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Milestones

An interesting funfact I've picked up from those evil, evil parenting books is that when babies cluster feed, i.e. demand dinner on average every 1-2 hours for, ooh, what, the past week or so? It's in preparation for a growth spurt - which could be physical (and I'm sorry sweet babe but really? You? Needing a growth spurt?) or a mental one, as if they are preparing for a developmental milestone. With Harlow crazy for hunger this past week and to my eye not appearing to need much in the way of poundage, I got all excited wondering what she was going to be pulling out of her tiny bag of baby tricks. Rolling over? Pulling up? Teething? The teething thing has been on our minds lately with the sudden manifestation of howling banshee shrieks when she's hungry, but today when I was feeding her next to a Missouri soybean field - more on that later - I swear I saw the tiniest white fleck on her gums. There's no mistaking that there actually IS something tiny and white on her gums, but if it is a tooth remains to be seen.

Milestone recaps of the week:

1. She cannot be contained. She's been sitting in the bumbo, building that core and neck strength, and now she can (briefly) pull her self up by her neck when she's in her stroller.

2. She giggles. Usually it's at the ghosts that hang out in the ceiling, but today, she looked right at me and giggled. Twice. And I didn't even do anything funny. Being the eternal straight man in my romantical pairing, I rather enjoyed being the funny one for once.

3.She met her uncle, cousins and cousins' cousins.

Caleb's family reunion was this past weekend, so we had our first roadtrip up to Southern Illinois, and Harlow could not have been more fabulous, sleeping and hanging out in her seat like a seasoned veteran. Aunt Lara had told us how excited the boys were to meet their cousin, but privately I had my doubts. How excited could a 5 and 7 year old be about a baby? Apparently massively. They could not get enough of her. They hated it when she was asleep because it was less time they got to spend with her. They fought over who could hold her, competed over making her smile, brawled over who could carry her carseat. And the first thing Thomas said when he laid eyes on Harlow?

"Wow. She has a lot of muscles."

The ride home was a little trickier, not because of Harlow but because I was feeling charitable and offered to drive part of the way home so Caleb could hang out in the back with the bebe. We munched on m&m's, laughed, talked politics, and listened to the sweet song Caleb improv-ed on his guitar to his daughter, when he realized we - or I - was lost. We had driven about 30 minutes in the wrong direction because like the cliched girl driver I have become, I just assumed Caleb would tell me where to turn. So that kinda messed up our feeding schedule, which brings us to lunch next to a soybean field off the interstate somewhere in Missouri. Which leads me to my top 10 favorite places I've breastfed so far:

10. The aforementioned soybean field.
9. BBQ Fest
8. Inside a private plane
7. The backseat of a moving car doing donuts around a gas station.
6. The beach
5. India Palace
4. The Lodge in Giant City, underneath the giant elk head
3. in what used to be my old bedroom at my parents' house
2. Mothersville

And my #1 Favorite place I've breastfed?

1. A restaurant called Booby's.

Rockstar Babies

When my husband is not playing the part of sweet, studly baby-raiser, mower of grass and putter of things on high shelves, he can often be found with a guitar in hand or with pen to random scraps of paper, breaking off little pieces of song that put my writerly notions to shame. It's been a tough year with a new town, a new job, a new baby, and a new CD that needed some love and care whenever he found the thirty minutes of free time to devote to it. And last Saturday night all that sweat and angst paid off as he released his badass CD into the world at Otherlands in front of devoted fans.

It's a shame Harlow wasn't really in the mood to celebrate.

The little lady has been seriously cranky as of late. I know we are the last parents who deserve any pity as she has been -and still is - a sweet, mellow baby doll. But the cranky has come from nowhere we can determine. Teething? Is it something to do with that rash on her leg? Memphis?

The likely culprit from those polled?

It's her personality emerging.

But what if we liked her personality before?

I finally found a window of time to get my hair done last week, and after about two hours of blissful head rubbing and trashy magazine reading, I got a frantic phone call from Caleb. He was in the attic, the one place he thought he might not be able to hear our baby screaming while her Nana tried to coax her to take a bottle of mom juice. 7 minutes later, I sprinted through the front door and swept up my red-faced, tear streaked exhausted little screamer and peace reigned throughout the kingdom. For a bit. The screaming seems to be centered around feeding - the timing, the amount, the force of the letdown - all of which are mysteries wrapped inside the enigmas that are my boobs. I think it's time we go back to Breastfeeding 101 at Mothersville.

I also think it's time to clean off the dried poop on my leg.

Florida

Why is Harlow crying?

Is it because she is preparing for her first ever swim lesson?

Is it because she has already fallen in love with the sugar white sand, the sound of the ocean, her Nana and Pop's undivided attention and will be leaving soon?

Is it because her mother looks like she should be working the pit crew for Formula Un?

Florida was warm, caloric, grandparentastic and over way too fast. Like the rockstar baby she is, Harlow smiled, ate and napped on the plane and turned on the super wattage for Nana and Pop who were beginning to wonder if their grandchild was perhaps a reincarnated narcoleptic. Caleb and I managed to steal a few blissful soaks in the ocean - as blissful as keeping one eye open for bull sharks can be - and had a lovely dinner out with Lauren and Tommy. Sans baby. For the first time ever. We got a nice soaking our last afternoon there, and the ocean got really still and tangled up with algae. It kinda looked like the earth underwater.



Back at home, Harlow has decided that things would run much more efficiently if she told us what she wanted, so she has been using those brand new vocal chords to coo, la, gah, screech and what we can only guess is a pretty good Stephen Hawking impression. She turned 3 months old a week ago, the date that the fourth trimester ends and things start to "get easier." As much as I like to deny that I am a superstitious person, the very fact that every baby book I've read has insisted things get better after week 12 meant our super sweet, easy , mellow baby was getting ready to reveal her true nature. Which, apparently, is still very sweet and mellow but with a couple of Glenn Close-worthy I WILL NOT BE IGNORED freakouts when dinner was not ready fast enough. That was new and the staff quickly took note.

Ooh - last night? 9:30 PM to 5:30 AM. And right back to sleep until 7:30. Hell. Yes.

3 freakin months!

Baby girl is officially 3 months old and is already making Tyra proud. She brought the fierce today in our photo shoot...when she wasn't wondering what that giant, black lens hovering inches from her face was.

Today's ensemble - Totally Appropriate for Protesting the Pope on SNL.

Housecleaning

I'll admit it. When I started this blog, I was more than a little pissy. I wasn't psyched about our move, I was dog tired, my back was already killing me - it was was what, like, 6 weeks into the whole shebang? Even though I was excited about my pregnancy, I felt a basic, black blog seemed the appropriate choice for my mood. The little black dress of templates, if you will. 12 weeks on the otherside, I'm still a little pissy, but not so much, and to celebrate, I felt it was time to spruce things up a bit. (OK - truthfully - the fact that I now actually have readers stopping by made me feel like my poor sweet blog got caught in its skivvies. And now my blog gets to do that montage thing like in teen comedies, where the shy, awkward but totally hot girl gets her braces off and gets a spray tan and does some crunches while her little brother looks on in disgust and then she comes to the top of the stairs in slo-mo and...

Polka dots!

I'm liking the polks dots, except polks dots make the text do strange bendy twisty things around my photographs, but it's a little sunnier, right?

Speaking of sunnier, I haven't spent much time talking about Mothersville. One of the hardest things for me to leave behind in LA was an amazing, diverse, supportive circle of girlfriends - friendships that took a loooong time to cultivate. Especially in a city not known for sweetness. Wouldn't you know we move into a house just minutes away from one of the few places in Memphis that makes me stop moaning over our move and actually grateful we did so? I think it was week 3 with the bebe that I managed to slap some makeup on and get myself over to Mothersville. Suddenly I'm rotating work shifts with some very cool chicks while our (truly) fearless leader and grand poobah finally gets her maternity leave on. And if this afternoon's wonderfully bracing conversation is any indicator, the homesickness is gonna clear up sooner than I thought.

Oh - the Hilary Swank Thing was brought up today and Caleb had a brilliant observation. Hilary Swank is so totally our lovechild. We BOTH kinda look like her. His recommendation? We go as her for Halloween. Him: Boys Don't Cry. Me? I'm thinking maybe Karate Kid 2.(Edited to say that I think I was thinking Karate Kid 3. I think the chick from 2 might be little trickier for me to pull off)

Generations

Today was a lunch 3 months in the making. Baby girl finally got to meet her great grandfather. Four generations eating biscuits and dumplings and cake together. I was proud to see that she actually stayed awake for a portion of our visit and got to flash those dimples she got from her grandmother. She also spectacularly blew out her diaper and got to go pantless for the rest of her visit since her mom forgot to pack backup bloomers. But that little H&M top was so cute it didn't matter she was Porky Piggin it.

She's just days away from the magical 3 month mark and seems to be in dress rehearsals for a big finale. We haven't had another night where she didn't wake until 6, but she's getting closer and closer. Last night she woke once at 4:30 and we slept until 8 and man if I didn't feel rested. She's smiling so much of the time and starting to laugh which truly is the cutest sound I've ever heard. Of course, it can't take Avery's laugh which is truly something spectacular. It now comes in 2 varieties: the woodpecker and the mad scientist. Both can stop a room cold and crack up everybody in it. Hell, her Nana even posted it on You Tube.

Pretty in Pink

I know that I'm not supposed to mind when curious passerbys ask if they could say hello to my son, when they guess that my son is 4 1/2 months old, when tell me that my son is just precious while my sweet baby girl blinks up at them. It's just that nobody ever guesses correctly. I suppose it's my fault that I dress her in green and blue and beige - I'm just stubbornly refusing to believe that the only way people will know that my daughter is in fact my daughter is to throw her in some frothy pink concotion. I've got nothing against pink. I wear it often. But why in baby fashion must it be paired with the bows, the lace, the frilled, the (shudder) smocked? After a day of strangers commenting on my sweet boy, I caved and put her in what I thought was not only cute, pink but kinda subversive faux-preppy in asmuch as an 11 week old can be subversive ensemble. I called it The Future Bride of James Spader, complete with an actual polo logo on the dress. We proudly took her cute pink self to Fresh Slices for lunch - where the sweet old lady next to us asked us how old our son was.


The Future Bride of James Spader in one of her many tummy time fashion shoots.

wow

6:20 AM

Harlow went down around 9 PM last night.

And she's still asleep.

I woke up at 6 in a slight panic. No baby in the bed? I craned my neck over. There she was in the bassinet. Still breathing. I couldn't help it. I had to check.

She's stirring now. Good thing - my boobs are about to explode.

And somehow I forgot to mention...

...that Harlow slept through the freakin night! Down at 8:30 and up at 4:30 for a quick meal. Then she and I didn't move until 8:30.

I would have been more excited if I my boobs didn't feel like they were about to explode and my body felt like it lost a few rounds with a prizefighter.

Baby Part 2: Electric Bugaloo

Already, the questions.

Well, they really aren't questions, more like assertions. The "when" you have another baby, not "if." This comes from other parents, the ones with two+ who tell us it's a foregone conclusion that we will succumb, we will come around. I think I can speak for most people that - like most people - when I was younger and childless I envisioned having the 2, the package deal. I have a sister who I adore and couldn't imagine not having in my life - but that's the thing. It's all I've known. I've been doing a little polling, and the #1 reason cited by parents of 2 I've talked to on why they've had 2 is...guilt. The "I would just feel so bad if he/she were all alone" justifcation. I know there's a lot more going on here than just a crisis of conscience, but is that really the best reason for having another child? I know several "only' children, and they are some of the most outgoing, confident, self-assured women I know. Asked if they regretting not having a sibling, uniformly they said it would have been nice, sure, but there were always kids to play with - but more importantly - being an only child was all they knew, so it was cool.

Obviously it's too soon to start seriously contemplating going through the whole rigamarole again. But this is what's got us spooked. Both me and C can't help but be ruled by our superstitions. Harlow has been an insanely easy baby, so logic (or superstition) would suggest that the second child would be the spawn of Satan. C seems pretty certain that one would be more than fine.

Me? Talking about just having one gives me an illicit thrill, like we're doing something naughty. Probably not the best reason for having just one.

pleazzzzzzzzz

Holy crap.

Baby Girl has started sleeping through the night.

From what I understand, "night" is defined as a 5-6 hour stretch, and if that is the case, she started this hat trick a few weeks back. Except it wasn't our night. She's go down around 8:30 and wake up at 3 as if she had never eaten food in her little lifetime, grunting in that crazy, primal, doesn't-seem-to-be-originating-from-her-body sort of way. And then, miracle upon miracle, she'd go back to sleep. And then grunt and roll around and push me to the outermost corner of the bed. But at least she was getting sleep.

I'd been reading about starting a nightly ritual to get baby in the mindset to traipse off into the land of Nod, so we've been trying to establish one. She gets a bath which she really seems to like, not just merely tolerate. Then comes the shoehorning of the p.j.s which she is clearly just tolerating and then everyone's favorite - a bedtime story. For my first mother's day my dad tracked down a copy of Splish, Splash and Splush, one of my favorite books as a kid (read: I apparently made my folks recite this one to me about 20 times a night), so that made the inaugural cut. Last night was Caps for Sale. I picked this up at Davis Kidd because the cover really spoke to me. Here's this roughly drawn gentleman who is giving off a French vibe and wearing a stack of caps while monkeys watch him from the trees. Funny hats, monkeys and France - It just screamed Caleb. When I showed him the book, his eyes went wide with recognition. Apparently this was HIS favorite book as a child, and you could see the goosebumps on his arms as he flipped through it. So wussy ducks and scheming monkeys and comfy pjs and a warm bath led up to her fallingl asleep around 11. She flirted with the idea of waking up an hour later but then gratefully was down for the count. And next thing we know it's 5 AM. She was crying she was so hungry and could barely remove the hand she was furiously sucking before pouncing on me. And I was so excited I couldn't go back to sleep. I'm hoping the novelty of this will wear off soon and everyone in the bed will get a full night sleep, say, before the teeth start coming in and we start this all over again. But right now I'm pretty psyched.

Parenting is hard

Thursday was the dreaded visit to the peds, the one where we felt like we were essentially rolling the dice with our baby's life by allowing her to get her shots. In typing this I know how stupid that must sound, that if any of the dreaded diseases prevented by the immunizations were to make a resurgance we'd be begging for the meds. But after reading account after account of babies havin reactions and dying after the old Dtp, we were absolutely terrified. Our doctor wasn't as sympathetic as I had hoped, but she laid out a good case for why - I mean, in the years she's been administering the shots, she hasn't seen a single reaction. So we decided to go ahead and do it. And for reasons unknown to us, it took the nurse over half and hour to come in and give her the shots - 30 minutes of us rethinking, sweating and generally freaking out.

But she got her shots. She was really fussy and upset for 48 long hours after, but baby girl is ok. Her parents are just big wusses.

Baby girl is also now 14 lbs. 6 oz and 24 inches long!!

I have a Menorah down there?

We see Harlow's pediatrician tomorrow for her 2month (technically her 2 1/2 month) checkup, an appointment that has inspired eagerness, curiosity and absolute dread. We'll finally get an answer to whether she's too big, we'll see how much she's grown and then there is the whole shot business that has me absolutely terrified.

But what has been preoccupying us the most lately? The proper care and washing of our baby girl's most delicate parts.

The past 2 trips to the doc involved her specifically instructing us on making sure to wash out the "cheesy" substances that were hiding out there since birth. On our second trip she checked and apparently we hadn't done a thorough enough job, a topic we dicussed as we were giving Miss H her bath for the evening. She had said something about leaving one part with the cheesy stuff alone but that other part? That would need to be cleaned, most definitely. So where, exactly, were we supposed to be washing? And thus ensued one of the strangest arguments in which we've ever participated. The labia majora or minora (which phonetically brought to mind a candelabra stashed in the hoo-ha)? And where the hell did they end and the thigh begin? There were pictures drawn in the air, diagrams consulted on the internet, (try googling THAT topic), and much giggling and a pretty terrible realization.

My husband knows more about my anatomy than I do.

Rip Van Winkle

Harlow sleeps a lot.

This shouldn't be surprising as she is nigh on 10 weeks old and from my understanding, aside from smiling and showing off her genius linguistic skills, is supposed to be a sleep champ at this age. But according to acquaintances and random people I meet out and about, we have a very. special. baby.

"Will you just look at her? She's just sitting there in her car seat. ASLEEP."
This said by the framer as if he was discussing a pet frog who wore a tuxedo and sang Hello My Darlin on cue.

We went to a baby shower for the head Mama of Mothersville, and everyone joked about Harlow was just doing her thing, sleeping in polite company. At 10 weeks, her reputation has proceeded her. She roused briefly to eat and take in the new digs and then promptly fell asleep.

For another four hours.

This was after trying to wake her with kisses, encouragement and some weird Hall N Oates-esque song Caleb made up called BABY WAKE UP. Wasn't doing it. I mean, even for her this was excessive. I googled "my two month old sleeps too much" and added "all the time" - and not surprisngly, nothing came back.

Because apparently that wouldn't be considered a problem unless you're a paranoid freak me.

And that's why my baby is a genius

I'm throwing my hat in the ring. Just like every parent who pounces on a syllable and predicts their 2 month old to be a linguistic savant, I can't help but just come out with it.

Harlow is a genius.

My girlfriends are taking a trip to Croatia this summer - without me. As Caleb and I were talking about it while playing with Miss H, I said Croatia and Harlow said "Cr." Caleb and I stopped and looked at her. Then at each other.

"Croatia" said Caleb.

"Cr" repeated Harlow.

"Croatia," I whispered.

"Cr" she insisted.

Then she started cooing and smiling and moving onto some other pertinent topic like pacifiers. We just sat there in awe. Surely not, we thought. But there was the other night when we were saying goodbye at dinner and Avery started waving goodbye and Harlow and Harlow looked and slowly started opening her hand in direct imitation of her cousin. I had never ever seen her open her hand like that.

But then, it's probably just baby gas.

But I think she's a genius.

Oops...

I might have to kill the dog.

I suppose it's not entirely his fault that his mission in life is to kill the mailman and that his babycrazy parents have entirely abandoned his training and are only mildy surprised that he is now a barely restrained, raging beast and that when the doorbell rang - courtesy of the mailman - and Murphy ran to try and kill his nemesis, he ran over the baby.

He managed to give her the slightest scratch on the leg and a big, gaping hole in my heart. I never ever want to hear her cry and scream like that again.

Of course she's fine, much comforting and cursing at the clueless dog ensued.

Both of them, poor babies.

I may still have to kill the dog.

Parents Day Out

Grandpa John came down for the weekend to visit the bebe and give us a very special gift - couple time. Caleb and I decided we'd try to see a movie which was perfect because Pirates of the Caribbean opened. And not so perfect because it was 3 hours long. I happened to get up this morning around 6 after feeding H to pump my near-exploding breast, so she had milk while we would be away. She was also likely to sleep all afternoon anyway, but a 3 hour movie + trailers + a giant coke and my still incontinent self = an acute inability to focus and enjoy Johnny Depp and his eyeliner. So we decided to see Waitress.

Oh criminy.

The first sign that things were amiss were the old folks. Not that I have anything against old folks, you just don't typically see them flocking to the cinema en masse. The MidSouth chapter of the Keri Russell Appreciation society? The problem with old folks (we're talking mid 70s here) at a movie is that their hearing isn't so great and you typically have to endure the WHAT DID SHE SAY? and the stage whispered narration of the entire film. A fragile old guy took the only available seat next to me after his wife repeatedly and vehemently pointed - from the row behind us - that that was where he was supposed to sit. he obeyed. He smelled strongly of tobacco but at leats, like me, he didn't seem to be getting the film. And then he laughed the dirtiest laugh during the unexpectedly intimate sex scene. So maybe his hearing was bad but his eyes were just fine.

The movie itself was just bad. I really wanted to like it, but there was no chemistry, no connection between the actors, just - nothing. Our eyes met in the dark in silent agreement. Buzzed off our giant coke and milk duds, we ditched and headed to Macy's. Neither of us bought anything and spent the majority of our time, sans cell phones, trying to find each other in the mall. But at least we were doing it together.

It's been a weird weekend for Harlow. Weird eating patterns, sleep patterns, and oy - her worst night ever last night. Up at 1:30, wide awake, and making so much noise. None of us got much sleep. I'm hoping tonight gets better.

Wide World

Sunday we walked over to the Long's for Drew's post triathalon party and finally got to tour the inside of their amazing home. We sat out on the crazy-long porch and ate and drank and when Harlow started to get a little fussy, I took her back inside. The second we walked into the entry, she stopped fussing and with mouth wide open, kept her head on a constant 180 degree swivel to take in the house. She was fascinated! Back outside, she looked up at the trees and at the plants like she couldn't get enough. It was seriously adorable.

She's eating weird. She's starting to eat closer together - like at 6, 8, 9:30, in preparation - or so it seems - to sleep through the night. But lots of fussing, pulling off and on the nipple, fussing. Still wishing the breastfeeding came with a trouble shooting guide.

And my poor breasts. C doesn't get it, thinks I'm whining like I'm 60 and done for. But unexpectedly they went back to normal size tonight, except, they don't don't look normal, at least not like before. It makes me sad. But she's worth it.

From News of The Weird...

I just started my period.

Um...what?

Mother's Day

I got to celebrate my first mother's day this past Sunday with all my moms around me - my mom, sis, and Sue gathered at the Gtown house to eat fried chicken and pound cake and enough carbs to make me look 3 months pregnant. Unfortunately there are pics to prove it. Fortunately my boobs look so large in my dress you hopefully won't look at the poochy stomach. The weekend was a bit exhausting as Harlow decided her mother's day present would be a growth spurt which required her to have a boob in her mouth every hour - on the hour - for abour 48 hours. Needless to say I was a bit grumpy about the whole arrangement.

She'll be seven weeks tomorrow and every day brings a new wonder. She can lift her head 90 degrees when she lies on my stomach (but can't seem to repeat the same feat on the floor). She's been giggling which is the greatest sound in the world. And the cooing! We lay her on the floor so she can check out the nursery and she starts making these high pitched squeals and wriggles her whole body. Too cute. I laid on the floor with her and we read her first book on color - I swear she did not turn away once. She really liked green and purple and the brown shoe.

Baby's All Growns Up

Yesterday was Harlow's magical six week mark, a day in my mind that had become synonymous with Christmas, the White Sale and rainbows giving up their pots of gold. My brain trust of moms, the ones I call my collective crystal ball for gazing into Harlow's future, told me to wait for six weeks, because then everything gets easier. Like magic. Now don't get me wrong. Harlow is a dream baby - esp after some of the horror stories I heard over at Mothersville - but she's still a baby. One that doesn't come with a manual, so What to Expect will have to suffice. Like my moms, WTE says that I should be feeling lots more comfortable now. I believe "diapering one handed" and a "pro at burping baby" was among the accomplishments listed. Paving the way for your child's crippling claustrophobia from severe onesie bungling is not. (And why has no one invented the velcro onesie yet??)

This week brought lots of explosives - explosive diarhhea that blew out her diaper. Explosive pee that stained our sheets 2 nights in a row. Explosive spit up that could have tagged the cat 10 feet away. She hadn't been truly hard before, but this week was getting a little trying. So it was with a little trepidation that I woke on the big 6 week mark. I didn't feel any different. Harlow didn't seem any different. Except when we came back from our walk and she was howling at the gods for depriving her of food, I wasn't AS stressed as normal. When her spit up flowed like lava through the canyon that is my cleavage, I didn't mind it as much. And then something - well, kinda like magic happened. She smiled. A lot. repeatedly. She giggled. She said "la" and I about fell over. Her first syllable. And WTE says she's only supposed to be on vowel sounds. Walking her around, she kept her head up on her own - for a few seconds before collapsing - but STILL. Suddenly my six week old baby seemed like a real baby, one fascinated with her mom even with her history of trying to smother her with onesies. And I'm ok with still being inept at some things. Five weeks ago I was afraid to feed her if it didn't seem to jive with her "schedule." Now I understand her hungry cries and feed her, and sometimes feed her when I don't understand. Five weeks ago I played her father's songs on Itunes for her lullaby. Now I makeup songs about bicycles when I pump her legs and don't care how terrible I sound. Two weeks ago I thought I was gorging my increasingly plump daughter and thought something was wrong with my milk. Now I feel blessed I make enough milk to feed an army. Five weeks ago I thought this was easier than I thought. Now I know better, and that knowledge makes me happy.

I stil have no idea what I'm doing, and the most important six week lesson I've learned is that it is just fine.

6 weeks (almost)

Miss Harlow is nearly 6 weeks old which means my big six week checkup is Friday. The one where I basically get the yay or nay to resume my sex life and live with the fear that I will instantaneously become pregnant again. Some camps would have you believe that breastfeeding exclusively is a natural barrier against such a horror, and it makes sense. When the milk comes in and the baby nurses, the estrogen levels plummet and prevent ovulation. (I could technically not get my period for another year, but 6 months seems to be about average.) As long as the baby demands such exclusive attention from the mom, the body won't allow her to create an interloper to take its place. Again, makes sense. Yet. I've done enough lurking on message boards and read too many warnings to take that leap. And since my readership seems to be exclusively made up of family members, I'm gonna leave it at that.

Harlow is thriving, and by thriving I mean HUGE. The girl can eat. We're not operating under exact science here by stepping up on the scale with her and then jumping back on the scale solo, but if those calculations are correct, she's 13 pounds. That would be nearly doubling her weight in 6 weeks! At the 1 and under group, one of the moms introduced us to her 7 week old daughter - who is much smaller than Harlow. I'm learning quickly that there really is no system of comparison, only that as humans and moms we will continue to do so.

And so the momnesia doesn't take over completely...

This week she's been sleeping a lot, we think due to a (HA!) growth spurt. She tends to wake at 5 AM and is WIDE awake, but she's so fun to cuddle with. Even in the dark I can see her smile and take in the room with her still spooky eyes. She swivels her head around to see you and has started making these cute high pitched coos. The constant spit up that is pretty much after every feeding - not so cute.

More me time

If the past 72 hours weren't obnoxiously me-friendly to begin with, yesterday I had 2 quick but delightful hours at the hair salon to get my seriously nasty rats nest groomed and apparently, frosted. There's this particularly distinctive look that some southern women rock, this stripey, white blonde thing, and somehow "subtle partial highlights" resulted in my new, stripey blonde mom do. Not happy. What are you gonna do.

And then there is the whole mystery ailment. I guess you call it an ailment. About a week after I gave birth, Inoticed that the skin around and on my knees hurt. A lot. Like, soft cotton sheets brushing against it felt like someone was lighting a match on my knee. Anytime I would put my knee on the bed, the floor, a chair, it flared up with pain. But I mainly ignored it with everything else going on. And then my knee started to go numb, and that caught my attention. My mom floated an interesting theory. One week before the pain came, I had a needle put into my spinal cord for the epidural. Now I have an intense nerve pain and numbness...in my knees. Yeah, it doesn't make much sense to me either, but I don't know what else to blame. It's kinda freaking me out. I'll see the neurologist on Monday.

We had a couple milestones today. Harlow has just started smiling when smiled at which rocks. my. world. but today, I swear she laughed. She'd been smiling and I started laughing and smiling back and then she starte wiggling and then let out this little mini squeal. It's a laugh in my book. She also reached out and touched a bunny rattle I held up to her. Next week she'll be getting her driver's license.

On the road again

Miss Harlow has proved herself to be quite the little traveler. Because I am too dog tired to be witty, here is a recap of our travels over the past 72 hours:

Saturday:

Technically not her first concert since that would be her daddy's, but the Memphis rock n romp seemed to pass muster. She slept the whole time while mommy and daddy drank from the keg and listened to electric guitars. From a safe distance. Musta been 50 kids running around. The nicest compliment I got - some girl told me my post-preggo pilates bod made her want to vomit.

Sweet.

Sunday: A little trickier as our post church lunch date with mom and dad coincides with her feeding. I happen to have pumped, so I feed her my milk from a bottle in the back seat while Caleb drives us to lunch. She sleeps the whole time. We then take her over to Lauren and Tommy's to celebrate Wilson's dedication and Grace's baptism. Everyone stares at her intently. She sleeps. A breif interlude at home and then we're off to Nana and Pop's where she decides to get a little cranky. But after a feeding, C and I head out to Baby Gap to use our big ole gift certificate. WE're halfway there when we realize it's the first time we've been anywhere just the two of us since she was born.

Monday:

Her goodwill toward me is starting to run low. She accompanies me to the doctor's office - aw hell, she 's crying as I type this.

Doctor's office
Petra cafe
Target
grocery store

equals

rockstar baby

Pilates!

Nana and Aunt Lindsey came over today and brought Christmas early. The gift of me time. I hightailed it over to the pilates studio and got my first official workout in since Harlow arrived a month and day ago. My body still feels like jello but wow did getting stretched out feel amazing!

This week I haven't been blogging because every spare moment has been devoted to cleaning up my novel pages for a writing competition. I advanced to the second round (yay!) but waited until the last minute to turn in the pages and so the home stretch for revisions found me on my own, pulling out everything in my bag of tricks to stop Harlow from screaming which ultimately was holding her in my arms while typing one handed. Then Murphy threw up at my feet, she started screaming again and I rang up daddy who was out having a boys night. And like the sweet daddy he is, he hurried home to find his sweet baby girl asleep. But I got them pages done.

next week I'll post about Mothersville, this very cool mommy-centric shop in Cooper Young that had a breastfeeding support group and a 1 and under play group, both of which I attended for the first time this week. Finally got to meet some cool moms.

Reason #30127 why I love my husband

I won't go into specifics, but C has been a bit incapacitated and unable to help with the bebe at night. So I've been having to do the bulk of the grunt work and yesterday the combo of sleep deprivation, massive parenting insecurities and a very, very fussy baby hit hard. Lots of tears, self-doubt, embarassment and exhaustion. And then my sweet, sweet husband kicked me out of the house with a list of movie showtimes and told me to go have fun. So I did. I got me a coke, a slice of pizza and a matinee screening of Hot Fuzz. Which I kinda enjoyed. When I wasn't missing my baby girl and husband.

What I've learned so far

Parenthood is the combination of gut instinct and abject terror performed one handed.

Babies can cry for no reason. Loudly.

Sleep is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

It's amazing what one can accomplish on 2 hours of said sleep out of, what day is it today?

Harlow is eating like she is preparing to hibernate underground for the winter. I haven't the heart to tell her that she has to get through a Memphis summer first.

Vanity doesn't go away. I'm trying to pretend that I don't mind my poor little one's greasy, broken out skin.

My heart is tripled in size. At least. As much as she exhausts me, challenges me,makes me doubt my abilities as a mother and a human being, she fills me up with a love that hurts to feel it.

And good God do I love sleep.

Friday

I remember paying close attention to something I read in one of my baby books before I gave birth, a caution to parents not to be fooled by the sweet little angel in the hospital, the one that slept for 7 hour stretches and didn't cry and pretty much just looked cute and chilled. They said to wait until you got home and give it a couple days and then sweet baby would introduce you to the real little one behind the curtain. So I did. I did't make any presumptions that the marathon sleeping, chill baby we brought home would stay that way. And then 2 weeks passed. She wasn't sleeping for 5 hours anymore, but that was ok because she was, well, chill. She didnt' scream, she didn't spray poo, she batted those spooky blue eyes and smiled in her sleep and pretty much made anyone within a five foot radius fall in love.

And then Harlow met her digestive tract and everything went to shit.

Fortunately Nana was over the first night the piercing, godawful shrieking cries came out of my sweet baby girl's body and they only lasted about 2 minutes - but it was enough to reduce me to tears. Why was she sounding like somebody was stabbing her body with a knife? A call to the pediatrician's office resulted in the expected - give her some mylocon drops, say a Hail Mary and good luck. Caleb and I were a little iffy on the drops and I happened to find some homeopathic version at MOthersville so we gave some to her. And lo and behold it worked. The only thing is that fructose is one of the ingredients and I really wasn't keen on giving my child sugar. And then the painful, gut wrenching screaming started again and I suddenly knew what it was like to be one of those parents with best intentions. The one who was only going to use cloth diapers and make baby food and only give her the purest of nutrients. Give screaming baby the stuff with the sugar. Baby stops screaming. Peace reigns. For a bit.

This was my first full week unassisted. Caleb was back at work, no family was safely within reach to pass her off so I could steal 30 minutes reading a magazine in the tub. And she made the most of he time. She was pretty much wide awake when daddy went to work and then would stay up until she go tired of looking at the ugly dolls and stripey burp cloths I trotted out for her amusement. And those wide awake stretches got longer and longer until today where she basically decided nope, no sleep for me no sleep for you, so let's get this party started. The problem was that I skipped my nap yesterday so I pretty much was extremely ill-prepared to handle the meltdown. She is 3 weeks and a day and again, thanks to the baby books, I knew to expect the 3 week growth spurt, i.e. lots of fussing, demanding and eating around the clock. But the thing is that sweet baby is putting on the pounds. She's gained like, 3 pounds in 3 weeks. Now I'm no pediatrician, but that sounded a bit excessive to me. The "Whoa!" exclaimed by the pediatric nurse I talked to when I called concerned didn't make me feel much better.

(An internet search a bit later mentioned that breastfed babies' weight gain are judged by the percentile scale developed in the 1970s when most babies were bottle fed. The WHO has since updated their chart to relect that breastfed babies gain weight much more rapidly in the first 3 months and then suddenly drop off until 12 months or so. But apparently most pedes don't know this.)

So this afternoon Harlow was screaming. For what I had no idea. I had fed her, burped her, changed her, walked her, promised her a new car on her 16th and nada. I put her in bed with me and shushed and held and rocked her but nothing. And I was getting dangerously tired. In a fit of exhaustion I curled my entire body around her and willed all the love I had in my body into hers.

And she stopped. And apparently so did I. 1 hour later I woke up, my daughter curled up peacefully in my arms. 2 minutes later she was screaming again, but so it goes.

smile

A few minutes ago, after I had fed Harlow and ate some cereal and watched her squirm and grunt and dance close to the edge of crying, I went to her rescue. Immediately upon picking her up, she let out a huge burp, which made me laugh.

Then she smiled at me. And that made me cry.

I know it sounds like it was wishful thinking, but she smiled 3 times in a row. She looked at me, gave me this gummy smile and then crinkled her whole face up with it. 3 times.

It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Week 2

We're practically into 2 1/2 weeks but I've hit the Wall, the big, fat Great Wall of No Sleep that makes simple things like updating a blog feel like a Herculean task. Thursday was Harlow's 2 week check up at the peds which meant our maiden voyage in the car together. It is understating things to the inth degree by saying I was a tad stressed. Caleb and I conducted a dry run with the car seat and it was surprisingly simple, but this was the thing - how could I drive the car and not be in the back seat with her at the same time? What if she cried or got scared or spitup or missed me? The only compromise was the backseat mirror which I managed to rig to show the top of her head. So I got her, the car seat, the diaper bag and me in the car, only to find that the landscapers had taken over the driveway next door which is literally connected to ours. So, I try to back up, the baby crying, the car frantically beeping at me not to hit the landscapers or their truck or the wheelbarrow or half dozen boulders scattered haphazardly around and CRUNCH. There went the plastic casing around the passenger side mirror. I am happy to report that, unlike my car, I did get my baby to the doctor in one piece. She got a glowing bill of health - she's up to 8 lbs 5 ozs already!
She also got the go ahead to attend her daddy's first ever Memphis gig at Otherlands, and naturally, she was a rockstar. Slept in the sling the entire time while everybody oohed and ahhed over her cuteness.

dreamland

I want to see where Harlow goes when she dreams. Apparently it's a pretty fabulous place, because it makes her smile. Her whole face lights up, dimples are revealed and sometimes she sighs. It's a beautiful image contrasted with the rest of her face; her eyes tend to roll back in her head Exorcist-style during REM sleep, freaking her mama out.

Okay, I make light of it only to mask the emotions it wrenches out of my gut everytime I see that smile. I'm jealous of that place she goes to in her dreams because it makes her happy in a way that I'm not able to yet. I know I just have to wait and be patient until she'll start sharing those smiles with me.

She's also hilarous to watch as she nurses. Caleb and I have given a name to her alter ego - Dominique Piglet. The "D" for the French Buster Keaton Dominique Pinon, and Piglet, because she sounds like exactly like a little hooved squealer when's she hungry. She latches on like I was the last soup kitchen on the last block in town and then slowly starts to fade, overloaded on oxytocin, when suddenly she decides she's had enough. She makes a little satisfied grunt, flings herself backwards off of my breast and falls limp into a food coma. She makes me feel like the most appreciated chef on the planet.

updates

I can't believe I haven't mentioned our one and only official outing with Miss Harlow. We went to see the pediatrician, Caleb on an empty stomach and me crazy with stress and a big storm front passing through. The wait took forever and Harlow screamed and screamed at getting weighed and measured. But the pediatician is fantastic - smart lady, tough cookie. Like her a lot. Unfortunately she felt that Harlow still looked a littel jaundiced so we had to go back to the hospital and get more blood drawn. Fortunately the timing worked out as I had royally f-ed up the car seat base in trying to be proactive, so he got to track down the car seat safety lady while I got to comfort my poor baby girl while they squeezed more blood out of her ankle. But her billie rubin levels were fine (how this is a scientific measure and not a country singer is beyond me) so she gets to be stripped down to her diaper and sunbathe which is going over just fine.

And I seem to be bouncing back slowly but surely. I'm doin 20 minute walks daily. And I never EVER thought I would say this, but I kinda miss the belly as it is shrinking away. It was my proof that she was inside. I miss her on my walks, not having her there. I'm sure once it warms up again and we can put her back in the stroller, I'll get over that fast.

She also had her first bath today - which she hated. And I finally pumped, and wow did I feel like a new person. A new person without hot. giant rock hard milk ducts in their boobs.

5:30 AM

5:30 AM. Chocolate poptart in one hand, bag of frozen peas on my swollen boob. Caleb and Harlow in the big green chair, and we're watching the original Island of Dr. Moreau.

Good times.

Seriously, I mean it.

p.s. Caleb does a really fab impression of Michael York.

p.p.s I'm so not buying that "no animals weren't harmed in the making of this film"

Week 1

Today Harlow is officially a week old. Today Caleb and I are officially tired, awed, freaked and love drunk over our girl. It's absolutely earth shattering the feelings she inspires in me. Love, terror, fear, adoration, appreciation, humility. Today she spit up right in my face. I felt like I had just been through a rite of passage. Congrats. You are a mom. Now try and wipe off that spit up while you change her next to the giant pee stain and try to get that onesie over her head without smothering her.


My milk came in on Tuesday, and by milk I mean rock hard plastic jugs like the kind you find in the dairy section at the store that switched places with my breasts in the middle of the night. The fantastic news is that the nursing is going really, really well. I truly can't get over my luck at how I gave birth to a future professional food eater and she latches on like nobody's business. But then there is the rest of the day when she's not nursing, and my boobs feel like they are going to explode. They have to be D cups by now, and as the rest of my body is slowly shrinking back to normal, they just seem to get bigger. Anytime I leave the house I will have to have Harlow with me so I'm not mistaken for some wannabe porn star.

Have I mentioned how we have the most fabulous baby on the planet? I don't know what kind of blood sacrifice is going to be required of me in the future for my sweet deal, but right now we are loving our super mellow, typically sleeps about 4 or 5 hours at night rockstar baby. She rarely if ever screams, and she's really making motherhood go down easy.

But then there are the hormones. The ones that came with the milkman. These are nasty, supersize freak you out hormones. The kind that zapped all your confidence as a mother and a human being, that make you think you are going to royally F up your child or worse - you'll turn your head for one second and the big bad world will get her instead. I thought I knew fear before having a child. That wasn't nothing.

I think I'm gonna go love on her right now.

Welcome to the World, Baby Girl

It's quiet, here on the otherside.

I'm watching my five day old daughter sleep in her bassinet, the sounds of gurgling intestines and blood flow and odd but fantastic choice of background music. It's supposed to mimic the sounds of my womb which, according to the cd, is a world of fuzzy tv reception, constantly running vacuums and a demonic septic pump. But it gets the job done.

So.

I have a daughter. I am a mother.

And it's okay. It's more than okay. I had been so prepared to be terrified, overwhelmed, scared and depressed that I was wholly unprepared for the utter happiness and joy I feel at being Harlow Mae Sweazy's mother. How about that name, by the way? It took us 2 days of making lists and throwing them out and starting over from scratch, but we finally landed on a name beautiful enough to honor our gorgeous little girl.

Let's back up. I tossed and turned all night before the induction. It was just too surreal. Set alarm. Shower. Check in to the hospital at 7:15 to meet the baby. But that's what we did. They led me back to the delivery room by myself which was a little jarring. I know I threw C a pathetic smile as they took me away, and basically they needed me to sign a bunch of paperwork and vouch that my home was a safe place to take the baby and then C was allowed into the birthing suite. Sweet nurse Donna hooked me up to an IV, Diane came in and broke my water, the pitocin kicked in, and within a few short hours I was dilating steadily. I got to feel a few contractions but I made sure to have my epidural doc stop in asap, so nothing was worse than a really bad menstrual cramp. The way it should be. I kept hearing this terrible sound coming from the hallway, and I asked who the crazy lady was. She would be the one in labor without the epidural. I could feel my contractions as my uterus balled up and released, but with no pain. The fascinating thing is that I would suddenly feel exhausted after an intense contraction and then feel the endorphins rushing through me, all without the pain. Brilliant.

I was more than a little stunned when Donna announced that it was time to start pushing. I had just been happily chatting with John and Pat, clueless that I was 10 centimeters dilated. Diane came in, and the pushing began. Caleb held one leg, Donna held the other, and little pleaser me tried to push as hard as I could with a numb pelvis. Fortunately the epidural started to wear off just a smidge toward the end and i could feel better what I was trying to do. And after 40 minutes of pushing and a 2 degree cut, at precisely 2:20 PM, my daughter came screaming into the world. I couldn't have been more surprised if a giant pink unicorn had come galloping out of my vagina. A girl. I was so convinced it was going to be a boy. But now, truly, I wouldn't have it any other way. Gorgeous, mellow, already a heartbreaker, my little girl has already made doormats out of me and her father. They keys to the car? No problem. A pony? It's yours. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I now just wish sometimes she was still inside my belly, because in there, aside from the dangers of too hot baths and feta, she was safe. Now she's out in the open, and she' sjust going to have to get used to me sticking to her like glue so the big bad world will keep its filthy mitts off of her.

Hi there

Hi baby,

You know what's crazy? We get to meet you tomorrow, your dad and I. They are gonna induce me because of the whole diabetes thing and we're just a few days shy of the due date and the fact that you may likely fall out of me the next time I stand up.

Last night I got a little freaked out about the whole prospect. There's this show that I loved called Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I know, lame name, great show. It had a spinoff called Angel, and there was this scene from the first episode I think, where Buffy and Angel, starcrossed lovers (you'll learn about that when you read Romeo and Juliet in high school), get to have this one amazing weekend together, but she is doomed to have her memory erased of the entire event. As the clock ticks toward the moment she'll forget forever, she fights it, insisting that she won't, that she will remember, that things won't have to change. And then the clock strikes, her memory is erased, and the Buffy that Angel knew for those precious days is lost to him forever.

I know it's insanely dorky me to reference a fantasy TV show, but that scene has truly haunted me these last few weeks. As the clocks ticks steadily toward the end of one life and the beginning of a completely new one, I just want to scream and yell and say that I will fight it, that things won't have to change. I won't have to grow up and take on the scariest, most awesome challenge known to mankind.

But I got to see you today at our last ultrasound. You were drinking, opening up this amazing little mouth, and then you sucked your thumb and kicked hello. And motherhood suddenly didn't seem so terrifying because meeting you has skyrocketed to the top of my priority list. Not my writing, not my travelling or scooting off to a movie or dinner with friends. Meeting you is pretty much all i want to do, and it looks like tomorrow I get my wish.

So, safe travels, godspeed and try not to kick me too much on the way out, ok? I'll see you on the otherside.

love,

Mom

They're real, and they are spectacular...and sore

Ok, so I suppose I've learned one thing that's great about pregnancy.

Boobs.

In a matter of days, I'm about to forfeit my chest to the little kickboxer that has been rooming inside me for almost 10 months now, but on date night Saturday, they were all mine. As a lifelong flatchested gal, I never cared about not having big boobs and I've talked here before about not getting the allure. Until now. Before dinner I noticed C staring at me from the couch with a slight smile. I asked him what the smirk was all about. Innocently he said "nothing" and tried to focus on the TV. And that's when I knew.

He was staring at the boobs.

Hee.

anytime now

If I don't go into labor RIGHT THIS VERY INSTANT, I think I might go crazy.

(ahem. baby this is your cue)

Ok. Ready when you are.

Birthday

Just going to show that even other pregnant women lose their tact around pregnant women:

"God, I hope I don't end up THAT big." - said to me by a 7 month pregnant chick. In her defense, I think she was maybe 19 and still lives with her folks, so my superiorty complex kicked in and nursed me all the way back to the car.

Yesterday was Caleb's birthday, and it was no big secret that I was hoping to have the baby out and giftwrapped by the time the fam came over for burgers. Baby apparently had other plans, so Caleb had to make do with his kick-ass Willie Nelson painting I had commissioned for him by local folk artist Lamar Sorrento. Thursday I was convinved the baby was on the way. I felt absolutely wretched. My back hurt, I could barely walk, my vagina felt like it was having one big charley horse and I was just done. Then yesterday morning I woke up a well rested perky angel, just like today. So TRULY I'm not complaining. I'm sleeping through the night, I feel good. Baby's gonna come soon, so I might as well lap up my free time.

I'm just kinda dying to meet my kid.

Oh - since nature seems to have a way of balancing things, this really cute girl at Fino's came up to me at lunch and told me how beautiful I was. For all the times I've had strangers tell me how huge I am, I'm gonna kinda miss being pregnant for the kind souls who made my fucking year by saying things like that.

joy and pain

This is the face of the third trimester. Pretty, eh?


But, oooh, look what is! My favorite shower gift EVER came in from my mom. Are these not the cutest things you've ever seen??

eeew

So, Mr./Miss Baby. 3 centimeters. 80% effaced. You are docked at "0" in my pelvis. What's the big holdup, huh? Oh, it's your dad's birthday tomorrow? You want to make a grand entrance? Ok, I get that. So see you tomorrow, right?

Courtesy of the global warming, last night was deliciously warm so we decided to take advantage of the relatively low humidity and mosquito factor and went to Celtic Crossing. The patio was great, and because I was at an irish pub my gestational diabetes, like leprechauns and Brigadoon, all of a sudden didn't really exist, so I ordered up the fish and chips. I really just had the fish, light on the chips because the guilt factor was too high, but when I say I went light on the fish, fish didn't go so light on me. Last night was a bit rough. For the past 3 months, I've mainly eaten pretty lean meats and veggies and salads and peanut butter, so I don't think my body knew what to do with the influx of comfort food. Up and down to the bathroom, bleary with antihistamine. Woke up at five with my stomach still feeling weird. Then it just gets weirder when your husband is excited by the fact your bowels are basically having a goong out of business sale, because in his book, this means the baby is coming. I think it just means I need to stick to salads.

Though, last night was weird. I don't know how to talk about it without being disgustingly graphic, but - i'll do my best here - when I was having my, uh, episodes? I swear I felt my cervix opening and kinda staying open. With some pain. And then it closed, or stopped. You know? It YAWNED. That's the best way to describe it. My cervix yawned. So you see, baby? Even my CERVIX is getting bored with these shenanigans.

Princess Grumpy

So here we are, a day shy of Week 38. Spicy food? Speedbumps? Pact with the devil? Sex? I'd consider any and all just to get this show on the road. Sleep was a saucy tease last night. I was up about every 2 hours peeing or trying not scratch the eczema that has taken over my entire body. Alexa seems to think that all the hormones and attention toward fattening the baby up this week is allowing the eczema to run unchecked. I don't know what's going on, but if this kid doesn't come out soon, their mom may be missing their top layer of skin.

Oh, but last weekend was lovely. My cousin got married, a fancy 2 night affair, so I was required to get all dolled up with the challenge of not being mistaken for a grounded zeppelin. I think I succeeded. So many ladies told me how beautiful I looked, the younger girls saying that all hoped they looked like me when it was their turn to be preggo. All the compliments certainly had me floating as much as my 30 extra pounds would allow.

I see Diane tomorrow, an dlast we left it at her drumming her fingertips together like an evil mastermind, suggesting that "there are vays to get zee baby movingk" - minus the evil Germanesque accent. I think it involves words like "stripping" "membrane" and "pain" btu I say bring it on. Tomorrow is the first day of Aries, the 21st and 2 days shy of C's bday, so I couldn't think of a lovelier day for the baby to make his/her big debut.

37 weeks and counting

On our drive to dinner the other night:

Me: You know, I kinda hope its a boy.
C: Why's that?
Me: Because he'll be so handsome like his daddy. I just can't wait to see whose traits he'll end up with.
C: What do you want them to have of yours?
Me: Hmmm....my sparkling wit...
C: mmhmmm
Me: My devastating good looks...
C: Your modesty?
Me: Of course. My mouth.
C: Your mouth?
Me: Yeah, I discovered I have a good mouth. Maybe its the hormones or something, but my lips seem really full. I have a great mouth.
C turns and studies my mouth.
C: Uh, sure.
He changes the subject. I can't believe he had to look. I can't believe I'm getting pissy. But still...I can't believe he looked. I have an awesome mouth.

*********************************
I talked to Jill yesterday who was very excited by my news that I was officially 37 weeks - full freakin term.
"Are you calm?" she asked.
And it hit me. I was. And I am. It's like somebody threw a little switch in my head. I'm not scared anymore. I'm not anticipating pain or the scary hormones. I'm just ready and really excited. Maybe it's the knowledge that the baby is fully formed (with hair!) and can survive now that I'm 37 weeks. I'm just thankful for the calm. As long as it lasts...

*********************************

My dream last night: Caleb's ex girlfriend had a baby boy and I was really happy for her but really frustrated that everybody around me but ME was having a kid.

And another crazy parent dream: I was at FedEx in the 1970s, around the time my dad started there as a young attorney. I showed up unexpectedly to visit him, passing secretaries dressed like Pan Am flight attendants, and was stunned to see him in his office shredding documents and smoking a giant stogie like he was some white collar felon. Which apparently he was about to be as the feds were coming to bust him. he also had kickass sideburns and a crazy 70s suit - very dream appropriate.

All I can assume from these dreams that unmask my wonderful loving parents as frauds as textbook PROJECTION on my part. For all this newfound "calm," apparently I'm still terrified at the kind of parent I'm going to turn out to be. Or II need to start watching my back when I meet the folks for lunch.

Blastoff

I'm writing this from the nursery that is finally starting to look like a nursery. The crib linens are washed and put on said crib. The changing table is all set with a pad and we even picked up The Chair that Threatened to End a Marriage from Babies R Us. I think it looks fine, but more importantly, it feels like a little slice of heaven when I sit in it. So there! It's just blowing my mind that in less than 3 weeks time, a baby is going to be living in this room.

After a rough few days of squabbling with C and watching my blood sugar spike like crazy and enduring comments like "Oh, you are totally having a boy. You are way too big for that to be a girl," I sent out a distress call to Diane. I emailed her a pic of what I thought was my ginormous belly and told her about my concern over the blood sugar and she hustled me into the office asap. Reassured on all front. I got to have an ultrasound just to confirn that I wasn't birthing Godzilla, and the baby measured a whopping 6 lbs 1 oz. That's in the 25% percentile, DOWN from 31% 2 weeks ago. She said that it just doesn't look to be in the cards for me to have a big baby. And I am just dandy with that. She also said that I am 2 centimeters dilated which rocks - thank you sweet body for easing me into this - and the baby's head is super low and pretty much ready for takeoff. of course, she warned that I could go all the way to my due date like this, but with the cramping and the dilation, it's looking pretty likely that the baby will be here sooner than later.

The baby just kicked me as I typed that. Was that a once for "exactly...so get ready?"

**************************

I just remembered part of my dream last night. My "parents," who did not at all resemble my nearest and dearest, tried to have me killed. I outed their plans and had a nasty row with them in their house, throwing things and calling my mother - a shrill, evil looking woman with a bad perm, a motherf**cker, which, even in my dream, seemed kinda funny and wildly inappropriate, even though she had been trying to kill me.

1 cm!

Had my first exam today and was pleased to hear that my cervix has been doing its homework. I'm "at least" 1 cm dilated (I was gunning for 8, but I'll take what I can get) and while I didn't get a percentage on how effaced it was, the doctor assured me it "was what he liked to see." Is there anything a male gyno can say that doesn't sound inherently icky? My ob/gyn wasn't available today and I was none too pleased that I only had 2 options - a male doc that is a good family friend (eew) and another male doc who a friend of mine can't stand. Not wanting to be probed by a guy I spend the holidays with, I chose the jerk. And he was perfectly nice if not a little patronizing - he mentioned I had gained 3 pounds in one week which had me sputtering that the nurse wrote it down wrong - which she did - and he kept telling me to stop working out. It didn't make much sense. And then he congratulated me on doing well with my blood sugar, saying that there wasn't any sugar in my "tt."

My tt.

You know, the stuff that comes out of a bajingo.

Doofus.

Dear Baby

Dear Baby,

I suppose if you were to read back on the last few posts, you might be having some doubts about actually making your debut from the loins of such a frazzled, worrywort of a mom. Because I want to calm any fears (and ensure you actually do come out) I wanted to talk about the things that make me happy when I think about you.

1. You are going to be so small that you might actually fit into those preemie-size outfits of Avery's I accidentally shrank in the drier.
2. You are going to be the most photographed infant on the planet, next to Anne Geddes' kids, and I won't put you in any of that creepy cheesecloth.
3. Judging from the way you respond to ITunes, you're going to have your father's taste in music. Why that makes me somewhat sad (no JT, little one?), you dig soul singers and really seem to like Amy Winehouse's Rehab which makes you a hipster - and you haven't even been born yet.
4. I'm going to get to introduce you to the pleasures of taking nice, long baths. If you can hold my New Yorker, it's yours.
5. You are a smooshed up grabbag of traits of me and your crazy hot, wonderful dad, and I can't wait to spot them all as you grow.
6. You will be proof that I can start and finish something.
7. You will also discover the pleasures of eating, and I will do my best to make sure that after "mom" and "dad," papadum will be your first word.
8. If I don't go crazy and runaway with you back to LA, you're going to grow up surrounded by family and an awfully adorable cousin.
9. You're going to be my sous chef.
10. You're going to be out of my belly and in my arms very soon. My back is particularly excited about this. It stops my heart sometimes, but I think that's only because like my uterus, it's getting ready for a pretty major workout.

worry

Along with the swelling, the bitching, the deep ache in the back that doesn't go away, I'm thinking maybe worry is part of the 3rd trimester litany of complaints that's just par for the course. So much of my focus has been worrying about me - my discomfort, my guilt over my relative cakewalk of a pregnancy, my fear of labor pain, my fear of being a terrible parent, my fear of post partum depression, of painful postpartum sex and incontinence if I have a vaginal birth, or torn abdominal muscles if I have a c section.

And then in a rare shift of considering anyone's/thing's experience outside of myself, I started worrying about the baby. I woke from a deep sleep the other night convinced I heard someone going through our garbage cans. The baby felt like a hard slab of clay in my belly, like an art project settling overnight until the artist came back to complete his work. The weight and lumpish feel of it started to really bother me. Usually the baby moves the second my eyes open, and as little room as they have, it still is a feeling of fluidity, of pliable skin and waves. This felt cold, hard..dare I even type the words - dead. I instantly tried to take back the thoughts. The baby was fine, just in a deep sleep and comfy. But I couldn't stop the onslaught of panic. I had opened up the What to Expect book - right to the section on stillborn births. Was that supposed to be a sign? A premontion of this very moment? What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to go back to sleep when the baby could be in fetal distress, me powerless to do anything. But was I really powerless? Was this something covered in childbirth class that I just glossed over? Would I - the baby kicked. And kicked again, and did that weird rolling thing that felt what I think a whale breaching and crashing down on its side looks like. The baby was fine.

For now.

And Caleb - when he left for work today. Gave me a sweet smile that suddenly begged the question - what if this was the last time I saw him? What if he were to be hit by a car on the way to work, leaving me all alone to raise a child, to wallow in grief. Then, immediately after, I heard a radio show about a young mom trying to explain to her son why his father was dying of a rare brain disease, a man who ran marathons and ate organic vegetables. Just like Caleb.

My god I haven't even given birth and the worrying is already paralyzing. retarded and nonproductive and silly and a unhealthy way to try and assert control over the unknowable by trumping worry at its own game - by coming up with all the scenarios before they can actually happen - yes I've been in therapy for this in the past - but still fresh, painful and exhausting.

ready to pop

Saturday was the Wild Women Shower and Sue spent the weekend with us. Got lots of cute clothes - funny how it was divided between the skulls and the lambs contingency. Because of the gestational diabetes I've been obsessed with baking, so rationally I decided it was time to bake cupcakes as a thank you gift to those hosting the shower. Suffice it to say the decorations were cute, but ultimately it looked like a baby sitting on a giant mountain of poo. And to my horror, after being on my feet until about 1 AM frosting cupcakes, I realized my feet were really starting to hurt. Like, really really hurt. Caleb was already asleep, so I fumbled my way to the bathroom in the dark and got undressed. And then I saw my ankles.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sheer size. You see those insane power walkers with the weights around their ankles? It was kind of like that, but squishy. And really, really gross. It was like my boobs had slid all the down into my ankles for a change of scenery. It was disgusting and sadly, while they haven't again returned to that supersized addition, they are fully swollen everyday by 3, making it prettty much a bitch to walk anywhere.

My saint of a mom came over today and helped get rid of the mountain of trash that had become the nursery, and it's looking really close to being ready for an actual baby. I'm 36 weeks as of Wednesday, and it is blowing my mind that I will be a mom in less than a month. I don't know if anyone is truly ready to become a parent, but then, maybe that is why one's 3rd trimester body becomes such a hostile environment. At that point you're bargaining with God that you'll do anything, be a freaking PARENT, just get the kid out of me.

So I'm not that desperate yet, but I definitely would not be crushed if baby decided to make an early debut. Like right now.

Bad Internet

I just need to stay off the internet. After a great apt. with Diane who told me that the baby was great, my diet was great and my blood sugar numbers were awesome, I realized it had been awhile since I scared myself to death googling info on GDM. So I promptly found some blogs written by pregnant chicks with GDM whose numbers were WAY below mine - and they had been put on insulin by their doctors. This the the first solid week (I've been on the diet for 6 weeks now) that my fasting numbers have been consistently under 100 - maybe twice they have been under 90. My post-prandiallalala #s have mostly been under 120. But there was this one time, after we cracked open Anthony Bourdain's Les Halles cookbook and made petite filets and bistro fries, the numbers sneaked up to 135. Diane said it was cool. And as long as my doctor is not freaking out, I know I shouldn't be. This is the first week since I started the diet that I finally gained some more weight - and this is on at least a 2000 calorie diet. The baby is not hulking out.

But in last night's dream, we had a boy. or kinda sorta. he was a hermaphrodite. And one leg was shorter than the other. And he had a gigantic ass covered with hair. We still hadn't named him after a day - apparently 'Magnificent Sweazy" was our top choice - but kiddo informed us that he was going to start working out as soon as possible to try and lose some of the baby back.

No more googling until baby comes.

p.s. Why is it that with every boy dream I have, he speaks in complete sentences?

HUGE

There you have it. That is what 34 weeks looks like. And please note the bruise. Call me crazy, but I think the squirmer did enough damage in my innards to leave a mark. Sure felt that way.

UP at 4 this morning, my first real bout of insomnia. Forgot to take off the wedding ring and the Crystal Light I insisted on sucking down before bed gave me Super Mario hands. Hurt like crazy. And now this weird pain in both boobs, under the rib cage. Googlage revealed that 1) my rib cage is expanding along with my entire pelvis 2) baby is doing a handstand and has wedged its foot under my ribs or 3) I'm in my 3rd trimester and should accept any bizarre pain with zen buddha-like tolerance. And then I was starving, so I shrugged on the bathrobe, ate some toast and peanut butter and wrote until Caleb got up at 6. Then promptly napped until 9. They say the insomnia is Mother Nature's way of preparing mom for a future of sleepless nights. I'm with Jill. Mother Nature is so totally a dude.

Holy Crap

I'm 34 weeks pregnant. This means that it is completely within the realm of possibility that I could become a mom anytime from today to 6 weeks from now. Because of the diabetes, I will not be allowed to go over my due date of April 4th, so there you have it. Baby is coming soon. All I've talked about is how great it would be if the baby, being the antsy little squirmer they are, decided to hurry up and join the party here. But now as the realization of what that means is dawning, after we attend our 3rd childbirth class tonight, as we assemble the final pieces of the nursery, I'm still anxious for baby to get here, but maybe just slightly less so. So much change and chaos and the unknown looming. But man I can't wait to see what's been cooking in here all these months.

At my last drs. appt Diane did a manual inspection of my belly and pronounced that she thought the baby felt "big." Not gestational diabetes big - my blood sugar numbers are fine - but big. Sweazy babies are famously on the big side, so I fully expected the woman doing the ultrasound to fall out of her seat in shock after getting a look at our little one. But she gestimated 4 lbs. 6 oz. - exactly the weight he/she is supposed to be. Of course, there is a 10-15% margin of error.

Oh - and why I love my husband? Last Wed was Valentine's Day, and he got me a heart, pictured above. He also got up at 6 AM and walked the dog for an hour in below freezing temps so I wouldn't have to. I love me that man.

lately

The past week has been all about school. Last week was my four hour gestational diabetes class where I learned some helpful things, like how to use the glucose meter (doesn't hurt at all) and where I learned some not so helpful things, like how the nutritionist on staff had never heard of hummus or pilates or falafel and felt McDonald's was fine on the GD diet. So I'm mushing together what I learned there with my LA nutritionist and making a go of it on my own. The glucose meter is realy easy to use but insanely expensive. I'm supposed to check my blood sugar 4 times a day by pricking my finger and wicking the blood on this little strip. Those little strips are a dollar a pop and only come like 15-20 to a canister, so I'm gonna have to fork over some serious cash to keep this up. So far my numbers have been pretty good. The trick has been to get cardio everyday which entails me dressing up like a kid on her first snowday to take Murphy on an hour walk. The snow from last Friday is still on the ground - it's that f-ing cold. If it weren't for this diet, Murphy would have to be content running around the backyard and barking at dogs from inside our cosy, warm house.

Last night was our first childbirth class. Caleb mentioned that every guy at work - and dad's friends that we bumped into at dinner afterwards - said the same thing. Class shmass. Just make sure she asks for the drugs. But I'm glad we're going, I think mainly just for the men to get a better understanding of what is going on inside of our bodies. I got to see what 10 centimeters dilated looks like - it's like a kiddie pool decorated with the flames of hell along its sides.

Like a good student, I will be asking for the drugs.

funny dreams

last night I dreamed that my son was here in town but kept in a nursery until I, still visibly pregnant, gave birth to him. Maybe it was him in spirit form. Anyhow, I was able to sneak in and visit him one night. He didn't know who I was - he called me Danielle, apparently confusing me with the camp counseloresque woman in charge of him - apparently they were riding horses the next morning and he was VERY excited about that. But I told him I wasn't Danielle but his...mommy. His face lit up in recognition of the word and he seemed very excited at the prospect of having a mommy, but I sensed he was still a bit attached to this Danielle character. I figured it would both take us some time to get to know each other.

Later in the dream my water broke, and I frantically called several salons to see if I could come in for a blowout. Good to know my priorities are in order.

Dylan!

My beautiful, hysterically funny friend Jill and her equally hilarious, adorable husband Michael welcomed their baby Dylan to the world after 30 hours of labor and a malfunctioning epidural. She says she won't tell me the whole story until after my delivery, but I'm hoping to get the nitty gritty. It's been so fun having close friends charting the pregnancy waters - so to speak - but I have discovered one downside.

No way is our kid gonna come looking as cute as that. After Avery and now Dylan, the bar has been set ridiculously high. I mean, I'm gonna love our baby, squishy and pointy headed and gooey and all. But damn if those 2 didn't come out paparazzi ready!