The First Six Weeks

Six weeks ago today, I was in labor. It was snowing, and I refused to believe I would actually have to be out in that nastiness on my way to deliver. And yet... here we are.


Things I have learned over the past six weeks include...


During Delivery

• People will come in and out of your room without announcing their presence
• People will be all up in your va-jay-jay without introducing themselves
• People will continue to ask you questions even though you do not have the presence of mind to attend to them AND to the labor contractions... and you're more likely to attend to the latter

After Birth

• Despite being SO incredibly tired, you might just not be able to sleep for the excitement of meeting this little person you've been waiting to cuddle
• You might not get many visitors... and that's okay
• ...and if it's not okay, if you had your baby at the hospital, there are plenty of staff to be in and out of your room all day and night

Coming Home

• By the third child, it feels like that baby was always there; you just have to reconsider sleeping arrangements
• Your newbie's siblings may fall instantly in love... or they might willfully ignore the fact that the n00b is here
• Your eldest might tell the (now) middle child that she loves the baby more than him
• The (now) middle child might tell you that he wishes the baby would die
• You might cry because of these things

The First Two Weeks

• ...well, they absolutely still suck. Even though baby #3 feels totally like he's always been there, the adjustment to poor sleep and frequent feedings takes a lot out of you
• ...and a lot out of your partner, who is picking up the slack around the house for everything else you can't do now that nearly 100% of your time involves having an infant hanging off your breast or being up to your elbows in mustardy-poop
• You are likely to have less patience with each other, and with your other kids
• You might decide it's best to have daddy sleep elsewhere in the house so he can get a good night's sleep and not be the devil-parent (someone has to be nice, at least)
• You might really miss each other
• Your breasts hurt like a sonofabitch - you realize you forgot that the "natural" breastfeeding isn't exactly, like, naturally easy to do
• You might have experienced engorgement, a lump, and the desperation of trying to keep baby awake long enough during a feeding to squeeze out that painful milk backlog
• Your partner may offer an ice cube to wake up baby, and it becomes a running joke ("Want an ice cube?")

The Second Two Weeks (weeks 3 and 4)

• Ah, adjustment! You are finding your groove
• You discover this growing person also has a little personality
• You understand his language, know his sleepy cry from his hungry cry, and his likes and dislikes
• He likes, for example, to be near you - and has started to coo when you talk to him
• He can see a teeny bit farther and knows which blurry blobs are his parents and siblings
• You may feel adventurous enough to go on outings
• Your breasts are starting to feel semi-normal again... except that they are at least twice the size they used to be and you can't wear many of your "regular" shirts
• Your maternity pants are too big, and your regular pants are too small.... ah, sweatpants will do (preferably with drawstring)

The Third Two Weeks (weeks 5 and 6)

• My word, he smiled at you! The real kind, not the gassy kind
• And thank goodness he smiles and is so cute, or otherwise you'd probably hate him because he's decided to eat and sleep on some crazy new schedule you haven't figured out yet
• And you realize that his love of cuddling with you extends now to only sleeping when you are holding him, and that he wakes when you put him down
• You'd really like to go pee without bringing the baby along
• Or eat lunch without worrying about dropping food on him while he dozes in your lap
• Oh, and you have to go back to work next Monday, which reminds you that you need to pump
• And your partner isn't back in your bed yet because nobody trusts that this baby is going to sleep in his own space without disturbing the whole house
• But at least the (now) middle child has warmed up enough that he kisses baby goodnight
• And you might have figured out that he needs to sleep on your dirty clothes in the crib to have your smell on him
• And despite all of this, you're still sad that the convalescent-getting-to-know-you time is almost over already

So we're on the eve of his 6 weeks birthday. And I am both extremely happy and terribly sad, as patient as a saint and as frustrated as humanly tolerable, alert and exhausted. This is motherhood.

The Honesty of Children

The three-year-old will look me in the face (when I can see his wet pants and the circle on my favorite blue chair) and say, "No!" when I ask him if he peed on my chair.

The six-year-old will look me in the face and say, "He just fell down!" when I saw her push her brother less than a half-a-second ago.

But sometimes, they don't know how to be anything other than honest. And sometimes, it's brutal.

Many parents opt to wait to tell their children that another one is coming. Sometimes, they wait until one of them rudely shouts out, "Mom is FAT!" Sometimes, they wait until after the first trimester is over. Sometimes, they wait until they get the positive result back from the doctor's office (serum test) after they've peed on a stick at home. So, we're those last people.

When we found out we were pregnant, we couldn't wait to share the news with our little ones. They have only been asking for like MONTHS if we were going to have more babies. They had even chosen the gender they preferred (each originally chose a same-sex sibling, but then the boy changed his mind and decided that he wanted a second sister). The eldest even chose a name (Daisy Sunrose). Don't ask.

So, when we found out we had miscarried and there would be no new baby after all, it wasn't easy to break the news to them. This, after all, is the very reason that so many parents choose to wait.

The younger is three. I think he had forgotten there was a baby in Mommy's tummy. He seemed sort of oblivious. The older is six. She knew, but nothing we said really explained it to her. She seemed confused. "The baby is coming early?" she asked. No, not that. "But the baby's not in your tummy anymore?" Right. "So where is the baby now? Is she at the hospital?" No, no, no. Finally, I said the hardest thing I've ever had to say. "The baby died, honey. The baby is in heaven." Click. Light bulb. The look of recognition on her face was enough.

But then, she came over and kissed my tummy and said, "Goodbye, baby."

She probably couldn't understand why I was crying. Or maybe she did. Which is why maybe she thought it would somehow make me feel better to know how glad she was that I could pick her up again. Only, it didn't. I cried more. Daddy had to take over for a while, as I went to lie down.

Sometimes, kids don't know how to be anything other than honest. And sometimes, it's better to hear the lie.

The Yacht Club

Evidently, my children are boaters. One small problem.... we do not, nor can we afford to, own a boat. The pictured boat belongs to my brother-in-law and his father. While a modest income can certainly afford a boat (we grew up with one), the additional costs of maintaining, storing, and using one can be far outside the limits. In my mind, I would imagine the only people who have boats and use them more than once or twice a year are either (a) fishermen or (b) people who use the names of seasons as verbs (e.g., "We shall summer in New England this year").

Siblings on Uncle's boat 

Meanwhile, the babies are no babies. My, how they've grown! My girl is now a five-year-old who has completed a year of pre-K at a lovely school in our area. She moves on to kindergarten this fall. Her aunt (wife of the boat-owner, and my sister) is pregnant. So, now my darling daughter pretends to be pregnant as well. She has no idea how much the prospect of her becoming pregnant (like EVER) terrifies me. Of course, someday this fear will vanish, I'm sure. There will come a time when grandchildren will seem like fun (rather than the death knell of my youth).

Five years old - the Skipper

We experienced our first (ever) fracture. During soccer, she had an avulsion fracture of her right fibula after tripping over a soccer ball. Never mind that it occurred because I might have allowed her to wear inappropriate shoes. She's taking it well, and is allowed to walk around with an air-cast. However, I should clarify that this child does not walk. She hops. She skips. She jumps, dips, dives, and does pretty much everything her doctor said not to do. And why not? She's five.

Two years old - the First Mate

My boy is two, and not the terrible kind. I'm convinced two is "terrific" and three is the "terrible" one. We'll see, come this time next year. Potty-training will be on the agenda for this year (hopefully this summer). He already senses the bodily urge and knows how to use the toilet, but his interest waxes and wanes (or, more appropriate to the theme, ebbs and flows like the tides).

He speaks rather well, but we've learned that his adenoids are enlarged and may be impacting his speech and breathing. While he gets sufficient oxygen, his sleep is likely impacted from snoring, and his speech is affected by the poor airflow during specific lip and mouth movements. We have a follow-up otolaryngology (ENT) consultation to determine if he will need surgery. While I try to wrap my mind around surgery on my baby boy, I have heard from other moms whose children managed to survive adenoidectomies.

Finally, we consider for a moment the possibility of expanding our family. What might that do to our great dynamic? How will the first two react to a third? They each have selected a same-sex sibling, as well as a name - the daughter wishes for a sister named Daisy Sunrose, and the son wishes for a brother with the same name as he has (because it is SO EPIC). And then, there are the financial considerations of how to manage upgrading a car (a must, to fit in a third child seat), where we'd all sleep, and how to pay for child care (which already costs more than our mortgage). So much for the yacht club.

Intervention

Wow. It's been nearly one year to the DAY since the last post. Two little kids with their two parents in graduate school is no joke.

This (year's) post title, "Intervention," seems appropriate on multiple levels. When life gets so busy that you don't have time to stop and.... I dunno...breathe the oxygen, it's time for someone to knock you upside the head and tell you to slow down for a second. While we spend the majority of our time running around like the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, we do actually get a few moments to pretend we're a "normal" family. Of course, I use the word normal loosely. I firmly believe it's a setting on your washing machine and nothing more.

Today was one of those days we got to be somewhat normal. When I titled the post "Intervention," the intent was a little different than the aforementioned. My children, ages five and two, have now gotten to the wonderful age where arguments occur. Maybe even brawls. Today's example was when the 2-year-old boy asked (in the sweetest, most polite manner I've ever heard) his big sister if he could play with one of her toys, she SCREAMED in wild protest, "NO!!! NO!!! NO!!!" To which, the boy cried huge, devastating crocodile tears.

No one was harmed in this exchange. Physically, anyway. I often wonder as a parent when I should intervene. I wanted to do it today, but I did not, and here's why:

I have a rule I use with the 5-year-old on tattling. She is REALLY bad about doing it ALL the time. She doesn't get the concept that, "Nobody likes a snitch." Instead, I've resorted to providing clear-cut examples of when it is appropriate to "snitch" and when it is not. Bottom line: it's okay to tattle when someone is in danger or if someone's property is in danger. I'd like to take credit, but my sister let me borrow a book called Help Me Be Good: Tattling (one in a great series, actually) that helped a lot.

Anyway, I figured the same rules should apply to me. If nobody is in danger, and nobody's stuff is in danger, I should really let them work it out. They need to problem-solve on their own, and they'll never get practice if I keep breaking it up all the time. While I certainly wouldn't just let them go wild, I think they are not in the right mindset to accept a "teaching moment" (read: a lecture on the proper way to negotiate) when they're already in the throes of a knock-down, drag-out tumble over a toy.

The husband and I try our best to demonstrate clear examples of how to problem-solve as a team and negotiate the terms of a compromise. Additionally, there are plenty of opportunities to observe other kids or even use television (I know, I know... the evil box that sits in the living room babysitting other people's kids) to show where the actors (or cartoons) could have done something different.

Besides, I'm tired of screaming, "Knock it off!" from the top of the stairs.

Relocation

We are a military family.  For those who don't know, one of the biggest challenges faced ROUTINELY by military families is the instability created from frequent moves.  Often, these moves can be from one side of the country, or even the world, to the other.  In the last two years, we have had a deployment, a move from Washington to Georgia, and a move from Georgia to Alaska.  Now, we are scheduled to move from Alaska to Maryland in a matter of days.  The impact of such changes can be brutal to a child.

For example, our daughter was (sort of) potty trained while we lived in Georgia.  Then, somewhere between packing up, spending time in North Carolina and Virginia with relatives, and driving across half the US and Canada before arriving in (no kidding) North Pole, Alaska, she became "untrained" all over again.  It took months to recover, and she still has some inexplicable and VERY preventable accidents.  Case in point, about a month ago, she stated she needed to use the potty, then proceeded to stand in front of it on her stool with her pants down, and pee on herself rather than just SIT DOWN on the toilet that was touching the back of her thighs as she stood there.  Infuriating!

This next move will be no less than a logistical nightmare.  We have two cats, two children, two adults, a car, and a house full of stuff to move over 4,000 miles.  We are splitting the family to accommodate all of our needs as best we can.  My husband and daughter will go first, with the cats, house-hunting and visiting with all our east-coast relatives.  The baby boy and I will remain behind to tie up loose ends and so I can continue to nurse him.  I also must face the incredibly challenging, expensive, and yet important task of shipping frozen breast milk east.  It will likely cost over $100 to send a mere 48 ounces of frozen milk over that great distance.  But it's like gold to me.  I literally get teary-eyed when I have to pour out even two ounces that the boy didn't finish at daycare.  Could you imagine tossing 8 full feedings' worth?

Our daughter has shown great resilience in these challenges with moving.  With the exception of the pee and poop accidents (that have seemed to dwindle down to a rare occurrence - mostly due to distraction), she has been able to adapt well to all the changes.  I wonder if her baby brother will be able to show the same kind of resilience?  Well, he is only 3 months old.  He won't remember.  But she will.  I wonder how she'll be able to face the loss of her friend, a little boy a few months younger than she is, whom we'll visit for the last time today?

The Deuce

We haven't really decided what to nickname our "number two child" but we ARE expecting again, and it's such a delight to know I get the privilege of reliving the experience. We only just discovered we were growing a new little sprout, so we're expecting a February delivery.

E has been informed that she will become a big sister, but of course, as it often is for 2-year-olds, reality has not yet sunk in. We're looking forward to coaching her into the idea along the way. Especially as Mommy's shape changes!

The first thing that really came to mind when I first learned of the pregnancy was how incredibly exhausting the first few weeks really are. I've taken naps nearly every day for the past week. I first had an inkling when, in the shower, I noticed my breasts were really firm. As we age, the tautness of youth tends to... well, not be there anymore. So anyway, it was pretty different. Then of course, the frequent urination was another hint. And of course, the more obvious missed period. Although, to be honest, I was already sure by the time I was two days late (TWO DAYS!!!) and took a test.

So here we are, and blood tests confirmed it. The online EDD calculator I found at BabyCenter gave us a 2 February date, but since it is an inexact science, I'm thinking it will be about a week or so later. We'll see!!!

With parenthood, marriage, and career all hanging in the balance, I don't know how dutiful I will be to updating this blog, but I will surely do my best to keep the notes coming. Every pregnancy is different (not just for each woman, but for each pregnancy), so I'm looking forward to the changes that will come with this new life.

Sibling Needed

Our toddler is adorable. A biased mother can say so. And even though I hear her talking to herself, her toys, me, her imagination, or the cats from inside her bedroom when she should be sleeping, I know deep down I cannot be upset with this child just yet. One thing, however, is very clear to me: she needs a sibling. And soon.

Sharing is something she's learned at daycare, but at home she believes that everything is hers (perception is reality, of course, because EVERYTHING seems to be hers). She acts less polite, more unruly, and more defiant at home. At daycare, her teachers report that she's a marvel, a wonder, well-behaved, well-read, and highly entertaining to them and the rest of her peers. She LOVES to be the center of attention.

This, however, is also a problem. More than just a personality trait, if this child isn't the center of attention ALL THE TIME, I fear she'll become destructive and engage in behaviors totally unbecoming of her (and totally embarrassing for me). Therefore, she must have a sibling. Besides, I love my sister and am so glad to have her. She needs a brother or sister, too. Like, now.

Let the planning phase begin!