7:20 am- I awake to Owen’s face inches from my own telling me to get up, my body folded into the loveseat in your room and you lazily latched to my nipple. I’ve been here since 2 or 3 in the morning, when you awake me for your midnight feeding and then I passed out exhausted while nursing you.
7:20-7:30 am- I give you a few kisses and snuggles and then deposit you directly into your exersaucer in the kitchen while I bustle around getting Owen his breakfast, doing dishes and making tea for myself that I almost always forget to drink and leave to grow cold on the counter.
7:30-7:45 am- I make beds, open blinds and generally tidy up in the bedrooms then follow Owen around to ensure that he washes his face, brushes his teeth and combs his hair because apparently telling him to do so five times in a row does not mean it will happen.
7:45-7:55 am- I brush my teeth, slather on deodorant and throw on clothes as quickly as possible. Usually by this point I can hear your sounds of distress beginning from the kitchen as you begin to believe that you have been abandoned to the strange woman that lives in the exersaucer and is constantly shouting to you that the cat is orange.
7:55am-8:00 am- I snatch you up before the fat crocodile tears roll down your chubby cheeks and whisk you to your room where I change your diaper and dress you, all the while shouting to Owen to feed the dogs, take car of his breakfast dishes and put an ice pack in his lunchbox. Eery silence pervades.
8:00 am-8:05 am- I find Owen wandering around, distracted by God knows what and end up feeding the dogs, taking care of breakfast dishes and packing his lunchbox into his backpack myself. You sit quietly in your car seat in the laundry room, mouthing my wallet and keys while I shut my eyes and pray you don’t get cancer.
8:05am-8:30am- I drive as fast as possible without endangering myself and everyone else to Owen’s school, crossing two sets of railroad tracks, three school zones, three rotaries, and 14 traffic lights. You and Owen happily coo and yell at each other in the back seat, usually singing nonsense words to the tune of some Black Keys song that we’re playing. We manage to slip out of the car and into the lobby of the school just in time to miss the dragon lady who hands out the late slips to poor petrified children.
8:30am-8:40am- I hold you in my arms while we help Owen get settled. He usually needs to be reminded at least three times to put his lunchbox away and get his name tag before he finally gives up ignoring us so we’ll just leave him alone. We both sigh with relief as we get back into the car. You cry when I buckle you back into the device of torture, your car seat.
8:40-9:00am- Our ride home is usually quiet, with you babbling to yourself and then drifting off to sleep somewhere between the last school zone and Riverdale road. When we arrive home I leave you in the car to avoid being held hostage by those big blue eyes.
9:00am-9:15 am- You lay in the car in the garage snoozing while I warm up my cold cup of tea, change into pajamas and toast a bagel. I pop my head out into the garage every few minutes to listen for your cries while munching breakfast and letting the dogs out back.
9:15am-10:00am- You have been abandoned in a dark car! You are in a panic until I throw open the door and remind you that I am still alive and there are things worth eating. I bundle you downstairs along with my tea and phone and you nurse contentedly while I check my emails and catch up on news, Facebook and games on my phone. You drift in and out but awake the moment you are deposited in your crib, like the princess and the pea.
10:00am-10:30am- Breakfast is served. I strap you into your highchair with just a diaper on and you delight in mouthing and throwing toys, nibbling on your teething biscuits and drowning yourself in a sippy cup of water. I patiently feed you spoonfuls of pureed pearsauce and yogurt when your mouth is not otherwise occupied with your biscuit, toys, or fist.
10:30am-11:15am- You receive a diaper change and I change into my walking gear. We grab a dog and the stroller and hit the pavement. Some mornings your drift off peacefully. Others you fret and fuss until I turn the damn stroller back and give up. There is no predicting what kind of morning it will be until we begin. Your opinion- “Strollers are useless. Why don’t you just hold me?”
11:15 am-11:45am- My attempts to fit a shower in usually involve dragging your exersaucer or jumparoo into the master bedroom and placing you in front of the full length mirror within sight of the shower. You get more and more distressed as the glass fogs and you lose sight of me beyond the glass. By the time I emerge, you’ve begun to panic and I’m usually forced the dry my hair in fits and starts, blowing some in your face and then directing it back at my own head repeatedly until you’ve forgotten what you were upset about.
11:45am-12:30pm- Time to eat again! I take you down to the warm, quiet, cool depths of your room and nurse you again, where you typically drift off the sleep, this time for good. I usually read a book on my iphone until it’s safe to deposit you in your crib and tiptoe out.
12:30pm-1:30 pm- Hopefully, you nap. I have a never ending list of things that can not be performed one handed that I use this time to accomplish,including cleaning the house, car, telephone calls and a million other everyday things that must be attended to by someone.
1:30pm-2:00pm- Lunch! Breakfast repeated- toys, teething biscuit, sippy cup, pearsauce, yogurt and sometimes a vegetable thrown in for good measure to make sure you still know how to grimace and spit.
2:00pm-2:15pm- Nursing again, usually performed quickly and without dozing. Often involved having to ask you repeatedly to stop pinching me with your razor sharp fingernails. When you are bored, you arch your back and throw yourself out of my arms, fussing and crying until I sit you up and talk to you like a real person.
2:15pm-2:30pm- Diaper change and getting dressed again for us both. I bundle you back out to the car and typically, you are a good sport about going along unless you’ve extended your nap and I’ve had to wake you to leave. Then dressing and getting you into your seat is like wrestling a crocodile who wants to take you down to the bottom of the pond for a death roll in the sand.
2:30pm-3:00 pm- Repeat- crossing two sets of railroad tracks, three school zones, three rotaries, and 14 traffic lights. In addition to this fun we get to compete for parking spaces in the school lot, which is always overflowing in the afternoon. You typically stay awake until we reach school or nod off right before we turn in and then awake when I bustle you out of the car. We go in to get your brother so he doesn’t have to be engulfed in the screaming, kicking tide of children that pushes and tramples everything living in their path on the way out the door at 3pm. When you see Owen you usually lean out of my arms and put both hands on either side of his face and attempt to bring him close enough to rub up against your cheeks. This is your universal sign for love.
3:00pm-3:30pm- I chat with Owen about his day while he does his best to ignore me and focuses on playing with you, babbling and making silly noises at you until we arrive at home.
3:30pm-4:15pm- I get Owen snack and set him up with his homework, then go back downstairs to nurse you. Occasionally you’ll drift off, but most of the time it’s only for ten or twenty minutes.
4:15pm-5:00pm- I hold you while I help Owen finish his homework and begin prepping dinner, gathering ingredients and measuring out items. If chopping is required, I’ll deposit you in your exersaucer for awhile until you protest. Normally this is when I would have used a hands free carrier with Owen, but since you rebel at the idea of being held back by straps or conveyances of any sort, I’ve learned to do my best at the one armed mambo.
5:00pm-5:30pm- Dinner! Breakfast and lunch repeated by with a vegetable and occasionally cereal thrown in. I often begin cooking dinner while I begin the process of tediously feeding you. Cleaning you up at the end is often the worse part since you rebel at the idea of any cloth touching your face or neck, so I often lower you in your highchair and let the dogs tongue bathe you until you protest.
5:30pm-5:45pm- I nurse you again, in your room usually while talking on the phone to Dad and to the accompaniment of shrieks of outrage and temper tanturm cries from Owen in the den as he loses to Mario.
5:45pm-6:15pm- I prepare and serve dinner with you precariously balanced on my hip. Dad usually arrives home sometime within this half hour and Owen is often downstairs, embroiled in Wii MarioKart battles. You are usually good natured during this time as long as you are held.
6:15pm-6:30pm- We eat dinner downstairs in front of the TV most evenings and I deposit you on your play mat and let you practice your barrel rolls while I eat. You tug on your toys and lift yourself up into wild, impossible positions.
6:30pm-7:00pm- If you’ll let me, I try to sneak upstairs while you are occupied on your play mat and do dinner dishes, prepare dessert and make lunches and coffee for the morning. Over the cacophony of AxMen or Mythbusters, I can hear your escalating cries and come to your rescue before complete meltdown occurs.
7:00pm-7:30pm Bathtime. You splash happily in your baby bath while mouthing your plastic whale. After washing your sticky body and trying to scrub the crumbs out of your neck, I let you play while I lay out Owen’s pjs, toothbrush, books and night lite for bed. Then I scoop you up, dry you off while you shiver and scold me and hurry you into a footed pajama sleeper before you become completely outraged. I read 2 or 3 books to you on the changing table as you become more and more vocal and then hurry to sing a few songs before you have a complete break down.
7:30pm-8:15pm- Nursing again. Usually you drift off but wake up when deposited in bed, especially if you had a nap that day.
8:15pm- 8:45pm- We help Owen into bed, then read a chapter from the Laura Ingalls Wilder books to him. You sit in my lap for much of this time, mouthing Owen’s glowing night lite that Dad says you only love because it looks like a breast. Occasionally your fidgeting and protests get too loud for Owen and I to talk over and then I pace about the room and read with you on my shoulder.
8:45pm-10:00pm- I make Dad and I tea with you in my arms, then deposit you under your play gym or in your jumperroo downstairs. We get in about half an hour before your cries get too loud and then I settle you on my lap where you squirm and play.
10:00pm-10:45pm Nursing again and this time, you always drift off, usually until about 2 or 3 in the morning when we begin again.

That’s our day in a nutshell. Long, exhausting (at least for me). Rinse and repeat. I’d love it if you’d learn to sit this month or maybe be less obstinate. I think that latter one might be a lifetime pursuit for us both.

Saffy Daffy

Saffy Eats

That being said, despite the chaos and the overwhelming amount of changes, you’ve had the audacity to just keep growing. This past month you’ve grown so tall that I had to bump you up to nine months and one year clothing to avoid making it look like you were constantly wearing capris. We began to feed you solids and although you did manage to grow another chin and one small roll of thigh fat, most of growth has been in height. Your hair has begun to gather and curl and now you have two adorable little locks of curly, auburn hair that seems to be rapidly darkening across your forehead. Although your eyes had seemed to be shifting colors last month, they’ve remained mostly blue and still enormous except when you smile and they crinkle dramatically at the corners.

Your adventures with solid food have been predictable, but distinctly different than Owen’s. Owen adored all cereal and any other form of carbohydrates. You love pears, apples, bananas and pretty much any fruit we’ve consented to give you so far and although you’ve tolerated grains, you don’t seem to have Owen’s affinity for them. Most of the vegetables we’ve tried have been quickly pushed back out of your mouth with a shuddering grimace. If I persist in trying to feed you something you find unpalatable, you’ll cry at me until I give up. Your favorite refusal tactic is to turn your head as far as you can crane to the side and look up, refusing to even give me access to your little mouth in protest. You continue to love to drink though and we’ve abandoned sippy cups, which you don’t seem to understand require sucking, and moved right to regular cups. You end up drenched but much more satisfied with yourself.

You began this past month with an obsession with motorboating and farting noises. Your big brother was certain this made you the coolest sister on the planet. It wasn’t as if you occasionally made these noises. For almost a week, this was the soundtrack of your life and a constant background noise. It’s very difficult to hold a polite and serious conversation with anyone at all when the baby you are holding is making farting sounds. After a little while, you moved into high pitched, decibel shattering shrieking for a few days, followed by a week or more of fake coughing. Yes, I’m serious. For about a week or maybe two, you were constantly fake coughing. You seemed to find it wildly amusing and when anyone would mimic the sound back to you, you’d crack up into a big grin. I’ve been joking around that I gave birth to a sound effect machine instead of a baby but really, I’m beginning to wonder what will be next. Mooing? Snorting? Fake Sneezing? I guess anything is possible.

There were several nights when you practically slept all night, by yourself in your crib. It was a relief frankly to know you could do it. Our move and your recently illness have disrupted the pattern but I’m eager to get back to it. Because I really, really miss my bed. And the rest of my life really, whatever that might consist of. You’re still nursing every two to three hours and eating three squares a day with solid food so between sleeping and eating, you’re kind of a full time job. And although you will play in your exersaucer or your play mat for 20 minutes to a half hour at a time, you still require holding a majority of your waking hours to ensure happiness. I’ve given up fighting and realized you won’t want me to hold you forever and even though you might weigh fifteen pounds now and cause my entire right arm to go numb for hours at a time, it’s probably worth it. Because someday you’ll be Owen’s size and I’ll barely be able to lift you up without groaning and you’ll be embarrassed when I kiss you in public. That day is inevitable- it comes for us all. I might as well put it off for as long as I can.

The milestones you’ve blown past this month are nothing short of astonishing. You’ve mastered head control and have moved directly into subtle manipulation with no stops. When someone interests you, either across the room or perhaps the cashier when we are shopping, you’ll lean out from my arms, cock your head to the side and hold them hostage with those enormous steely blue eyes. When they notice your overtures and you’re sure you have their attention, you flash them your amazingly frank, gummy smile. Instantly, the world is at your feet. Your soft babbles and coos have changed to shrieks of delight and soaring, insistent cries and when satisfied, perhaps after having been picked up, you’ll scoot and wiggle your butt while making grunts and short shrieks of approval. Your eyes, formerly big pools of opalescent blue, have begun to gather gold and green spots and seem destined to turn brown like your brother’s.

Perhaps the most drastic advancement this month has been your stubborn insistence that you are ready to eat and drink. It began at the sink, when I was helping myself to a glass of water and you leaned forward and reached for it with both hands. You do this often with objects you’d like to bring to your mouth to explore, so I tipped to glass towards you, thinking you’d do little more than spill it all over your shirt. You put your lips to the edge and began taking swallows, sputtering and gulping like a thirsty drunk. Now, you are insulted if someone is drinking in your presence without offering you a sip and you often express your outrage at this injustice with petulant cries. Just a few days after you began drinking from a cup, you started grabbing spoons out of my hands and attempting to feed yourself my lunch. I was shocked when you not only grabbed my utensil, but then put it to the bowl and then to your mouth. To ease your frustration, I began letting you mouth food (dried mango slices, crackers) simply to help you participate in the meal. It seems that whatever is occurring, you simply want to be part of it and work hard to convince me you’re capable.

You’ve demonstrated the typical tricks of a baby your age- rolling tummy to back and back to tummy like a little barrel. After depositing you under your play gym on the floor, I often return to find you rolled out from under it and halfway across the floor. I think you manage this trick by using the hanging toys as leverage, but it’s still impressive. When deposited on your stomach, you’re usually so mad about it that you’ll not only lift your upper body but also try to get up on your hands and knees. You’re not successful just yet, but since this precedes crawling, I’m terrified. You’ve been able to lock your knees and hold your own weight, practically standing independently, for some time but you haven’t yet caught onto putting one foot in front of the other.

Although born with quite a bit of hair, you’ve continued to grow your locks at a pretty good rate and now you have a curly, crazy thatch of very fine, soft reddish brown hair that pokes out at all angles from your head and generally makes you look sweet and disheveled. I’ve realized after dragging out baby pictures of myself that not only is this hair exactly like mine as a baby (although you do have more of it), but you also seem to have my nose, eyes and smile. I noticed some things with Owen when he was born that were similar but you’re more of a carbon copy of me, in temperament as well I think.

The other day, while dancing you around the room to a Frank Sinatra song as part of our pre bedtime ritual, I came to the sudden realization that I enjoy your company. It seems strange to say it quite that way, but I think because you refuse to be placed in a carrier and protest when left too long to your own devices, I have you constantly tucked into your favorite spot on my shoulder and we do everything together. This has made me the master of the one handed shopping trip, but it’s also made me realize how content you are simply to be there, at my side. I watch other babies, moving from carrier, to swing, to crib, to car seat and wonder if they ever spend the majority of their time in someone’s company like we do. We share most of our waking and sleeping hours, arm in arm. There’s a kind of solidarity in that, a deeper understanding I don’t remember having with Owen. It reminds me of something my Mom used to say to me when I was little- “It’s me and you against the world.”

Hello World!

Sadly though you were sick again this month, with a low grade fever and a nasty, persistent cold. I caught it as well and we sniffled, hacked and coughed up mucus together for the two weeks leading up to Christmas. Directly after the holidays you received your first round of immunizations and terrified me with inconsolable crying and a refusal to nurse for several long hours. A dose of ibuprofen to treat the swelling in your poor little puffy red thighs seemed to do wonders though. After 24 hours of unusually frequent napping, you returned to us hungry and jolly.

All of this continued interruption meant I remained imbedded in the couch in your room , cuddling you frequently and feeding you often. Your favorite place to drift off to sleep became my right shoulder , your butt scooted out and your downy little head snuggled into the crook of my neck. This has presented serious problems since not every activity can be done one handed and since you wake immediately when deposited into your bed, like the infamous princess and the pea. The advantage though has been that I feel like the baby whisperer, able to calm and quite you with a touch. You have made it clear though that the touch must be complete and au natural- you’ll accept no carriers or other people as substitutes and you can not be fooled.

You still love to sit in your crib, wriggling and grinning at Grandma through the webcam and staring at your twinkling Christmas lights. How, however, we’ve introduced you to your play gym and lay happily on the floor, laughing manically at the light up star’s goofy face. You’ve also begun to follow the mobile on your swing in it’s rhythmic modulations, enthralled and unable to stop moving your head in an effort to trace’s it’s path across your field of vision.

In unfortunate developments, you’ve suddenly decided you hate taking a bath, throwing out your hands to the side wildly each time I get in with you and doing an excellent imitation of a panicked downing. I gave up and bought a baby bath so you can sit comfortably and feel supported and that seems to have helped. Now you sit in the warm water, sucking your first and staring calmly at me until I finish torturing you.

There are a thousand little quirks that I wish I would always remember about your babyhood, like the ferocity of your yawns. Perhaps my favorite this month is when I am holding you and we descend stairs. You pulse your little fists against me in time with the descent down each step, , sucking in your breath, as if you are terrified I’ll drop you and your are attempting to hang on. I’ve tried to assure you I’ve got a firm grip and have never been known to fumble a baby in my entire life, but you remain unconvinced.

At your 2 month check up, the doctor informed us that your head has suddenly boomed, going straight from the 25% to the 75% percentile in a matter of two weeks. That’s some serious brain development. Your weight still hovers just below ten pounds but you’re growing quickly in the opposite direction, stretching out of all your footed pajamas with a height in the 75% percentile. A tall baby girl with piercingly big blue eyes, curly tea brown hair with glimmers of red and a penchant for foot rubs. That’s our girl!

Christmas Giggles

Saffron's Favorite Spot

Has it really only been one month since your arrival? It seems that you’ve been here for much longer than that, disrupting my sleep and reeking havoc on our lives. I’m relieved that you are finally healthy and each day you awaken a little more to the world around you.

We’ve begun to try to stretch the intervals between your feedings if only to gain some normalcy in our lives. This has been a point of contention for you and you’ve been vocal in your protests, living you to your “Mrs. Waaaahhh!” nickname.

You’re enthralled with your room and the Christmas lights running around the ceiling continue to be a source of wonderment and calm. You’ll crane your neck and wiggle your head to search the ceiling for their twinkling and lay contented on your changing table or in your crib , staring at their soft, yellow glow.

This past weekend I took Owen out for a mommy date so we could both remember what life without your presence felt like and you stayed home with Daddy for the afternoon. This did not go so well. You’ve begun to be quite attached to my presence and refused to take a bottle. This does not bode well for future outings.

I’ve spent weeks camped out on the tiny loveseat in your room, which is unfortunately not as comfortable as it first appears to be. Dozing fitfully with you on my chest, we’ve done our best to keep the contents of your stomach from resurfacing. You’ve continued to gain weight and we’ve been given permission to officially stop worrying but now we have another problem. An unfortunate side effect has become your inability to sleep long stretches (or any stretches!) in your bed and your conviction that sleep can only be attained when attached to a boob. We’re working on that.

Just yesterday, while watching you drift in and out of sleep,I saw you give an enormous grin and then coo and laugh delightedly. It was so adorable that even in my exhausted state I felt lucky to be holding you, staring into your face in the middle of the night.

We’d barely gotten home, myself already exhausted with worry, when it became obvious that you’d caught a cold. Your nasal congestion cut off your airway and made nursing difficult, leaving you choking and sputtering for breath. By Saturday evening, after a late night trip to urgent care, we’d rushed you to the ER, where they tested you for RSV (negative), poked and prodded and then sent you home to suffer through. We spent some terrible hours between steam bath showers, snot sucking and sauna like conditions in your bedroom, before we finally found relief and you began to eat and breath easier.

You’ve nearly fully recovered three days later and have passed into a stage of ferocious hunger. For the past few days I’ve spent three or four hour stretched doing nothing but nursing you almost constantly, allowing you to sleep wormed into the curve of my chest and shoulder, warm and heavy. All this effort has gained you several ounces and a return to good health, at least for now.

There are other notable things this week besides the excitement of illness. Your fascination with your hands continues and you waggle your fingers and clasp them together often, like an evil villianess plotting some sort of mischief. You’ve begun to smile in earnest now, a gummy, lunatic grin and usually unrelated to anythign in particular. The color of the wall or a particularly interesting bit of ceiling seems to be deserving of a good laugh.

Your brother seems to have hit upon an excellent nickname for you that’s really catching on- “Mr.s Waaaaaah!” He calls you that affectionately, mimicking your cries of outrage when you are cold or hungry. Despite our best efforts, both your Dad and I have found the nickname adorably funny and I think you’re stuck with it.
My best laid plans to put you on a schedule and get you to sleep in your own bed have been thwarted by all the drama and I hope that next week will bring calm and rest for the both of us.

Big Brother

]]> http://www.geokaz.com/2011/11/21/saffrons-stories-week-3/feed/ 0 http://www.geokaz.com/2011/11/14/saffrons-stories-week-two/ http://www.geokaz.com/2011/11/14/saffrons-stories-week-two/#comments Mon, 14 Nov 2011 21:31:20 +0000 Kaz http://www.geokaz.com/?p=41

Saffron Anne Weida

Now that your umbilical cord has fallen out this week, we’ve had the opportunity to discover your love of water. When lowered and submerged into the bath, you are apparently transported to baby nirvana. You kick your legs out, relax your head back and open your eyes wide, serenely gazing into the distance. You cry only when removed into the cruel, dry, cold air.

Everyday you are awakening a bit more to your surroundings, beginning to smile and coo in recognition. Although you are still capable of sleeping through the most surprising inconveniences (translates into running a vacuum next to your crib during nap). Recently you slept six and a half hours straight through at night. On a recent shopping outing, I visited no less than 8 stores in 3 hours. You never even lifted an eyelid to inquire about the situation from your infant seat.

You still howl like a banshee at the outrage of being naked though. And you naturally still sleep best in our bed, nestled in my arms and snug under a pile of blankets. You’ve also begun to demonstrate a talent for spitting up large amounts, one of your brother’s most notable traits as a baby. I think you may even give him a run for his money in the volume department.

Tomorrow we’ll visit the doctor to ensure we’re fattening you up like a holiday turkey. I certainly hope he’ll give his approval since I’ve begun to feel like my sole purpose in life is akin to being a dairy cow. Sleep, nurse, rinse, repeat. It’s a good thing I have plenty of practice living life one handed from when your brother was a baby. It’s like having a disability where your butt has been super glued to the nursing couch and you can only use one hand at a time to function in the world. Ready, set, go! But I’m willing to make the sacrifice since the thought of you languishing into skinny malnutrition leaves me terrified. Once we have a green light to try to resume normal life where I’m not nursing one out of every two hours, then we’ll work on transitioning you into your own room and your own crib, to sleep perchance to dream.

All this sleeping has your father and I flabbergasted and worried. It seems so strange to cart you around the house snoring while life in its noisy chaos carries on without you. This sleepy, good natured baby is not what we were expecting. In your few waking hours you are difficult to engage and only in the last few days has the milk film and haze dissolved from your piercingly blue eyes. You often seem unable to focus those luminous pools on anything substantial beyond light and shadow. But you seem to know my voice and certain the smell of my skin. When I near you, you turn your head instinctively and begin to root, sticking out your tongue and wiggling your head.

You are a champion eater and thus a champion pooper. Your talent for noisily filling a diaper and peeing exactly when the diaper is removed is rather unladylike and something I hope you grow out of. You’ve also got the most ferocious yawn, like a little lion about to devour something, always concluding w3ith a vigorous shake of your head.

We’ve noticed, perhaps because your head is so tiny, that you’ve got decent control and can turn and lift it surprisingly well for a newborn. As we had begun to suspect from your ultrasounds, you’ve got a serious love affair with your hands and those slender, pointy fingers. You’re already adept at using them to draw things toward your mouth and you keep them folded on your chest or clutched near your mouth when sleeping. Your favorite thing is to hold hands when drifting off to sleep currently, which is rather adorable.

Little Love

Also falling under the perpetually cute category are those little mewing sounds you make when you are asleep , faint like a little kitten. And when we stroke your cheek near the crease of your neck and ear, you giggle and grin as if it tickles. I’ve gotten into the habit of calling you “little love” and it seems to suit your sleepy, cuddly self.

At your three day check in they expressed concern at your weight loss since birth so this first week we’ve kept you in our bed right by my side, eating every hour and a half. I’m sure I’ll regret it later but for now I feel comforted to simply be with you. To know you’re safe and warm and full.

I realized immediately these were different, low, protracted cramping accompanied by back pain. It was Saturday night and as I tucked your brother Owen into bed, I began to track and record. They seemed like a climb up and down stairs, sometimes 8, then 12 minutes apart then back to 8. But they were persistent and growing in intensity. After a oak in the bath, the contractions worsened and we called our midwife, Karen, who told us to head to the hospital.

We arrived at the hospital freshly showered and with minimal fuss, having already packed most necessities and waking your brother from sleep. He awoke immediately, excited and clear headed and full of chatter all the way to the labor and delivery ward of the hospital, just a two minute drive down the street.

It was 11 pm when we arrived, your witching hour when you were always the most active in my belly, kicking and rolling.As I settled into the delivery room and they began the check in process, it became apparent that things were progressing rather quickly. I was dilated to a four and thinning rapidly.The rush to insert an IV and ensure a double does of antibiotics began. By 2 am I was an 8 and the pain of the contractions was no longer something I could bear in silence. While Owen and Dad crashed on the terribly uncomfortable couch in the room, I rode each wave of pain, grateful to crash on the other side. Later, Dad came to help, pressing my knees to try to equalize the pain the splintered through my back. You were close.

When I was finally fully dilated, they let me know it wouldn’t be long until Karen arrived and I could begin pushing. The nurse and Dad assisted in holding my shaking legs back while I pushed and grunted with each contraction. They had to break the water to ease your downward progress. After just 6 or 8 pushes you crowned and emerged, slithering out with a splash of water and a cry into our world.

It was 4:28 am. I felt enormous relief that labor was over and crashed back into the bed, shaking with adrenaline. They sponged you down and wrapped you up. We offered to let Owen cut your cord, but he insisted he didn’t know how and so Dad did it. Owen was the first to hold you though and look into your little face. As Karen finished stitching me up, they brought you to me and I put you immediately to my breast. After a few hesitant mews and some head shaking, you latched and sucked and pretty much stayed there for the next two hours.

Dad says when you were born your back was covered in vernix, the white protective wax like substance that seals in your soft baby skin from your water world, so thick we could have scrapped it off with a spoon. Your hands and feet were wrinkled like an old woman’s , but you had chubby baby cheeks and a sweet downy head covered in long, thick dark brown hair.

You suckled and slept on my chest listening to my heartbeat for those first few dawning hours until the sun christened your birthday. While Dad and Owen crashed into a deep, dead sleep, I snuggled you close, grateful to have those first few silent hours together.

After Birth