry going.
Now, although my mom did it with ease, I admit to being thoroughly intimidated by cloth diapers. I'm not really sure why - perhaps it's the extra work involved, perhaps it's the comfortability one has to develop with poop. Cloth diapering requires a certain amount of conviction because you can't just throw a dirty diaper away and forget about it...nope you have to let the poop-filled diapers mingle in sudsy water and hope they get clean...over and over again.
But I was resolute! Upon suggestion from the sales lady (and in retrospect, more of a sales pitch) I purchased several different kinds - Lovely Buns wool cover and inserts, Imse Vimse newborn inserts, recycled wool-sweater covers, Mother Ease, and Little Beetles. She explained that babies fit into different styles of diapers and it's best to try a variety and find out which style is the best fit. I brought them home and cleaned per their instructions - putting the cotton inserts through 7 loads of laundry to get their wicking properties working and linolin-ing and air drying all the wool covers.
Now there have been great strides made in the world of cloth diapers and I wanted to be on the forefront of the technological advances. I passed over the traditional pre-folds (at a mere $2.25 a piece) and instead chose the snazzy built-in snap and elastic versions (at $17-27 a piece.) When I announced this to my mom, she was shocked and remembered only paying $.50 each 30 years ago. The thing that was toughest for me to adjust to was that all of these flashy cotton diapers still needed wool covers to go with them that would wick away the moisture once the diaper was soaked. On an 8 lb baby, it seemed very bulky, but I went along with it anyway.
After Mason was born and we eased into parenting at the hospital with the help of plentiful Pampers and learning within the first few days that babies need a diaper change about every 1-2 hours (so at least 10 times a day), the thought of launching into the cloth diaper experiment was even more overwhelming. I was too busy learning how to be a parent to even want to worry about washing diapers constantly. That and the fact that all the ones I had purchased were ridiculously big steered me back into the disposable diaper camp. I told Michael that we would wait a few weeks and try it when we had our other routines down.
A few weeks came and went. Occasionally we would try out one of the diapers, but it would quickly get pooped in and had to be changed and, as noted above, since most of the diapers were ill-fitting, he exploded right through them. Soon enough, he had grown so big that he didn't fit into the newborn-sized ones that I had purchased. They were obsolete before they had really been broken-in.
Although I was comfortable with our fate as a disposable-diaper family, I still felt...guilty. The environmental impact of cloth diapers vs. disposables is arguable. What is saved in landfills, is spent in laundry water and electricity. (Though water and electricity are for the most part renewable and landfills are not.) What kept nagging at me was the cost-savings of the diapers themselves. Even if I purchased the more expensive and snazzy diaper option, I would make up for the cost within about 3 months of using disposables (we go through about a package a week at $13 bucks a pop) and they would last until he would be potty trained. And research has shown that cloth diapers babies are quicker to potty train because they feel the discomfort of going to the bathroom in a cloth diaper more readily than in a disposable.
In my Mama/Baby group, 3 out of 7 babies are in cloth diapers. Granted, this is Asheville, but again I felt that if they could do it, so could I! I had noted last week that several were using the same brand, bumGenius One Size, and were very pleased with them. I went home and did a little research and found that it was a pocket diaper with velcro straps that was essentially designed just like a disposable and, best of all, was designed such that the outer later was the waterproof fabric and didn't necessitate an additional cover. Even pre-folds require a cover in addition to the Snappis or pins I would need, which didn't make them an option for me - just too many components and too much bulk. I admit that once I get something in my head, it's hard for me to shake and it happened with the bumGenius diapers. I had to have them. Obsessive-compulsive, moi?
After perusing Craig's List (I have purchased almost every baby item through either Craig's List or eBay), I found someone selling new and used ones. So, I skipped over there and found that she was selling new ones at a discounted price and promptly snapped up 3 just to try out. After taking them home and putting them through the paces for a day, I was hooked. Even Michael is a convert. I emailed her back and got 7 more.
Today is the first full day of dutiful cloth diapering. So far, so good. No leaks, no ill-fitting clothes, and best of all, a happy cost-efficient mommy. Now with only 10 diapers, I will be doing laundry every day, but hopefully we can expand our collection to, say 16-20, so I can cut back to every other day. A local baby shop, The Littlest Birds, sells these diapers and what I can consign there can be converted to new diapers, so I'll just slowly grow our collection.
In the meantime, I've got to get some laundry going.
Eugoogooly
A family friend's father just passed away and he was generous enough to email the eulogy that he wrote for his father. It was a beautiful thing to read and (I imagine) moving to hear. I started thinking about life, our purpose, and how I believe that it's the legacy we leave - through our children, friends, family...our fingerprint on the world - that is what life, no matter how long or short, is all about. One of my favorite quotes is by Emerson: "To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch...to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded!"
I started wondering what Mason might say in a eulogy about me. I wonder if he will grow up and think that his mother and father were admiral people. That we taught him...respect, gratitude, integrity, wonder, and finding his own truth. I've always felt intimidated by the daunting task of raising and cultivating a little human being, but remember that my parents did it for me and I turned out pretty well. What I need to remember is to do the best I can and have comfort in the fact that that will be good enough and that I'll be remembered for my successes and my mistakes and in between Mason will find a balance. And one day he, too, will pass that on.
I started wondering what Mason might say in a eulogy about me. I wonder if he will grow up and think that his mother and father were admiral people. That we taught him...respect, gratitude, integrity, wonder, and finding his own truth. I've always felt intimidated by the daunting task of raising and cultivating a little human being, but remember that my parents did it for me and I turned out pretty well. What I need to remember is to do the best I can and have comfort in the fact that that will be good enough and that I'll be remembered for my successes and my mistakes and in between Mason will find a balance. And one day he, too, will pass that on.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
The Good Son
I am part of a Mama/Baby group that meets every week, so I've had the opportunity to observe some other wee ones and have come to several conclusions:
1) Pacifiers can easily be used to plug the hole that is a baby's crying mouth. Many mothers use it as a tool to soothe and calm, quiet and (believe it or not) pacify. Luckily, Mason has escaped this fate and I'm very happy for it.
2) No matter what advice people give me or anyone else about how we should raise babies, I always come back to the fact that all babies are different and will have to be raised differently. Sure one can draw generalizations, but most every thing I've heard or read comes back around to babies will do whatever babies will do and parents just have to work with it.
3) Moms can talk for hours about poop, sleep, and breastfeeding. Of course all topics have the underlying theme of "Is this normal?"
4) By all intents and purposes, I have a really good son. Now, as a mom, I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking this. But when I look at our group of babies, I compare mine to everyone's and I am able to sit back and count myself lucky that Mason doesn't whine or whimper or fuss or cry at all, really. Granted, I feel as though I paid my dues with a rough first two months where he wanted to be held and fed constantly, but we made it through. I don't know if that by something that Michael and I did or if we just got lucky. Or if I will be singing a different tune when he hits the age of 2. We shall see, but for now I will enjoy the good times of a very happy baby.
1) Pacifiers can easily be used to plug the hole that is a baby's crying mouth. Many mothers use it as a tool to soothe and calm, quiet and (believe it or not) pacify. Luckily, Mason has escaped this fate and I'm very happy for it.
2) No matter what advice people give me or anyone else about how we should raise babies, I always come back to the fact that all babies are different and will have to be raised differently. Sure one can draw generalizations, but most every thing I've heard or read comes back around to babies will do whatever babies will do and parents just have to work with it.
3) Moms can talk for hours about poop, sleep, and breastfeeding. Of course all topics have the underlying theme of "Is this normal?"
4) By all intents and purposes, I have a really good son. Now, as a mom, I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking this. But when I look at our group of babies, I compare mine to everyone's and I am able to sit back and count myself lucky that Mason doesn't whine or whimper or fuss or cry at all, really. Granted, I feel as though I paid my dues with a rough first two months where he wanted to be held and fed constantly, but we made it through. I don't know if that by something that Michael and I did or if we just got lucky. Or if I will be singing a different tune when he hits the age of 2. We shall see, but for now I will enjoy the good times of a very happy baby.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Grumpy Old Men
I have been utterly astounded at how a sweet little baby can make strangers smile and talk to you, give their own advice, and even propose declarations of love (Meemaw down the street and Michael's bosses.) That is until yesterday.
Now Mason is officially a spitter. He seemingly ejects half of what he eats (not really given his size) and it's something we have gotten used to (our dog Zola is finely attuned for the sound he makes when he spits up and quickly arrives at the scene to lick up whatever may have fallen on the floor - doggie dessert.)
Yesterday we were at a restaurant, granted not one of the "child friendly" establishments that are so proliferous in a town of young families, but we were successfully enjoying our lunch with Michael's dad and a friend who were in town visiting. Mason had been sitting on my lap for the duration of the meal and towards the end after some time of leg bouncing he proceeded to spit up. I turned him, as I usually do, to aim more for the floor than my clothes and he let loose (maybe a tablespoon). At the table behind us was an older couple saw what happened and were thoroughly disgusted. I just overheard the wife say in a dry grimace "Do you still have an appetite?" to her husband. Michael told me later that he had made an "uber-distgusted" face (while continuing to stare) then proceeded to put up the wine list that was on the table to block his view of the filth.
In my mind, as a sensitive mother whose child can do no wrong, I felt their attitude was entirely unsympathetic and I decided then and there that they can't possibly have any grandchildren. I also realized that I've become so accustomed to having people dote on my angel of a son that it really hurts my feelings when someone doesn't smile because of him. Perhaps I need to learn, at long last, to not take things so personally. And to let him continue to spit up wherever he damn well pleases.
Now Mason is officially a spitter. He seemingly ejects half of what he eats (not really given his size) and it's something we have gotten used to (our dog Zola is finely attuned for the sound he makes when he spits up and quickly arrives at the scene to lick up whatever may have fallen on the floor - doggie dessert.)
Yesterday we were at a restaurant, granted not one of the "child friendly" establishments that are so proliferous in a town of young families, but we were successfully enjoying our lunch with Michael's dad and a friend who were in town visiting. Mason had been sitting on my lap for the duration of the meal and towards the end after some time of leg bouncing he proceeded to spit up. I turned him, as I usually do, to aim more for the floor than my clothes and he let loose (maybe a tablespoon). At the table behind us was an older couple saw what happened and were thoroughly disgusted. I just overheard the wife say in a dry grimace "Do you still have an appetite?" to her husband. Michael told me later that he had made an "uber-distgusted" face (while continuing to stare) then proceeded to put up the wine list that was on the table to block his view of the filth.
In my mind, as a sensitive mother whose child can do no wrong, I felt their attitude was entirely unsympathetic and I decided then and there that they can't possibly have any grandchildren. I also realized that I've become so accustomed to having people dote on my angel of a son that it really hurts my feelings when someone doesn't smile because of him. Perhaps I need to learn, at long last, to not take things so personally. And to let him continue to spit up wherever he damn well pleases.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Steamship
Every once in a while I am faced with the revelation that every person I interact with has their own path that is their life and my interaction with them - whether it be a smile as I pass them by on the street or a lifelong friendship - is a momentary joint venture in our separate journeys. This concept really blows my mind if I think about it and realize all the crisscrossing that goes on in a day, a week, even a year. (On another topic, I fully believe that each of these encounters fulfills a greater purpose in aligning our life in a certain way, which is what we, in turn, have purposed that way to be. In my wedding reception speech I tried to summarize it by saying that every single person in that room had, in essence, made me who I am and in doing so had made that day possible.)
Deepak Chopra captures it better in a quote I just read: "Imagine the self as a huge steamship, fully loaded, set on reaching a destination. When you set eyes on this ship in mid-journey, you don't see it being loaded, leaving port and settling on where it wants to go. By analogy, when you see [someone], you meet [them] at a given moment, but [they] are sailing through [their] life fully loaded with past influences – all of us express our entire lives in this very minute. The minute is fleeting, but the momentum carrying us forward is immense."
What struck me yesterday is the only exception to this fleeting circumstance, in a way, is Mason's little life. I watched him get born and have since spent (almost) every waking and sleeping moment with him and I will continue to do this for the next 18 years (at least.) Our paths are intertwined and I am able to affect most of the "cargo" that gets loaded in. Everyone else in my life is a passing steamship, but my son is a steamship that I created and will steer for the rest of my life. How amazing is that?
Deepak Chopra captures it better in a quote I just read: "Imagine the self as a huge steamship, fully loaded, set on reaching a destination. When you set eyes on this ship in mid-journey, you don't see it being loaded, leaving port and settling on where it wants to go. By analogy, when you see [someone], you meet [them] at a given moment, but [they] are sailing through [their] life fully loaded with past influences – all of us express our entire lives in this very minute. The minute is fleeting, but the momentum carrying us forward is immense."
What struck me yesterday is the only exception to this fleeting circumstance, in a way, is Mason's little life. I watched him get born and have since spent (almost) every waking and sleeping moment with him and I will continue to do this for the next 18 years (at least.) Our paths are intertwined and I am able to affect most of the "cargo" that gets loaded in. Everyone else in my life is a passing steamship, but my son is a steamship that I created and will steer for the rest of my life. How amazing is that?
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Mason - 4 Months
Mason's awareness is definitely becoming more profound. He has found his feet (though not yet to the point that he sucks on his toes) and looks up at the sky a lot on our walks. When his is on his belly (which he now loves), his head moves from side to side taking it all in. Being on his belly so much, he is already showing a proclivity towards crawling. The bottom half of the body has it figured out with his knees up under his belly and butt in the air, but the arms have yet to learn that they must also bend and push up and forward to make the whole thing work. Rolling over from his belly to his back and pulling up from sitting to standing is a piece of cake.
The long drawn out vowel-chorus sounds seem to have decreased, but the decibel level when he does makes those sounds has increased. I think he actually says "mah" to mean "milk" when he's hungry. We even noticed the other day that he can turn his tongue upside down, which is an inherited trait (from me - Michael can't do it at all). Genetics at work!
The daily calisthenics have been formalized into a (free) Mama/Baby yoga class that I found, which is a lot of fun. I'm trying to find more baby things to do around town. So far Michael and I have frequented a local bar that does a "Babies 'n Beer" happy hour every Tuesday after work. Though it's meant to be a networking thing, we both do it for the beer. Next week I'll try a storytime at the library down the road.
He has started giggling at the sight of our dog, Zola. I'm not sure if it's the of look of her face compared to ours up close, but he thinks she's hilarious.
Since I'm at home and usually in charge of making dinners, I have starting putting Mason in his chair in the kitchen, so he can watch me cook. I've turned into a regular Martha Stewart as I explain each of the steps to make the meals (this week was lasagna and lentil soup), as his sits there. It is quite fun, I have to say!
Now weighing 18.6 lbs (not because of my cooking), he has officially grown into his six-month clothes (the 3-6 month only lasted us for two months!!!). But with the cold weather coming in, we need more of the long-sleeved stuff anyway. Somehow I managed to buy all striped and plaid clothes. He is officially a preppy baby.
Next week we head to the doctor for his 4-month immunizations and an official weigh-in. Michael and I celebrate our two-year anniversary at the end of the month and I can't believe how things have changed in that short time.
The long drawn out vowel-chorus sounds seem to have decreased, but the decibel level when he does makes those sounds has increased. I think he actually says "mah" to mean "milk" when he's hungry. We even noticed the other day that he can turn his tongue upside down, which is an inherited trait (from me - Michael can't do it at all). Genetics at work!
The daily calisthenics have been formalized into a (free) Mama/Baby yoga class that I found, which is a lot of fun. I'm trying to find more baby things to do around town. So far Michael and I have frequented a local bar that does a "Babies 'n Beer" happy hour every Tuesday after work. Though it's meant to be a networking thing, we both do it for the beer. Next week I'll try a storytime at the library down the road.
He has started giggling at the sight of our dog, Zola. I'm not sure if it's the of look of her face compared to ours up close, but he thinks she's hilarious.
Since I'm at home and usually in charge of making dinners, I have starting putting Mason in his chair in the kitchen, so he can watch me cook. I've turned into a regular Martha Stewart as I explain each of the steps to make the meals (this week was lasagna and lentil soup), as his sits there. It is quite fun, I have to say!
Now weighing 18.6 lbs (not because of my cooking), he has officially grown into his six-month clothes (the 3-6 month only lasted us for two months!!!). But with the cold weather coming in, we need more of the long-sleeved stuff anyway. Somehow I managed to buy all striped and plaid clothes. He is officially a preppy baby.
Next week we head to the doctor for his 4-month immunizations and an official weigh-in. Michael and I celebrate our two-year anniversary at the end of the month and I can't believe how things have changed in that short time.
Mason - 3 Months
Having reached the three-month mark I feel we are well on our way to developing a unique little human being. Two weeks ago Mason weighed in at 15.8 lbs, so we think he is at least 16 1/2 at this point. He has officially out grown the infant insert in the car seat (let alone the 3-6 month clothes that we already dug into 3 weeks ago). Every day we have our "calisthenics time" where we practice sitting, standing (oh yes!), and rolling over - broken up, of course, by some bicycle leg work, spine re-adjustment, joint movements, and massage. This kid will be crawling by Christmas!
Although he hasn't yet quoted Shakespeare, he is very proficient in the "ah-goo," "eh!," and "arrrgh" lexicon. Michael is desperately working on "Da-da." I, on the other hand, and comfortable with being referred to as "ah-goo." In an effort to communicate more effectively than foolishly mimicking his baby-talk, we have started working on sign language, which from what I've read is very effective. Key words are: milk, more, finished, change (i.e. diaper or clothes), mommy, daddy, go, walk, car, please, thank you. I'm sure it is working...just need to learn the signs for "Is that a dagger I see before me?"
Smiling is second nature - he even has fine-tuned the Lady Killer, Oh-So-Coy, and Guilty (i.e. I just pooped) smiles. We've even been witness to possibly the most adorable sound in the world - his first giggles. I'm talking melt-your-heart-while-I-burst-out-laughing-myself giggles. Then I try to figure out what I did to predicate such an event and keep doing it.
Not only has he found his hands, but he has realized that he can hold and swat at things with them. In addition to my armory of diapers and rags that I take every where, I now have to include toys - rattles, sucking-things, squishy/rattly stuffed objects.
He is equally enamored with other beings. Tonight at the Mama/Baby class he actually stared at other babies and mommies for 5 minutes at a time - he was really taking things in and is aware of his surroundings and even on the verge of interacting with them! And with that he has fervently asserted that he will not be voting for Palin, I mean, McCain.
Although he hasn't yet quoted Shakespeare, he is very proficient in the "ah-goo," "eh!," and "arrrgh" lexicon. Michael is desperately working on "Da-da." I, on the other hand, and comfortable with being referred to as "ah-goo." In an effort to communicate more effectively than foolishly mimicking his baby-talk, we have started working on sign language, which from what I've read is very effective. Key words are: milk, more, finished, change (i.e. diaper or clothes), mommy, daddy, go, walk, car, please, thank you. I'm sure it is working...just need to learn the signs for "Is that a dagger I see before me?"
Smiling is second nature - he even has fine-tuned the Lady Killer, Oh-So-Coy, and Guilty (i.e. I just pooped) smiles. We've even been witness to possibly the most adorable sound in the world - his first giggles. I'm talking melt-your-heart-while-I-burst-
Not only has he found his hands, but he has realized that he can hold and swat at things with them. In addition to my armory of diapers and rags that I take every where, I now have to include toys - rattles, sucking-things, squishy/rattly stuffed objects.
He is equally enamored with other beings. Tonight at the Mama/Baby class he actually stared at other babies and mommies for 5 minutes at a time - he was really taking things in and is aware of his surroundings and even on the verge of interacting with them! And with that he has fervently asserted that he will not be voting for Palin, I mean, McCain.
Mason's Birth Story
It started at 11:30am on Monday, June 9th when I mixed my caster oil cocktail - 2 oz. of the horrendous stuff tasting like cheap lipstick along with 2 oz of OJ, chased by a Reece’s cup. Per midwife lore, the drink is intended to purge the digestive tract and, in doing so, encourage the uterus to start contracting, as well. Since I was already 12 days overdue and wanted to avoid induction at the hospital, this was the option I chose.
It is important to note that this was the last resort after a string of other such “natural” forms of induction. I went to the chiropractor four times, I tried acupuncture, eating eggplant Parmesan, taking evening primrose oil, drinking ginger tea, getting a “stretch and sweep” (which sounds great if it involves calisthenic house cleaning, but not so much when it is your hoo-ha), having lots of sex, and even mentally willing it to happen. Castor oil was the final option before going to the hospital for a pitocin induction at week 42. Luckily that didn’t have to happen.
The afternoon passed with heavy cramping and the expected systemic “purging.” Michael and I walked to Lydia’s house and almost didn’t make it to her bathroom. We lounged around after wards musing for yet another day how I was still pregnant. Lydia read through some astrological foreshadowings for the next week and we wondered that perhaps he was just biding his time for the cosmically “right” time. I remember Tuesday’s sounding particularly desirable.
Still not feeling any sort of heavy uterine cramping, I invited my parents over for dinner. Michael whipped up hamburgers with all of the fixings, french fries, etc and they arrived at about 6:30. When the food was ready I sat down at the table and couldn’t eat a bite. Since everything I ate that day had been evacuated, I was surprised that I wasn’t more hungry, but also noticed that I had to focus on some more serious cramping that was coming in waves every few minutes. I couldn’t keep up with the conversation and kept drifting off staring into the woods (BAM!). Feeling that these might be more than the “menstrual-type cramps” of Braxton-Hicks that I’d been feeling for weeks, I went to lay down and secretly timed them with my cell phone. It was 7:30pm.
When Michael finally let my parents leave, I turned to him and told him to call the midwives - my contractions were 3 minutes apart, a minute long, and had been in this pattern for over an hour. I didn’t want to mention it to my parents, as I didn’t want to get them too excited...for some reason after all the waiting it seemed to good to be true. Michael, on the other hand, started running around the house in a panic getting everything ready for the home-birth we had been planning for months. It was finally time - after weeks of waiting, days of crying and thinking something was wrong with me or the baby - I was in labor.
The midwives arrived at about 10pm. Molly, one of the assistants, was there first and Jan arrived at midnight after being at another labor in the hospital. Michael and I started with walks up and down the street and he applied counter-pressure to my sacrum, which helped the pain at first. Still, things were going slow and I was only 3-4 cm dilated by 6am. During the night, the midwives noted that I was especially lucid in between contractions - not a good sign - and then I spewed twice for good measure. All I was able to keep down was Sprite and a few baby carrots (with which in the last weeks of pregnancy I was OBSESSED). Michael was a champ - napping only a couple of times (on the floor in the study at one point, I think), but other than that steadfastly staying by my side, breathing with me, massaging, and encouraging me constantly.
At 7am, we decided to break my water to see if that would speed things up; however, they gave me the disclaimer that if meconium was the amniotic fluid (a strong possibility being so overdue) it would be a one-way Concorde ticket to the hospital. We took a chance and, luckily, there was none to be found.
Shortly after this, the midwives changed shifts and the next group came in by 8am - Roni, the head midwife, Jen, the assistant, and Nancy the “insurance.” The day itself seemed to drag on forever. Jan had left hoping that I would give birth by noon and I hoped that, as well, since my contractions had gotten even stronger.
I moaned up a storm and moved between the bath tub to the bedroom and didn’t see anything else for the entire day. Visions of colored graph lines and sound waves danced in my head during each contraction, but my accompanying groans were so loud (and more likely obnoxious) that by 2pm, Roni encouraged me to instead try breathing through the contractions so I wouldn’t "loose my voice." Angry neighbors and bored midwives joined my visions. Still, my progress was slow and I was only 7cm by the late afternoon.
At this point, Roni was charting my progress, but also aware of an "anterior lip." I sounds almost as fun as it felt - part of my cervix that had not yet opened enough and was, essentially, blocking the movement of the baby’s head down the birth canal. The solution for this was for her to push her fingers to try to push the lip back while I would bear down and push his head down further. Suffice it to say, this was incredibly painful and seemed to last FOR-E-VER. Nancy even flexed her midwifery muscles and did this trick of squeezing a vial full of arnica onto my cervix to help it soften, after which I had to lay with my back end up in the air and breath through several contractions without pushing. Yeah - how fun is it to not push when all you feel like doing is push? I remember a fierce thunderstorm (I did moan up a storm!) in the afternoon and thinking that I knew he would be born on a rainy day - if that was any consolation.
Finally, at around 4:30pm, the lip moved and I was able to really start pushing (OH YES!!! more pushing!!!) I moved between squatting and laying on my back, but still was making very little progress. Roni would put her fingers between the baby’s head and my sacrum and tell me to “push her fingers out.” How can I possibly put into words what this feels like..."very, very painful" doesn't even come close. "Oh my god, I'm going to die from the girth of my son's head" is closer.
At 6pm, Roni said that he still hadn’t moved down much further and she thought that the lip had actually moved back and was impeding progress again. By this point, I had been in labor almost 24 hours and hadn’t eaten anything (or kept it in) for almost 36 hours. My strength was waning and, worse, the baby was starting to show signs of distress. Her advice was a transfer to the hospital where I could get an IV and possibly an epidural. Michael tells me later that they actually were thinking of slowing my labor completely and letting me sleep and try again in the morning, but I don’t remember any of that. All I remember was that going to the hospital was an easy decision - I had tried my best at home and what was important was to keep my baby safe.
Before leaving for the hospital, I somehow had lucidity enough to direct Michael to gather a change of clothes for myself (though not a toothbrush - prepared for a trip to the hospital, we were not).
On the drive, as the three cars caravanned down I-240, I remember wondering why we took the long way, wishing I’d asked that if I felt the urge to push, whether I should (I tried not to, but couldn’t help but push, as the contractions were so strong), and tried to breathe through the most painful car ride I’ve ever had. I told Michael that I was willing to get an epidural and use whatever drugs were necessary once we arrived at the hospital to get this baby out - I was done. Done, done, DONE.
After we arrived, I was gingerly wheeled (if one can do that with a groaning behemoth who looks gentle, but in reality could rip you to shreds at any moment) into Labor & Delivery trying with all my might to work through the contractions. We had to stop every few yards while I worked through another and another. Since I didn't have it together enough when I left the house to get dressed, I was only wearing a sarong and sure I looked completely wasted. At this point I was very much in a daze and was vaguely aware of the needles for the IV being stuck in me, the disclosure forms I had to sign verifying I was a patient and that the hospital could perform a C-section, and the fetal monitor getting strapped to my belly. The room abuzz with nurses, along with Roni, who had changed from her Marvin Gaye “War is not the answer” t-shirt to hospital scrubs, Jen, and Michael - still steadfastly by my side encouraging me to breathe, breathe, breathe. Not that I didn't enjoy the calm comfort of my own home, but something about the environment seemed to get me a little more focused.
Once I was all “hooked up” Roni sat down beside me and gave me the cold hard truth. There was no time for an epidural, the car ride to the hospital had helped the baby move to about 3+ station (I had felt his head with my fingertips by this point) and I was only allowed a short time before I would have to have (according to some advising doctor who would be involved) a C-section. This meant I had to push...MORE. Now, let's review. By this point I'd been pushing for, oh, say, 4 HOURS. "Exhausted" would be an understatement. All I could do was whimper “no, I can’t.” It was just too hard a prospect to push even more. Fortunately (in retrospect), saying "no" wasn’t an option. I had to push and that was all there was to it, so we began again at about 7pm.
I remember flashes and moments within this hour. I remember lying on my back with a nurse and Jen holding each of my legs up for me and pushing them back as far as they would go and Michael giving me an oxygen mask between contractions. Everyone was yelling “push, push, PUSH.”
Back up for a minute....Michael and I had dutifully taken the pre-natal classes and read the pro-natural books, listened to doulas and friends talk about labor and how key it is to move, rotate hips, breathe, listen to music, sway, squat, whatever to help the baby get out. Birthing should NOT be the Hollywoodized version of a woman lying on her back, legs aghast, screaming her bloody head off, veins popping (my favorite version being Keri Russell in 'The Waitress'). This was not the picture of labor I had envisioned. Somehow, even though I felt like I was being turned inside out, I didn’t get angry, did not once cuss, and just a few times whimpered, “I’m trying.” But, good god did I SCREAM.
It is difficult, in the midst of labor, the hold one’s legs back and neck up, and force all of the pushing energy into your core without popping blood vessels or pushing your legs down. It would usually take me a push or two to get into the rhythm of releasing my legs, and holding my breath, and focusing on my core and pushing the baby out. They brought a mirror over, so I could see the progress, but I refused to look while I was pushing because every time I thought I was pushing my absolute hardest and felt I had made progress, there was none. His head kept bobbing in and out of my now 10 cm gaping hoo-ha. Seeing a mere 3 inches of baby’s head made me seriously wonder how the hell the rest of him was going to pop out.
My legs were cramping and the nurse and Jen had to massage them in between contractions. The baby’s heart rate was decreasing as his head stayed squeezed in my pelvis. I wasn’t doing enough and I felt that I was giving it my all. Roni kept pouring mineral oil on me saying “we’re going to grease this baby out.” Michael kept making noises like our friend Pierce grunting/singing to help encourage me to grunt instead of scream. But I couldn’t help it - that was the only release that my body could muster that seemed to help the situation.
I remember resting between a contraction and looking at the monitor to watch another one start up and looking at Roni square in the eyes with fierce determination to say "This - this is the one."
The next thing I knew, I looked in the mirror there was a full head and I watched it rotate for a second (but in the moment it felt more like slo mo). I just stared in disbelief, but kept pushing to get the rest of him out. I distinctly remember the feeling of his arms and legs coming out of my body. It happened so fast and felt like a slimy, bumpy object moving between my legs (it was).
Then all of a sudden he was on my chest and everyone was in motion. They were rubbing him with a blanket and suctioning his nose and mouth to get him breathing, which the pulsing umbilical cord lay between my legs. Mason had made it. All I could do was be in awe of what just happened and how it was possible for me to summon what power I could to do what I did at the very end.
Through all the hubbub, I refocused on Michael and smiled. He tells me later there were moments throughout the whole labor where I would look up at him and smile in the midst of everything. We were amazed with each other and with what had just happened. Our son was born.
He was 8 lbs, 8 oz, 20” long, and born at 8:17pm on June 10, 2008. (I distinctly remember the nurse yelling “Time!” as he came out.) He didn’t have a name yet (not for another 2 weeks), but he was beautiful. He came out with a majestic cone head (think Dan Akyroyd a la SNL) bent earlobe, a bruise and scab on the top of his head (shaped like a heart), along with a clearly visible dent high on his forehead where he had been bumping against my pelvic bone on the way out. It turns out that he was occiput posterior or “sunny side up,” which was part of the reason that the labor was so long and challenging. No one knew this, as I hadn’t had significant back labor, which is usually a prerequisite. This fact, alone, made me something of a wonder woman in most everyone’s eyes. I was called a "hero" and a "birth warrior" several times for what I had endured. To me, it was all just part of the journey.
After he was born, everything became so clear so quickly. I shifted from my labor delirium into a very present state of motherhood instantly (during which the post-labor procedure occurred of "delivering" the placenta by pushing MORE, getting two stitches, and waddling around in a glorified Depends). But it didn’t really matter - our little boy was in my arms and Michael was still beside me (he even worked up the courage the cut the cord despite his queasiness.)
The room was very busy and loud and bright after the birth, but it quieted down by 9pm or so and we had that hour to ourselves. By 10pm, we were moved up to the “Mother and Baby” floor and visited by Mom and Wes (who had been very patiently waiting the whole day and evening to see us). It was blissful and I was still in shock and awe.
Michael shifted effortlessly into his role as father and caretaker - making sure we had what we needed and making a much-needed run to the cafeteria to get me food. I think I actually bi-passed eating and just inhaled the pre-packaged chicken salad crossandwich he brought me.
All in all, it was a relief to be at the hospital and taken care of for the first two nights. The nurses were wonderful and everyone had tips about one thing or another (still to this day cannot swaddle like those pros). I felt like we were in our own little world of newborn-dom and not until Thursday realized that I was sharing a floor with many other new mothers and babies in their own state of bliss and newness (3 of which were coincidentally my co-workers who I'd been pregnant at the same time).
I had so many impressions in the days immediately following the birth, but I forget them now. Wonder. Awe. Newness. Denial. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. The pain was distinct (did I mention he had a 14 inch head) and made me not want to have another kid for the first couple of days (ok, weeks). Funny how quickly that feeling subsides. I didn’t cry when he was born - I felt more relief and disbelief. I still can’t believe I did what I did. I can’t believe he lived inside of me for nine months. But I’m absolutely in love with our little son, who lays sleeping on the floor here making his little goose-sounds while he sleeps.
It is important to note that this was the last resort after a string of other such “natural” forms of induction. I went to the chiropractor four times, I tried acupuncture, eating eggplant Parmesan, taking evening primrose oil, drinking ginger tea, getting a “stretch and sweep” (which sounds great if it involves calisthenic house cleaning, but not so much when it is your hoo-ha), having lots of sex, and even mentally willing it to happen. Castor oil was the final option before going to the hospital for a pitocin induction at week 42. Luckily that didn’t have to happen.
The afternoon passed with heavy cramping and the expected systemic “purging.” Michael and I walked to Lydia’s house and almost didn’t make it to her bathroom. We lounged around after wards musing for yet another day how I was still pregnant. Lydia read through some astrological foreshadowings for the next week and we wondered that perhaps he was just biding his time for the cosmically “right” time. I remember Tuesday’s sounding particularly desirable.
Still not feeling any sort of heavy uterine cramping, I invited my parents over for dinner. Michael whipped up hamburgers with all of the fixings, french fries, etc and they arrived at about 6:30. When the food was ready I sat down at the table and couldn’t eat a bite. Since everything I ate that day had been evacuated, I was surprised that I wasn’t more hungry, but also noticed that I had to focus on some more serious cramping that was coming in waves every few minutes. I couldn’t keep up with the conversation and kept drifting off staring into the woods (BAM!). Feeling that these might be more than the “menstrual-type cramps” of Braxton-Hicks that I’d been feeling for weeks, I went to lay down and secretly timed them with my cell phone. It was 7:30pm.
When Michael finally let my parents leave, I turned to him and told him to call the midwives - my contractions were 3 minutes apart, a minute long, and had been in this pattern for over an hour. I didn’t want to mention it to my parents, as I didn’t want to get them too excited...for some reason after all the waiting it seemed to good to be true. Michael, on the other hand, started running around the house in a panic getting everything ready for the home-birth we had been planning for months. It was finally time - after weeks of waiting, days of crying and thinking something was wrong with me or the baby - I was in labor.
The midwives arrived at about 10pm. Molly, one of the assistants, was there first and Jan arrived at midnight after being at another labor in the hospital. Michael and I started with walks up and down the street and he applied counter-pressure to my sacrum, which helped the pain at first. Still, things were going slow and I was only 3-4 cm dilated by 6am. During the night, the midwives noted that I was especially lucid in between contractions - not a good sign - and then I spewed twice for good measure. All I was able to keep down was Sprite and a few baby carrots (with which in the last weeks of pregnancy I was OBSESSED). Michael was a champ - napping only a couple of times (on the floor in the study at one point, I think), but other than that steadfastly staying by my side, breathing with me, massaging, and encouraging me constantly.
At 7am, we decided to break my water to see if that would speed things up; however, they gave me the disclaimer that if meconium was the amniotic fluid (a strong possibility being so overdue) it would be a one-way Concorde ticket to the hospital. We took a chance and, luckily, there was none to be found.
Shortly after this, the midwives changed shifts and the next group came in by 8am - Roni, the head midwife, Jen, the assistant, and Nancy the “insurance.” The day itself seemed to drag on forever. Jan had left hoping that I would give birth by noon and I hoped that, as well, since my contractions had gotten even stronger.
I moaned up a storm and moved between the bath tub to the bedroom and didn’t see anything else for the entire day. Visions of colored graph lines and sound waves danced in my head during each contraction, but my accompanying groans were so loud (and more likely obnoxious) that by 2pm, Roni encouraged me to instead try breathing through the contractions so I wouldn’t "loose my voice." Angry neighbors and bored midwives joined my visions. Still, my progress was slow and I was only 7cm by the late afternoon.
At this point, Roni was charting my progress, but also aware of an "anterior lip." I sounds almost as fun as it felt - part of my cervix that had not yet opened enough and was, essentially, blocking the movement of the baby’s head down the birth canal. The solution for this was for her to push her fingers to try to push the lip back while I would bear down and push his head down further. Suffice it to say, this was incredibly painful and seemed to last FOR-E-VER. Nancy even flexed her midwifery muscles and did this trick of squeezing a vial full of arnica onto my cervix to help it soften, after which I had to lay with my back end up in the air and breath through several contractions without pushing. Yeah - how fun is it to not push when all you feel like doing is push? I remember a fierce thunderstorm (I did moan up a storm!) in the afternoon and thinking that I knew he would be born on a rainy day - if that was any consolation.
Finally, at around 4:30pm, the lip moved and I was able to really start pushing (OH YES!!! more pushing!!!) I moved between squatting and laying on my back, but still was making very little progress. Roni would put her fingers between the baby’s head and my sacrum and tell me to “push her fingers out.” How can I possibly put into words what this feels like..."very, very painful" doesn't even come close. "Oh my god, I'm going to die from the girth of my son's head" is closer.
At 6pm, Roni said that he still hadn’t moved down much further and she thought that the lip had actually moved back and was impeding progress again. By this point, I had been in labor almost 24 hours and hadn’t eaten anything (or kept it in) for almost 36 hours. My strength was waning and, worse, the baby was starting to show signs of distress. Her advice was a transfer to the hospital where I could get an IV and possibly an epidural. Michael tells me later that they actually were thinking of slowing my labor completely and letting me sleep and try again in the morning, but I don’t remember any of that. All I remember was that going to the hospital was an easy decision - I had tried my best at home and what was important was to keep my baby safe.
Before leaving for the hospital, I somehow had lucidity enough to direct Michael to gather a change of clothes for myself (though not a toothbrush - prepared for a trip to the hospital, we were not).
On the drive, as the three cars caravanned down I-240, I remember wondering why we took the long way, wishing I’d asked that if I felt the urge to push, whether I should (I tried not to, but couldn’t help but push, as the contractions were so strong), and tried to breathe through the most painful car ride I’ve ever had. I told Michael that I was willing to get an epidural and use whatever drugs were necessary once we arrived at the hospital to get this baby out - I was done. Done, done, DONE.
After we arrived, I was gingerly wheeled (if one can do that with a groaning behemoth who looks gentle, but in reality could rip you to shreds at any moment) into Labor & Delivery trying with all my might to work through the contractions. We had to stop every few yards while I worked through another and another. Since I didn't have it together enough when I left the house to get dressed, I was only wearing a sarong and sure I looked completely wasted. At this point I was very much in a daze and was vaguely aware of the needles for the IV being stuck in me, the disclosure forms I had to sign verifying I was a patient and that the hospital could perform a C-section, and the fetal monitor getting strapped to my belly. The room abuzz with nurses, along with Roni, who had changed from her Marvin Gaye “War is not the answer” t-shirt to hospital scrubs, Jen, and Michael - still steadfastly by my side encouraging me to breathe, breathe, breathe. Not that I didn't enjoy the calm comfort of my own home, but something about the environment seemed to get me a little more focused.
Once I was all “hooked up” Roni sat down beside me and gave me the cold hard truth. There was no time for an epidural, the car ride to the hospital had helped the baby move to about 3+ station (I had felt his head with my fingertips by this point) and I was only allowed a short time before I would have to have (according to some advising doctor who would be involved) a C-section. This meant I had to push...MORE. Now, let's review. By this point I'd been pushing for, oh, say, 4 HOURS. "Exhausted" would be an understatement. All I could do was whimper “no, I can’t.” It was just too hard a prospect to push even more. Fortunately (in retrospect), saying "no" wasn’t an option. I had to push and that was all there was to it, so we began again at about 7pm.
I remember flashes and moments within this hour. I remember lying on my back with a nurse and Jen holding each of my legs up for me and pushing them back as far as they would go and Michael giving me an oxygen mask between contractions. Everyone was yelling “push, push, PUSH.”
Back up for a minute....Michael and I had dutifully taken the pre-natal classes and read the pro-natural books, listened to doulas and friends talk about labor and how key it is to move, rotate hips, breathe, listen to music, sway, squat, whatever to help the baby get out. Birthing should NOT be the Hollywoodized version of a woman lying on her back, legs aghast, screaming her bloody head off, veins popping (my favorite version being Keri Russell in 'The Waitress'). This was not the picture of labor I had envisioned. Somehow, even though I felt like I was being turned inside out, I didn’t get angry, did not once cuss, and just a few times whimpered, “I’m trying.” But, good god did I SCREAM.
It is difficult, in the midst of labor, the hold one’s legs back and neck up, and force all of the pushing energy into your core without popping blood vessels or pushing your legs down. It would usually take me a push or two to get into the rhythm of releasing my legs, and holding my breath, and focusing on my core and pushing the baby out. They brought a mirror over, so I could see the progress, but I refused to look while I was pushing because every time I thought I was pushing my absolute hardest and felt I had made progress, there was none. His head kept bobbing in and out of my now 10 cm gaping hoo-ha. Seeing a mere 3 inches of baby’s head made me seriously wonder how the hell the rest of him was going to pop out.
My legs were cramping and the nurse and Jen had to massage them in between contractions. The baby’s heart rate was decreasing as his head stayed squeezed in my pelvis. I wasn’t doing enough and I felt that I was giving it my all. Roni kept pouring mineral oil on me saying “we’re going to grease this baby out.” Michael kept making noises like our friend Pierce grunting/singing to help encourage me to grunt instead of scream. But I couldn’t help it - that was the only release that my body could muster that seemed to help the situation.
I remember resting between a contraction and looking at the monitor to watch another one start up and looking at Roni square in the eyes with fierce determination to say "This - this is the one."
The next thing I knew, I looked in the mirror there was a full head and I watched it rotate for a second (but in the moment it felt more like slo mo). I just stared in disbelief, but kept pushing to get the rest of him out. I distinctly remember the feeling of his arms and legs coming out of my body. It happened so fast and felt like a slimy, bumpy object moving between my legs (it was).
Then all of a sudden he was on my chest and everyone was in motion. They were rubbing him with a blanket and suctioning his nose and mouth to get him breathing, which the pulsing umbilical cord lay between my legs. Mason had made it. All I could do was be in awe of what just happened and how it was possible for me to summon what power I could to do what I did at the very end.
Through all the hubbub, I refocused on Michael and smiled. He tells me later there were moments throughout the whole labor where I would look up at him and smile in the midst of everything. We were amazed with each other and with what had just happened. Our son was born.
He was 8 lbs, 8 oz, 20” long, and born at 8:17pm on June 10, 2008. (I distinctly remember the nurse yelling “Time!” as he came out.) He didn’t have a name yet (not for another 2 weeks), but he was beautiful. He came out with a majestic cone head (think Dan Akyroyd a la SNL) bent earlobe, a bruise and scab on the top of his head (shaped like a heart), along with a clearly visible dent high on his forehead where he had been bumping against my pelvic bone on the way out. It turns out that he was occiput posterior or “sunny side up,” which was part of the reason that the labor was so long and challenging. No one knew this, as I hadn’t had significant back labor, which is usually a prerequisite. This fact, alone, made me something of a wonder woman in most everyone’s eyes. I was called a "hero" and a "birth warrior" several times for what I had endured. To me, it was all just part of the journey.
After he was born, everything became so clear so quickly. I shifted from my labor delirium into a very present state of motherhood instantly (during which the post-labor procedure occurred of "delivering" the placenta by pushing MORE, getting two stitches, and waddling around in a glorified Depends). But it didn’t really matter - our little boy was in my arms and Michael was still beside me (he even worked up the courage the cut the cord despite his queasiness.)
The room was very busy and loud and bright after the birth, but it quieted down by 9pm or so and we had that hour to ourselves. By 10pm, we were moved up to the “Mother and Baby” floor and visited by Mom and Wes (who had been very patiently waiting the whole day and evening to see us). It was blissful and I was still in shock and awe.
Michael shifted effortlessly into his role as father and caretaker - making sure we had what we needed and making a much-needed run to the cafeteria to get me food. I think I actually bi-passed eating and just inhaled the pre-packaged chicken salad crossandwich he brought me.
All in all, it was a relief to be at the hospital and taken care of for the first two nights. The nurses were wonderful and everyone had tips about one thing or another (still to this day cannot swaddle like those pros). I felt like we were in our own little world of newborn-dom and not until Thursday realized that I was sharing a floor with many other new mothers and babies in their own state of bliss and newness (3 of which were coincidentally my co-workers who I'd been pregnant at the same time).
I had so many impressions in the days immediately following the birth, but I forget them now. Wonder. Awe. Newness. Denial. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. The pain was distinct (did I mention he had a 14 inch head) and made me not want to have another kid for the first couple of days (ok, weeks). Funny how quickly that feeling subsides. I didn’t cry when he was born - I felt more relief and disbelief. I still can’t believe I did what I did. I can’t believe he lived inside of me for nine months. But I’m absolutely in love with our little son, who lays sleeping on the floor here making his little goose-sounds while he sleeps.
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