She can pull herself up. And crawl. And eat. She just doesn't want to.

She can be motivated.

Stupid blogger won't let me upload pictures. Again. Sigh.

She takes it like such a champ.

After much agony, we decided to get Anna a flu vaccine. I won't go into why it was a big decision--I find that people either say, "Of course you should!" or "Those are stupid and don't work and they have mercury and they're going to give her autism and..." At any rate, with the helpful opinions of Mike's colleagues and others, we went for it.

And this morning she got it, which we were really scared about. We truly fear that it will make her not feel well for some time, and I never look forward to her getting a shot.

And she didn't even cry. Nor wince. Nor act like anything even remotely interesting was happening.

Oh, and she's officially 8 months old. She didn't do anything exciting to commemorate this birthday. She seems to be more or less over her cold. I, on the other hand, am not. I have a productive cough indicating that I am near the end of the misery. "Productive cough" is such a nice way of saying that I'm spewing green chunks of bile from my lungs.

Damn, she's fine!

On Friday, I weighed what I weighed before I got pregnant.

On Saturday, I wore my pre-pregnancy jeans.

On Sunday, I never showered or changed my underwear.

7 months old

In 6 days, Anna will be 8 months old.

But Anna being 7 months old has been so much fun, and so significant, I must tell you all about it.

On October 8, her 7-month birthday, she had several milestones. It was a gorgeous weekend, and Mike repaired some windows on the outside of the house and I planted all of my crocus bulbs. Anna sat on a blanket in the grass, and she actually got herself dirty playing! She scooted as close as she could to the edge of the blanket, and then pulled it up into her lap so she could get at the cool grass and mud. She happily ripped off blades of grass for what seemed like an eternity. It was a nice family day.

On that day, we also went to the grocery store, and she sat in the baby section of the cart. It was slightly nervewracking for me, as she looked so teensy and vulnerable in there. The safety strap was up under her armpits instead of around her belly, so she just kind of dangled among our bananas and broccoli. I think she liked it.

Then, that night, she sat up in the bathtub. We used the bath pillow of course, but let her sit on it and we can pour water right over her whole head and she doesn't mind at all! And she plays with her toys in the tub. It's much more fun this way. (Except now I have the agonizing task of keeping her from lunging for the drain. It is apparently a fascinating drain. Thankfully, the little white hair catcher sufficiently camouflages the spot for now.)

And finally, after all her milestones of the day, after her bath, we caught the little bugger trying to stand. up. in. her. crib! She doesn't even try to sit up on her own (still doesn't at almost 8 months!), but she planted both little feet against the vertical rails, and grabbed the top horizontal rail, and she grunted and tugged and puuuuulllllled, and her little butt was almost 6 inches off the mattress! Soon she busted us watching her and laughing, so she broke into her I-didn't-know-you-were-watching-me smile, and she shook her little arms with excitement. (Lest I forget someday, when Anna is excited, she pounds her arms up and down and up and down in unison, as if she were banging her knife and spoon on a table, chanting, "We want food! We want food!")

So it was a big birthday! And the month just kept getting better. And yuckier.

She had her first cold. It wasn't actually all that terrible, but I didn't expect to be so saddened by her pathetic state. She just had snot everywhere, and she sneezed, and she was extra needy, and I just wanted her to be able to feel better. But she was not unbearable. But she hated having her nose suctioned. But I was such a baby about this cold! I was so scared that she wouldn't be able to breathe well that I kept her in bed with us the first night. But some other moms had suggested that sleeping with us would keep her warm and comfortable, and we could keep her head raised (we all slept on a wall of pillows not unlike Big Bird's nest), and she could nurse often which is supposedly the best thing for a cold. It's funny how memories fade so quickly--I'm now remembering that she had some trouble eating for a very long periods, and she nursed so often, and the top of my breasts would be covered in snot... in hindsight, it wasn't so bad. But at the time, I think it was upsetting.

And also in month 7, she had (well, has) her second cold. Sigh. But again, she's in good spirits (perhaps better than the first time around) and this time the nasal aspirator (aka booger bulb) doesn't piss her off to no end.

And now for the better things in this month: On October 9, Anna swung in a real swing at the park.

On October 25, Anna waved bye-bye to me. It was truly amazing. We have been really practicing that, and making a big production of bye-byes for some time. A few nights before the first real wave, she had half waved, or just raised her arm, to say bye-bye to friends who'd come over for dinner. We weren't sure if it was a real wave, but on the 25th, she did it. There was no mistaking it. I was coming in to work, and Mike was picking her up. We brought her upstairs to see some of my coworkers, and she was passed around for a few minutes. Then, as Mike and she were about to leave, my boss and others said "Bye bye!" to Anna, and out of the corner of my eye I saw her little arm go up and down... and I gasped, "Did she just wave?" and they all said, "yeah" as if it were no big deal! And I turned to her and waved, and said, "Bye bye Anna, bye bye!" And she smiled from ear to ear and sweetly waved back. And my heart melted.

She has since been waving bye-bye more predictably, and she always smiles so big when she does it, like she's really proud of herself. Except it just now occurs to me that I'm always grinning like an idiot when I try to get her to do it, so perhaps she thinks smiling is part of the the wave. But that's okay with me.

I think that Mike thought I was making a bigger deal of it than it was, but maybe Daddies are just too cool to get visibly excited about these things. He's happier when she stares at Jerry playing guitar on the TV--and that's not an intellectual leap, I think she's just wondering what's up with the stoned guy. But I saw her waving as her first true communication. See, babies can communicate from the beginning, in that they can show what they want or need, but they are actual physical signs of what they want or need. She shows excitement when she sees me lift my shirt (well, can you blame her?!), but that's because she is excited. She smiles when she sees something she likes, but that's because she's actually happy, she's not doing it to show me she's happy. Babies can't fake smiles to try to convince someone they're happy. She turns her head when she doesn't want something, but that's because she doesn't want any more of the orange goop shoved into her mouth. She's not saying, "No more, please." She is just instinctively turning away. But waving bye-bye has no practical meaning or effect. It's an ambiguous symbol that communicates an agreed upon idea (and this just happens to be the definition of a word!) So maybe she doesn't really know that when we wave bye-bye that we're going to be apart for a while (seeing as Mike and I play Bye-Bye Anna when we go upstairs and downstairs), but she knows that we just do it for fun, and to show each other that we love each other.

And she can now lift her arms to show me that she'd like to be picked up. I'm torn on this one. Is lifting her arms just accomplishing the physical task of being easier to pick up (and therefore it has no communicative meaning), or is she showing me that she wants to be picked up (and therefore using an ambiguous symbol)?? (Well, it's certainly not totally ambiguous. It's kind of like an onomatopoeic word (see here)--it sort of becomes a symbol even though it has obvious residual real meaning.) For some time now, she has occasionally reached for me, and that I see as a plain physical desire on her part. She's not trying to tell anyone anything, she's just trying to get into my arms. But she's doing that more and more now, and at some point, I have to believe that she's actually saying, "I like you, Mommy."

Speaking of this reaching, I know that I have seen her absolutely, positively reach for her daddy once. I'm not sure if she's done it other times that were less clear. But even when she did it clearly, he denied it. I don't know if she reaches for him when it's just someone else and him, because if I'm present she just reaches for me. It's becoming sad for me--she loves Mike so much, and it's very apparent when he comes home at night. She shrieks and giggles and couldn't be happier to see him. But she is definitely becoming mommy-centric. It's to be expected at this age, but it makes me feel guilty. (And good.) (But more guilty.)

Further, within the past week she has started lunging into my lap, trying to actually crawl to me for holding and cuddling. She has crawled a total of about 6 inches in her lifetime (cumulatively, I mean, not all at once), but she sure is trying when she wants in my lap. She's pretty good at going from sitting within a foot of me to lying with her upper half on my legs, her little butt and legs flailing, wanting to get closer. That's nice. (Interestingly, Lucy has also started doing this, even though she's 2 months younger. And Lucy is a great crawler, so she can make it into my lap with no problem. I think Anna is actually starting to feel jealousy, and it's been quite a motivator! I am becoming more convinced every day that Anna is trying to accomplish new things because she sees Lucy do them. As an example, Anna now goes from sitting to kneeling (!) so that she can reach into the toy basket.)

And finally, what I see as Anna's next major cognitive stride: she is suddenly very into handing you things. She holds a toy out for you to take, and you take it, and she reaches to take it back, and you give it back, and she looks at it for a moment, and then she offers it to you. And she is so happy to just give it back and forth! So I've made an elaborate game of "May I have it, please?" and "Thank you!" and "Would you like it?" and "You're welcome!" And she thinks it is great fun.

Oh, and before I forget, she is very hot and cold about baby food. Sometimes she devours it (especially if her Grandpa Dunn gives it--weird.) Sometimes she turns up her nose. But she usually likes whatever I'm eating. She has had bits of carrot from my chicken soup; butternut squash, leek, and garlic soup (yum!); honeydew; watermelon; and squash risotto with bacon and cheese. She absolutely loved the risotto but I worried with all that cheese in it. (Relax!!! I didn't give her any bacon. Even though bacon tastes good!) I am going to make her some more plain risotto this weekend and see how it goes over. She can sort of maybe hold her sippy cup. She has trouble tilting it up to drink, but she did it once and luckily, we got it on video!

So, in all, she's quite a baby, don't you think??

Happy Halloween. Sort of.

For Anna's first Halloween, I dressed up as a frazzled new mommy. I got my hair nice and frizzy, put it in a ponytail, and then rubbed curdled milk spit-up on the shoulder of my tshirt. For that extra little touch, I put some boogers on my stretch pants.

Anna was dressed up as a baby with a cold, complete with snot running from nostrils to chin, and I even left her pajamas on all day long so they could get extra crusty by trick-or-treat time.

But Mike got to show her off and give out goodies (pretzels, ritz cracker sandwiches or whole grain teddy grahams--we're not going to contribute to rotting teeth or obesity around here) to all the neighborhood kids while I worked.

I feel kind of guilty. What should I write in her baby book? My friend at work took her baby to Target in his little lion costume with black paint on his nose, and she had professional photos done with him leaning on a big orange BOO! I can't decide if she's really got it all figured out or if she's just a freak of nature. I hope Anna someday appreciates our laissez-faire approach to life.

Bittersweet baby

It seems like every day, Mike turns to me and says, "I don't think I've ever seen her be this cute!"

And she is cute. She stands in her exersaucer, and jumps like it's her job, like she's auditioning for a Riverdance tour. She screams and squeals, and she blows loud, wet raspberries, letting spit splatter all her toys. And she smiles. She has many smiles now, including the boy-am-I-happy-to-see-you gummy grin, the I-didn't-know-you-were-watching-me-play bashful smirk, the ahhh-life-is-good-now-what-can-I-play-with? smug smile. That last one is one of our favorites. It's become her signature look. Her lips are pressed together tightly, slightly pursed, but her cheeks and eyes are smiling. She just looks happy. And satisfied.

But I have been finding occasionally, and it's becoming more and more often, that I'm just not as excited about her excitement, or as moved by it, as I have been in the past. Perhaps eventually, your baby's discoveries and developments become almost mundane. Or perhaps I've just been bummed out. I don't enjoy things like I used to, and it's starting to bother me. I think I'm still having a little trouble adjusting to life as a working mother, and Mike's class schedule makes it even harder than it would be. But, at the same time, this week has been the smoothest one yet! We are slowly building a new routine, and getting to bed a little earlier, and we are more prepared for each day ahead of us.

It's a long road ahead.

Milestone memory: chopsticks

Last night, Mike handed Anna a chopstick which she inspected. Then he handed her another, and she held both up, one in each hand. Then Mike held two chopsticks and clicked them together as a percussion instrument. She may have tried banging hers together, but she's not very coordinated. It's hard to say.

But it reminded me of a pleasant memory of her holding a chopstick in her cubby little hand for the first time. It was the first thing she ever held on her own. How odd that before that she couldn't hold anything at all! And how odd that I was so excited about it when she did it! And now she can hold many things.

Oh my goodness, I just thought of something I don't think I ever wrote about here!! Anna is now sleeping in her crib, all by herself. Her first night alone in her crib was Labor Day, September 3 to 4. And she slept for about 10 hours uninterrupted. I missed her. But she seems to sleep well there, and we can put her to bed and continue doing whatever we want in the evening without worrying about waking her up. More nights than not, she is still waking to eat at 4:30 or so. Sure, it'd be nice if she didn't, but that is about 7 hours after her last feeding, and she goes right back to sleep, so whatever. So our routine is: Mike retrieves her from her crib at 4:30 and I nurse her while lying in bed. I am half asleep, and sometimes I doze off. She nurses for a while and then dozes off. We sleep until about 6:00, and then Mike and I have to get up (yuck!) So Mike returns her to her crib, and she sleeps until we wake her to get ready for the sitter, or until 8:00 or so if it's one of our stay-at-home with Lucy days.

But last night, Anna slept most of the night with me. It was nice to have her back in my arms. She hardly ate yesterday at the babysitter's--she is either getting a tooth or she has a cold. So she was extra hungry overnight and she came to be with me at 1:30AM and stayed. We woke around 7:00, and she was smiling at me, just happy to be alive. I am not a morning person, but it sure does make it easier to get the day going when you wake up to a set of cherubic cheeks just barely lit up by the rising sun peeking through the window.

Her smile brings me peace and comfort I have rarely known.

There is nothing like squeezing my baby, and pressing my cheek to hers. Ahhhhhh.

Too worn out to come up with a clever title

Wow. I let a month and a half pass without writing a thing about Anna. I will forget all of the sweet things she's done and learned, and all of the sweet things she has already grown out of, and therefore will never do again.

She'll be 7 months old later this week. She's such a big girl, sitting up completely on her own, and playing happily with real toys. She is also such a perfect little baby though, as she doesn't try to move. Ever. She just sits there. Mike's oldest brother did this, and my oldest sister did this, so I'm not surprised or worried. I'm relieved. I still walk away from her on the changing table (gasp!) and I still let her nap on our bed or on the couch as long as the ottoman is pulled up. She can roll, but she usually doesn't choose to, and she has never rolled over repeatedly in order to get to something. I feel entirely confident that she won't roll off anything. I'm sure this confidence will be shattered and embarassing the moment she rolls off something. Oh well.

She hates solid food. Or she hates being fed solid food. I don't know if it's the taste, or the texture, or the spoon, or the bib. She'll good-naturedly let you shove the spoon in her mouth a couple of times, but then she gets all "wtf?" and pouts. I hate to say that she cries, but she whimpers, and moans, and looks at me with these sad, depserate eyes, as if to say, "Puh-lease don't make me do this, Mommy." So I don't. Perhaps I'm a sucker, or perhaps I'm a confident, intuitive Mommy. But I won't make her do it, and the research overwhelmingly supports my decision. Now I just have to get her doctors and the rest of the world on board with me.

These are the things I'll want to remember:

• she is just learning to find the humor in blowing motorcycle sounds on her tummy.
• she is just starting to lay her head on my shoulder when I hold her upright. I was starting to think that she would never melt into me--from the time she had even minimal neck strength, she looked behind me alertly any time I held her up. And before that, she was too weak to lay her head on me. Her head just kind of fell down onto her shoulders and she couldn't really squeeze into me like she needed me. But now... oh, now. She holds on, and snuggles, and rubs her cheeks on my shoulder, and I can feel her exhale with comfort and just melt.
• she is suddenly easily startled. She doesn't like sudden noise or surprises, and the Jack-in-the-Box elicits anything from a stuck out lower lip and whimpering to tears streaming down her face and screaming. It would be sad if it weren't so darned precious.

I'm starting to see some personality. I wonder if she'll be a very timid little girl? That'd be a surprise to me, given Mike's and my dispositions, but it'd be a welcome surprise. No, I would not mind having a daughter who loves me to death and clings to me and would rather be with me than anyone else in the whole wide world. Sure, it would come with its own anxieties and I'd constantly be pushing her to try something new and hang out with other people, but I love the idea of a cuddly little bug who wants to sit in my lap and be snuggled all the time. Ahh.

I used to like roller coasters.

Up and down, up and down, all around, upside down, and back where you began. This used to thrill me.

Now, I'm not such a fan of the ride I've been on. Every day, both Anna and I are changing.

This is what's been happening to Anna:

• she eats solids! "Solid" is a funny word for the liquidy glop we mix out of rice and oatmeal cereals (barley next week!), but apparently it is in fact a solid. The first time we offered her rice cereal was on vacation so we had a whole week to take our time and show her how it's done, but from the moment I held the spoon in front of her face, she opened her mouth wide, smacked her lips down around it, swirled it around in her mouth, swallowed, and then licked her chops and said, "More, please." Oh, and the oatmeal. The oatmeal! She loved the oatmeal. After her first taste, she waved her arms in the air and screamed excitedly, opening her mouth like a starving baby bird. Very cute. But then came the grunting and straining. After two days of oatmeal, she started this terrible groaning in which she sounds like she's trying to give birth. We quickly realized that she was not pooping. But is she trying to poop? We don't know! The solids have so far affected her digestive system minimally- she still has the same pleasant yellow non-stinky poop. It's just that she'll skip a day and then have mounds and mounds and mounds of pleasant yellow non-stinky poop the next day. I am terribly pleased that it doesn't stink up the house. So, is the grunting and straining related to any abdominal distress? She doesn't seem otherwise sick or in pain. Eh, whatever.
• she rolls! From the moment you lay her on her back, she flips onto her belly. It's cute how it's so immediate. And then it's not cute because she smashes her face into the ground and groans because she didn't want to be on her belly. So you turn her onto her back, and she flips onto her belly and then groans. But sometimes she does hang out on her belly for a while, checking things out, perhaps even reaching for a toy. But eventually, she will smash her face into the ground and groan. We really need to teach her to turn herself back over. Oh, she also rolls a little in her sleep if she's not swaddled, and she's taken to sleeping on her side which is so cute I can hardly stand it.
• she is just such a big girl. I don't know how else to describe it. I've started noticing that her development comes in spurts, just like her growth. And in fact, I think these two kinds of spurts happen at different times! Sometimes she's just growing for several weeks or a month, and she's kind of lame and boring then, and sometimes her size doesn't seem to change, but in a matter of weeks she just jumps to a whole new level of babyhood. She is suddenly reaching for everything you have in your hands, as if she wants the remote control so she can pick what we watch (I wonder if she gets sick of Sex and the City? I totally don't), and she reaches for your fork while you eat or the knife while you cook. I suddenly have to pay so much more attention to what I'm doing and what's within her reach. This is so new to me. And when I hold her, she doesn't want to be propped up on my shoulder to look at whatever is behind me. She holds her upper body up and sits on my hip like such a big girl, and she looks at what I'm looking at, or at what I'm doing, as she tries to take over for me. These are not the actions of my teensy little newborn child who is a helpless, motionless lump. These are the actions of a big girl. A big girl who is growing too quickly.

And all of these changes make me very happy. Who doesn't want to see her child getting strong and smart? Who doesn't get so excited when his child pushes her legs so hard she can stand from squatting or so hard she can scoot 6 inches across the floor? Who doesn't yearn for the day her child bubbles with a desperate "Ma-ma?" while intently looking at her?? But at the same time, I don't want to think of her being so independent she pushes away from me, eager to play by herself. I don't want to think of her crawling to wherever she wants (we have completely and totally in every way possible so far ignored the reality of baby-proofing the house). I don't want her to learn to speak and then the next day ask me, "Why does the sun shine? Why is the sun hot? Why is the grass green? Why does Daddy cut the grass? Why do bugs like the grass? Why do worms taste like dirt? Why don't you want me to play in the dirt? Why? Why? Why?" and then the next day ask me, "Why do you care how long I talk on the phone? Why should I tell you who I'm talking to?! Why won't you just leave me alone? Why do you hate me? Why are you trying to ruin my life?!"

Isn't life so bittersweet?

And this is what's been happening with me:

• I have Lucy and Anna three days each week. Lucy's a doll, and together, the two girls are very considerate of me and it's truly not hard to manage them. But it can get pretty lonely talking to two lumps who don't give a shit what you're saying. (But I also recognize the fact that this will be short-lived. See above section about growing up too quickly.)
• I work two evenings each week, and two full days each week. Work is okay. Well, work kind of sucks. I don't hate it, I guess, but I don't really enjoy it either. I'd much rather be with my baby. And I'm not getting all that much from the benefits these days, and it's a constant source of guilt because I feel bad when I'm a work because I'm only there 22.5 hours each week (but who's counting?) and so I'm not carrying my weight. I have a hard time remembering that while I am only working 60% as much as my coworkers, I am also only getting paid 60% as much, so I shouldn't stress about it. They're making almost twice as much as me, so they should assess twice the patients I do. And so. Oh well. But I still feel like the slacker.
• I think about having another baby sometimes. Not like I want one tomorrow, or even 9 months from now. But I want one eventually, and there is so much that has to be accomplished first. We need to be in a position for me to quit work, for us to buy a minivan, and to have the house updated with the necessities. We talk about having a huge addition put on, but that's just going to have to wait until way down the line. We also want new windows. And a new kitchen. But the easiest and probably first thing we'll tackle is carpeting.

All of these things lead to me having roller coaster emotions; one minute I want to quit working and just stay home with Anna and other children, and the next minute I feel like a total failure and I don't want to face the reality of being a full-time stay-at-home mother. I often think that I should just follow my dreams and do what I truly think will make me happy, because this is life, welcome to it, and there are no second chances. Then I often think that I won't really be happy spending 9 hours each day with kids, without any adult interaction. Even once they start talking (which will be fabulous), I will still spend all day answering "Why?" questions and explaining why you can't pull the cats' tails. Try discussing politics or my hopes and dreams with a 2-year old. But then I think that the only reason I get lonely when I'm here all day is because I'm stuck here. I can't drive two babies with our current car (hence the need for a minivan before we can continue procreating), so I never go anywhere. I just want to go to a park, or a store, or anywhere we can just look around and get some fresh air. We could go out and meet people for lunch, or stroll the zoo lazily. And in the parks, I would meet other mothers and talk to them and I'd suddenly have the fabulous network of best girl friends I've always wanted, and life will be perfect. And this is when reality sets in, and I know that life won't be roses if I have a minivan and two more kids to tote around (whether my own or others' kids).

So. Sometimes I think I'll just never be satisfied. I just had a flashback memory of pregnancy when I just wanted to hear the heartbeat, and I'd be satisfied. But I wasn't. And then I just wanted to feel it. And I wasn't satisfied. And I just wanted to see it. And I wasn't satisfied. When will I ever feel like it's enough? I'm waiting for that I-have-arrived feeling that makes you want to strap your body to the front of a cruiseliner and yell, "I'm the king of the world!!"

Sometimes I have flashes of that feeling. When Mike and my daughter are sitting on our front porch with me, and the sun has just set, and a slight breeze causes the gentlest cling from the windchimes, and the crickets are just starting to sing. And Anna's smile, lit by the flickering citronella candle, makes my heart ache, and life just couldn't be better. But then dinner has to be made, and dishes have to be done, and bottles have to be filled...

So I need to jump off the roller coaster and hope I land on an upswing.

Reminiscing

I just read through my first two months worth of posts. What a pleasure! I totally forgot about some of the feelings I had.

It has inspired me to get cracking and write some more. Also, I should put a little effort into my posts like I used to. It turns out that what I like best about reading old posts are my feelings, and especially my fears. It's like airing my dirty laundry. And it feels good when I do it, and then it's amusing to look back on.

So my current fear: that being a parent and being a happy spouse are mutually exclusive. No matter how hard we try to still talk about stuff, and to make time for each other, we are both tired and snippy and mean. We have a vacation coming up and I think it will be very good and relaxing.

And once again, I'm going to cut this post short because I have to run to catch the bus now. Run, run, run. Always running.

Another pal

Lucy is now hanging out with us Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. We laugh, we drool, we listen to dead music.

Doesn't she make Anna look extra bald? Sigh.

I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Other feats

Anna is learning to roll.

Oh, and she can swim.

At least we know she's ours

They did not accidentally (or otherwise) switch our baby with anyone else's at the hospital.

Last night, Anna leaned to the side, farted, and giggled.

Alive and well

I haven't written anything in over a month, and now I have almost no record of Anna's third month of life. But now we're in her fourth month, and I have to say, I love it! She's fun. But, I am also back at work, and I miss so much of her funness. By the evenings, she's pretty lazy and tired, and I miss her big gummy smiles and big laughs and squeals. Accomplishments include that she's trying to roll onto her side (which she can only do when she's swaddled... I think her monster thighs get in the way otherwise), and she wants attention a lot more of the time.

Thankfully, I'm only working part-time, but this week I've worked a lot since I had childcare available, and it's been a hard change.

I have pictures of her baptism and her first flight and vacation, but they're stuck inside our camera at home. (I am currently at work, wasting time on a job I don't love and missing time with my baby who I do love.) I was hoping to do pictures tomorrow, but I have two babies with me then. I guess it'll just have to wait.

Speaking of having two babies with me, everyone knows about our childcare arrangement with my friend Amy from work, right? So Amy has a baby, Jack, who's 3 1/2 weeks older than Anna, and she has both babies on Mondays and I have both babies on Wednesdays, and I get Jack some Fridays. Jack and Anna apparently have a blast together these days, but I haven't had them both in over a month. This is the two of them at Amy's on Monday, holding hands!


More about childcare: we have a wonderful babysitter, Jenna, for the next 5 weeks on Thursdays. Then I haven't a clue what we'll do... But we'll figure it out. We are lucky to have many friends and family eager to help.

So much growing, so little time!

I'm way behind schedule here. Anna is a new exciting person every single day, and I either don't have the time to write about it, or I just don't take the time because I'd rather be cuddling her. But I write here for myself primarily, but also for her. Someday, I like to think she'll enjoy reading about our first days, months, and years with her. Maybe she'll even learn something about what it'll be like when she has her first child. Or maybe she'll just think her mom's a big dork. That's okay, too.

Anyhow, in no particular order, here are the things everyone must know:

Anna can grasp an object, and she knows it. She has held something in her hand before, if you pried open her little fingers and placed it in her palm. But it was more like a reflex, like how a newborn can squeeze your finger. But now, she really has to be awake and feel like playing, but if you put something (in our case a chopstick) in her hand, she waves it excitedly (in our case imitating Harry Potter) (or like Mike said, "NO, she's Hermani!" or however you spell it.) (And then we took away the chopstick because it's all fun and games until your 8-week old daughter pokes her eye out because you're a couple of immature idiots.) But it's like she can play, and it's so exciting! She also seems to be developing ticklishness and she just enjoys when you poke, kiss or tease her. And I just love her. (Please bear in mind, though, that she's only like this for about 4 minutes a day. The other 23 hours and 56 minutes, she still doesn't care very much about what goes on around her.)

Somebody hurt Anna for the first time in her life. She had her 2-month check-up on Monday, and those were her first immunizations. I guess she did have a shot or two in the hospital when she was born, but I wasn't there to witness it, so it really didn't happen. Anyhow, they had to give her 3 shots, and they told me that the one could cause her thigh to be warm and swollen and she might get a fever. #%!&*$!!! That is a serious shot! And if her thigh is warm and swollen, doesn't that mean it's tender? As in painful? Ugh. So I braced myself, and prayed she'd be calm. And the first shot went in, and her eyes got very big, and then the nurse pushed the plunger, and Anna closed her eyes, threw her head back, opened her mouth wide, and s-c-r-e-a-m-e-d. And then she got jabbed twice more while screaming, and I think I was in too much shock to do much. I haven't a clue how I reacted or what I did. It was surreal. And then the nurse rushed out and I grabbed my poor, arched-back, wailing, betrayed daughter, and I tried to cradle her in my arms, and I pulled her to me and offered my breast, which she desperately took. (At least I was smart enough to keep her hungry because I thought she'd like comfort nursing and she'd have something else to think about.) And I sat there, nursing her as she pulled away every 30 seconds or so to let out a sad whimper, and I cried. Big tears fell onto her naked body, and I tried to make myself stop before I had to go out and face all the nurses and doctors and look like a big crybaby mommy. I was totally not expecting her reaction, but I was totally more not expecting my reaction.

Anna can take medicine like a champ. When I was a child, right up until I was 18 years old, I could not take medicine. I couldn't swallow pills until I was in college (I sat down one day with a box of Tic Tacs, determined to force myself to swallow something and prove to myself that I wouldn't choke to death.) So pediatricians always gave my mom liquid medicine, which generally made me throw up. But that was only if you could force it down my throat. My poor mother. Even that delightful bubble gum flavored antibiotic that my friends bragged about drinking just for fun when we were 8 years old... YUCK. I just couldn't do it. To this day, I can't drink cough syrup because it's too yucky, so I buy children's cough syrup that tastes not-too-bad, but I have to take like 6 tablespoons of it, so each bottle only lasts through 4 or so doses. So I decided to man up about it, and I can now take a half dose of adult cough syrup and a half dose of children's cough syrup mixed up, and I gag it down. Impressive, don't you think? So I was very concerned about whether Anna would be like me.

After the horrible shot experience, she slept for a really long time. Once she finally woke, she cried a lot, and then slept a lot, and then cried more. She would be sleeping peacefully and suddenly scrunch up her little eyes and open her little mouth and a big wail would fill the room, and I'd squeeze her closer to me, and then push her away, afraid that I was hurting her little thighs. Finally, I decided that she was definitely hurting, and even though she didn't have a fever, I gave her some tylenol. I squeezed the little dropper into her mouth, and she looked surprised, and then smacked her lips... I guess she swallowed it, and I was hugely relieved. And then she slept really well for the rest of the day.

But the important thing here is that she can take liquid medicines! Yay!

Last night, from Wednesday to Thursday, May 10-11, Anna slept through the night. I'm supposed to write that in her baby book, so I'm recording the date here so I can't forget. For the first time, she slept from about 10:30 until we woke around 6:00. I wanted to sleep more, but since Mike was getting ready for work and I was awake, I decided to wake her and feed her. Who knows how much longer she could have gone?! But she went back to sleep after that and slept until about 8:30. We have such a perfect dream of a daughter.

Of course, I don't expect her to sleep like that often; she had a pretty bad evening yesterday, and she was exhausted and miserable to be around. I'd rather have a well rested baby that likes to eat once in the middle of the night than a miserable, crying baby that sleeps through the night from sheer exhaustion. But if I could have a well rested, happy baby that sleeps through the night, that will work for me!

I think that's everything. Those are our major developments. Whew. I'm glad I got that all out.

It's the strangest thing...

I've been having these funny feelings about Anna. It's just that she is the most beautiful child who ever existed, and all other babies fade in comparison.

I saw a little girl at the grocery store yesterday, must have been just about Anna's age because both of her parents were carefully comparing diaper packages and ultimately chose a pack in Anna's size, and well, come on. Only new parents read diaper labels, or shop for diapers together. Mike and I have been down this road. It turns out that what works for us is that I am in charge of buying diapers and Mike refuses to have an opinion about them.

Sabrina: "I put a stack of the new diapers next to the old ones. Which ones do you like better?"
Mike: "Who cares?"
Sabrina: "But this one has the softer outside and stretchy tabs, but the new ones have a bigger poop catcher in the back of the diaper and a thicker layer in the front where she pees."
Mike: "And?"
Sabrina: "And these ones have Winnie-the-Pooh on them and these are Sesame Street!"
Mike: "And?"
Sabrina: "Well, do you have a preference?"
Mike: "No."
Sabrina: "Well, good, because I like these ones, so when you change her, you use these yucky ones."
Mike: "Whatever."

And I've already read the entire label of every diaper imaginable, so when I go to buy diapers, I can choose what I want like a seasoned pro.

Back to these strange feelings. Their little girl had a perfect little smooth face, and perfect little puckered lips and bright cherubic cheeks, and I looked down at my little angel with her dry, scaly head and booger-filled nose, and she just blew me away with her stunning gorgeousness. And I knew that I was in love.

Free to good home

I am fed up.

One cat is a runaway. He hasn't come home, and perhaps he never will. Late last week I reached the anger stage of the grieving process, as I walked through the neighborhood thinking "Damned cat. Stupid f*@king cat." Now I'm in the apathy stage, if there is such a thing.

The two remaining cats are making me absolutely insane. Is it just that I don't love them because I have a child so much more worthy of my love? Is it that they've become monsters overnight? Or is it a little bit of both? They have become monsters, for sure, but perhaps that's because they get less love and attention. Perhaps they miss Jameson. But I'm going to kill them.

Cole won't get out from under my feet. He is going to trip me and send me barreling down the stairs with Anna in my arms and kill us both.

The other morning, Anna and I had to run Daddy to work, and then I had to run back home and eat breakfast in the 5 minutes before Jessie and Carl were coming to pick me up. But Anna threw up all over herself on the way to Daddy's work. So I had to clean and change her when I got back, so I was really in a hurry... but what's waiting for me on the basement steps? Cat puke. And some in the upstairs hallway. And some in the fringe of the rug in the nursery.

And then there's the pacifiers. Sigh. Every morning since we introduced the pacifiers, I've found them in random spots on the floor downstairs. So one day I boiled all of them to sterilize, and I put them all on the dining room table. And the next morning, they were all on the floor. So that night, I put them on the table again. And the next morning, the floor again. The stupid cats are climbing my dining room table (gah!) and batting them all over the house! They are SO not allowed on the table. And they know this. They have never knocked things off the table to play with before. (As an aside, for someone with cats who doesn't plan on having children, pacifiers are apparently an excellent cat toy! I think they sell 2-packs at the dollar store.) So perhaps pacifiers are just irresistible toys, or perhaps they actually understand that the pacifiers belong to the baby, and so they are acting out. But it pisses me off.

But I was even much, much more pissed when I saw what they are doing to the pacifiers. See for yourself.

It's hard to capture in a photo, but every single one of them has a dozen or so holes in the nipple. They are biting them and ruining them!! Not only are the nipples all now filthy, but you can't use a ripped pacifier as it poses a real choking hazard.

For some strange reason, they haven't bitten the latex pacifier, only the silicone ones. Maybe they just haven't found the latex one, or maybe they don't like latex. But we have exactly one pacifier left to keep her happy.

The cats also play with her little gym toy, which irritates me because they're making it dirty and germy, but who can blame them?? Look how much fun it is! She absolutely loves this thing, and she watches the light-up star on top of it very intently. And really, I can't blame the cats because things that jingle and squeak hang from bars, and, well, honestly, PetSmart should just start carrying these things! Why didn't I think of this years ago?

But that's enough of this feel-good isn't-my-daughter-the-most-beautiful-creature-ever crap. It's official. I hate my cats.

Happy Easter from the whole family!

Smiles: a timeline

It took a while, maybe 10 days or so, but Anna has figured out how to smile in response to something she likes. (Or else it took us 10 days to figure out how to entertain her.) I like seeing pictures we took of her trying to smile, and I think you can see a very nice progression as time goes on. Here it is. (Please realize that the first few days in which she'd occasionally accidentally smirk at us, we couldn't capture it with the camera. By the third or fourth day, though, she would smile repeatedly and we had time to run for the camera.)

On 4/12/06:
I like this one because you can see her really trying.









On 4/14/06:
I like this one because she looks so dorky. It reminds me of a poop smile, but it's a real smile.






On 4/15/06:
This is her playing with her daddy, which she apparently loves. It is so nice to have him with us on Saturday and Sunday each week... but this past weekend he had to work half of Saturday, and this weekend he will work Saturday and Sunday from about 8AM until midnight (and yes, he's also working those hours today, Thursday, and Friday, and then I think next week he'll go back to his regular 8 to 5 schedule, but we'll see!) So we are very, very sad that he won't be around. Anna and her mommy will miss him very much.


On 4/16/06:
And there you have it: a happy, smiley baby.


















Also on 4/16/06:
And just for fun, here is a pooping baby. How funny is this picture?! We were trying for a nice shot of her in her Easter dress with her Easter basket (made at the insistence of her grandfather, which I think is a crock because that's Aunt Lish's basket!!), and she promptly blew up her diaper. You have to give her credit for all the effort she puts into it, though.

Is that a pacifier in your mouth, or are you just happy to see me?!

Anna has more or less figured out the pacifier.















She also smiles.















Coincidence? I think not.

The escape artist is at it again!

My parents were here on Saturday, and they're not really used to city living, or to having to keep pets inside. So at some point during the day, Jameson escaped. As you may or may not recall, he has a history of escaping. Twice he has been missing for more than a week, and both times he was recovered. Once he really did seem to have been stuck in a thorn bush for a week, given his condition when he returned one night, sopping wet, in the middle of a terrible summer storm. The second time, he fell off our roof on which he was allowed to play (long story), and he apparently had a blast being a free cat, because when we found him rolling around in the middle of the street at 2 AM (thanks to an anonymous phone tip elicited by 'missing cat' posters plastered all over our neighborhood), he wanted no parts of being caught or coming home. He must just find people to feed him. He certainly would rather be out in the big world than stuck in our house.

So right now, Jameson is out wandering the streets while his mommy tries not to worry. He'll come back, or else a neighbor will bring him back to me. I hope.

1-month check-up

Anna had her 1-month doctor appointment today. It went perfectly fine, and she's apparently in good health. This was a pretty boring appointment, but next time for her 2-month appointment, she'll get shots. I can't wait to see how she reacts. I just can't see her crying over it, but I could be very, very wrong.

For those keeping score, she's 21 1/2 inches long, 10 lbs. 5 oz. (she really did plateau on weight gain, thank goodness), and her head is big. I forget the measurement, but I don't know what's normal anyhow, so who cares? But, her weight and head circumference are both in the 90th percentile. Sweet.

Bad mothering

So this is my trivial issue for the week: poopy diapers. They say in all the books to change a poopy diaper immediately. And, well, duh. Right? So if it's in the middle of the night, and the diaper is a little wet, it's okay to let the child continue sleeping. But if it's poopy, it's got to be changed.

But, the thing is, Anna's diaper is always poopy. Really. I mean, she poops like every 3 minutes. At least it seems like it. Changing her diaper is like shoveling your sidewalk in the middle of a blizzard. It comes in tiny little amounts sometimes, and pooping could take her like an hour. And sometimes when she's in the middle of a poop-a-thon, you think she's done, but she's not. So there you are, on the changing table, and she poops. Sometimes it's on the table, which I secretly prefer, and sometimes it's all over the brand new diaper you just slipped under her bottom. And I just hate it when she dirties a fresh diaper. I don't know why. I mean, it's there to be pooped on, right? Whether she poops on it now or an hour from now, who cares? But I just can't stand wasting things. I like to reuse everything, from cloth napkins to pickle jars. Hell, I wash and reuse disposable plates. I don't like to contribute unnecessarily to landfills. (So why am I using disposable diapers, you might ask?? We are planning on using half and half--cloth at home and disposable when out and about. I haven't started using the cloth ones yet because I only have 6 and as of right now, Anna could dirty those 6 diapers in 2 or 3 hours. I'm waiting for this magical change at 1-2 months old when she will suddenly only poop about once a day.) Back to the point: it's hard to keep a clean diaper on her. And when you are changing her, and she poops on the new diaper before you even get it on her, and you throw it away and put another clean one on, 9 times out of 10 she poops in the newest one within 5 minutes.

So this leads to my bad mothering. True confession: sometimes when she poops on the new diaper before I have even opened up the little tabs, I put it on her anyways. If it's just a little bit of poop, and I can wipe most of the solid(ish) stuff up, I slap it right on. I can't see throwing it away when it's just going to get much, much poopier in a very short time.

And this makes me feel like a terrible, sick, demented mother. Who purposely puts an already poopy diaper on her baby?! But the guilt I feel about doing this to her is obviously less motivating than the agony of throwing away more diapers than necessary.

And as long as I'm confessing these things, I might as well share this. Often when I first hear her poop, I know (or at least assume) that more is coming. So I wait, and continue what I'm doing, or continue feeding her, and then I remember like 2 hours later that she was poopy. And then she gets a clean diaper. Ew. I really am a terrible mommy when it comes to poop. But I think I'm a good mommy in many other ways, so I'm not going to feel too badly about it, I guess.

Back to life, back to (un)reality

Time flies. We had Mike's sister staying here the weekend before last, and then Mike's mom stayed with me all last week (Mike is back to work!), and Mike's dad joined us for the weekend.

So, as of Monday, I was really on my own. And life was supposed to go back to "normal," except that I realized very suddenly that I have no "normal." This is a whole new life, and nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is the same.

That being said, though, people told me that Mike and I would never cook together again, and he'd do all the dishes all the time, and I wouldn't sleep, and on and on. And so far, I like our life! Mike and I do cook together, with Anna lying in her bouncy seat, and I think I'm doing more dishes, because it's nice to have a few minutes when I don't have to worry about what the baby's doing, and Mike gets Daddy time after work. I hate it that he misses her all day, and I hate that he'll probably miss most of her firsts, like her first smile, and her first laugh, and her first time to roll over. By the time I go back to work, I think she'll be grasping some objects, and rolling. Then, once I'm back at work, I'll still have a couple days a week with her that Mike won't have, and I'll be the one watching her learn to scoot around, and learning to eat solid foods, and all kinds of exciting things! But Mike has been a very, very, very good sport about it. He's a wonderful, patient, and understanding dad.

And just for kicks, here she is with Grandma L.:













And with Aunt Missy:














And with her other "Aunt" Missy:














And finally with me, Grandma D., and her 3rd cousin Lauren:














More pictures later, I promise!

Home alone

Today was the first day I was home alone with Anna. (Cue music.)

We took Mike to the bus stop at 7:15AM, came home and ate and slept and ate and slept and ate. And then Anna slept some more, and since it was 2:00 PM and I felt nearly caught up with sleep, I stayed up and tried to get some cleaning done. I managed the dishes, and I got all the dirty laundry from upstairs to the main floor, but I never made it down to the basement. Anna woke up and was not happy.
Speaking of, I hear her now. It's exhausting to be on boob patrol 24/7.

Oink, oink

As of Monday (yes, I'm a little behind- or a lot behind), our little fatty weighed 8 lbs. 3 oz.

Yes, you read correctly. She put on 15 more ounces in 7 days. At this rate, her car seat is going to last us about 3 months before she exceeds the maximum weight. Oy.

It's a girl!

Meet baby Anna.

6 lb. 14 oz. and 20" long at birth, arriving March 8.

I have so so so so so much that I want to write about, and every few hours I'm struck with some new wonderful thing I want to record so I always remember how I felt in these first days and weeks, but I just don't have it in me. I should start dragging the laptop around so I can write when inspired, but every free moment I have is spent sleeping or mentally recovering from the demands of... I don't know what. I guess the demand of just being awake all the time. Other than that, it's not so hard, but it's exhausting nonetheless.

I guess what I want to remember most is that I love my baby girl. She's just right. Sure, it'd be nice if she'd open her mouth a little wider to nurse, and if she'd not fuss when she can't get any part of her little fist in her mouth, but I wouldn't want any other baby in the whole world.

Also, for those keeping track: she's thriving. At her first doctor visit today, she was weighed. Now, babies lose weight after they're born, usually from 5-7%, sometimes as much as 10% of their body weight. They have typically regained that weight and returned to birthweight by the 10th or 12th day of life. At 5 days old, our little piggy actually weighs 6 oz. more than her birthweight, 11 oz. more than when we left the hospital!! What a freak. (But this is a very, very good sign. Not such a good sign about weight issues in adolescence, but we've got a while to go.)

The first three babies

It occurs to me that before this baby comes, and I start posting picture after picture of the adorableness of the little thing, I really should give our cats some love. I'm worrying often about how bringing home the baby will affect them, and how they will become second-class citizens. They have been our babies for years, and they will always be my special babies. But they won't be as special as this baby, and that makes me sad. So, before it's too late, I will blog the kitties, while they still rule the roost.


Cole
This is #1. He comes first because he's in charge. He's not really oldest, since two of them are technically twins, but he just seems oldest. He's certainly the crabbiest. And I'm not ashamed to say it: he's my favorite. We have a great mutual respect for each other. If I'm not in the mood to be messed with, I scowl at him, and he stays away. If he's not in the mood to be messed with, he plants himself firmly at my feet, scowling at me, and yelling (really, how does a cat yell a meow?? But he does..) if I make eye contact. He's my "trusty grey cat," always there when I wake up, when I'm cooking, when I'm on the toilet, when I'm reading or crying or blogging. He sits and watches me intently, and I love him.

Jameson
This is #2. He's the classic middle child. I feel bad that I'm not more doting towards him, but he's just so... aloof. He's very hot-cold. For several days, he's passionate. He can't get enough of you, and he cuddles on the couch, and he's everywhere you are. And then for a few days, he is nowhere to be found, and he doesn't want to be talked to or touched in any way. But when he's loving, he is loving. He's the closest thing we have to a lap cat, but unfortunately, it's only Mike's lap he goes for. And only if he's in a good mood. But it has been happening more and more often, so I think he knows something's up. He has to work hard to get on our good sides before the real baby comes home. I do love Jameson very much, and the two times that I really truly thought we lost him (he's an escape artist, by the way,) for more than a week, I was inconsolable. And he's the most handsome cat we have. I think.


Benny
And this is the little guy, #3. He's the youngest, the obvious misfit. This is Mike's cat, literally and figuratively. Mike picked him out at the Humane Society, and I thought he was crazy! This freakish little kitten was trying everything in his power to get away from us and hide under anything, but damn, he was cute. He still is. He is a very handsome cat, but I think he's just a man's cat. I prefer my floofy grey babies. And now that Benny's all grown up, he knows which side of the bread his is buttered on, or however the hell that expression goes, and he is his Daddy's cat. He runs into the room when Mike comes home, head butts his legs, and then runs away. But don't pick him up! Benny is a schizo-cat. (And I mean that in the most respectful way possible.) He's scared of his own shadow. He flinches at every. little. thing. You could drop a paperclip and he'd jump a couple inches off the ground. When he's eating, just don't make any sudden movements. So when you pick him up to give him a hello kiss, he reacts as if you're trying to jam his head into a blender. We're working on it. But he is one charming little guy. As long as you're sitting in the living room, he is all over you. He licks your head clean for you! When I'm getting ready in the morning, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing my hair, he runs up behind me, stands both front paws on my shoulders, and nuzzles my neck. It's a sweet start to the morning. And then he hears the coffee pot downstairs beep and he bolts under the bed because LOOK OUT! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!! Sweet cat.

Anyhow, those are my babies. So far. I already jokingly call the real baby #4. And I hope that I always love the kitties as much as I do now. My sister reports that since she had her son, she hates her cats. She used to love them, and they were her everything, but now they are just stinky, hairy pains in the ass.


Okay, one bonus picture. I absolutely adore these pictures of the grey cats. They really are twins, from the same litter (they were the last two left in the humane society cage that day, and I didn't have it in me to break them up. Thank God there weren't 4 or 5 left that day!!) But it's just so precious how they act like twins! Very, very often, where you find one grey cat, you find two grey cats. And they are often posed alike, and they're just too cute for words, don't you think? I have pictures of them lounging on stairs, sprawled out identically on two adjacent steps, and curled up on the bed, identically resting their little heads to the side.

And the moral of the story is: I'm in big trouble if I'm this big a sucker for the real baby.

Contractions

Baby is on its way. It may not be until tomorrow, but I think it's pretty inevitable at this point. (As if it wasn't inevitable at any point...)

For posterity's sake, I'll journal how it started. I've been having increasing aches and soreness, and especially lower back pain, for 2 days. But the back pain was pretty low grade, and it would last for a while. And my uterus never got hard. Never! The doctor who briefed me on How to Know When You're Really in Labor said that contractions are when your uterus is as hard as your forehead, and nothing else. Contractions are NOT pain, and even if I'm in debilitating pain for 60 seconds every 4 minutes, if it's not hard as a rock, they're not contractions and I better not call and bother him. More or less. So it was really bothersome that I was having no hardening. My uterus used to harden often when I'd have Braxton-Hicks contractions, but it hasn't done that for the last month or so.

Also, as for the other pain I've been having... well, there's no nice way to describe it, so I'll go for accurate. I know it is hard to imagine exactly what your cervix feels like (especially if you don't have one), but once you feel it, you just know it. And my cervix feels like it's been dilating more, which is great. Sure, it's a little uncomfortable, but I like feeling like we're making progress. But every now and again for the last week, I've had these sudden, shooting, very uncomfortable pains that feel exactly as if baby is shoving a fist right through. And it hurts. But those certainly didn't have accompanying hardening, and I know they weren't contractions. I think it literally was just growing and stretching pains in my cervix. But they were happening so frequently and I was so upset that I wasn't having anything even remotely like a contraction ever, Mike started trying to convince me that they really were contractions. But I knew they weren't.

And now, I am having contractions. They're weak, and my uterus hardens only with some of them. But I fell asleep a little before 11PM, and I was up at midnight to pee, and I was pretty uncomfortable, but I thought I was just having residual back pain. And then I slept very lightly, and had bad dreams in which I was in a lot of pain, and then I woke around 2AM to find that I wasn't dreaming, and I was having sudden, sharp bouts of lower back pain that was radiating into my abdomen, and viola!, they are contractions! So I tried to guesstimate how far apart they are, and it was happening every 10 or 15 minutes, but as 3AM approached, it was happening every 8 minutes. And then I decided to give up on sleeping, and to let Mike sleep so that at least one of us is rested tomorrow. And I figured I'd journal what's happening to me so that the next time I am just beginning labor, I can recall how it happened the first time.

(Naive, don't you think?? I haven't even endured one bit of the misery I'm going to endure over the next 24-48 hours, but I'm planning on the second delivery about 2 years from now.)

Anyhow, I also wanted to remember to journal before the baby's born just how thankful I am for this baby. And this pregnancy. And Mike. Ignorance is bliss, and I am blissfully ignorant of the misery of having to suffer to create a child, or worse, not being able to at all. I read a lot of blogs that just happen to be written by infertile women (many of whom have persevered and now have children), and at times I feel inordinately guilty for making a baby on our first try. But I try to remember that it is normal for my body to work, and I'm proud of what I've accomplished. I don't feel that I was handed this baby because I'm just a lucky sonofabitch, and I hate it when that thought creeps into my mind. Because it makes me feel like I don't deserve it. Like if I didn't have to work hard for it (like some of these infertile women, whose stories just crush the spirit), then I'll never appreciate it enough.

But I will, and do, appreciate what I have, and I'm totally bowled over with love every time I even picture our infant child, swaddled carefully, resting in my husband's arms. I'm just very, very, very thankful.

maybe kinda sorta, a contraction??

I think I had a real contraction last night. It was certainly debilitating, and like none of the other various aches I've felt. But the funny thing was, I laughed through it. I didn't want to laugh, and it wasn't funny, but I couldn't help myself. I was standing in the bathroom when it got stronger and stronger, and I gripped the sink, and I hunched over, and I tried to breathe, but all that would come out was a sick, demented laugh.

Have you ever had that? Like, in the past, I've laughed when I had charley horses (spelling??) even if it hurt like a bitch. It's an involuntary thing for me, something I got from my mom. It makes me crazy.

Anyhow, back to the contraction. So it felt a lot like what they said a contraction would feel like, except it was only in the right half of my abdomen!! That kind of freaked me out and it made me wonder if it was really what I thought it was. But I think it was. It felt like a sharp muscle pain, then it got bigger until it was most of the muscle hurting, and it was rock hard (at least that half was), and I really couldn't walk; I just had to stand there hunched over, and it passed in less than a minute.

So now I'm just biding my time, waiting for more of them.

1 centimeter dilated

As of Tuesday, I'm not really any more effaced, but I am 1 centimeter dilated! I rock.

And the doctor said there is a pretty good chance that I will deliver early, or at least by my due date. Sweet.

0% effaced

We're not progressing here. I suppose we're not actually moving backwards, either, but my doctor said today that I'm not really 10% effaced, and I wasn't last week, and the doctor (his coworker in the same practice, mind you) was lying when he said that, and there's no such thing as 10% effaced, or even of being 50% or 75% effaced or anything like that because there's no way to know what size your cervix was at baseline. And he said, "We lie all the time. We just say that, but there's no such thing. 10% effaced means you're not effaced. You're either not effaced, or partially effaced, or totally effaced. And you are not effaced."

So I was spared the internal exam (I believe his exact words were, "There's no point in me checking you today, unless you really want a finger stuck up there.") And he also confirmed that the baby is super duper high in my uterus. Today was the first time it took a while for him to find a heartbeat, and I can honestly say that I think my own heart stopped while he was looking. I am still having panicky thoughts about the baby dying because its umbilical cord will get pinched, but I try to ignore these thoughts and instead focus on poking at its rump and talking to it until it wiggles to say hello (or winces away in pain; either way, it's okay with me.) Anyhow, he found the heartbeat, and it just showed us that the head is nowhere near my pelvic girdle, but it's floating happily above.

Damn you, baby! Go towards the light!!!

10% effaced

The doctor said yesterday that my cervix is beginning to soften, but only like 10%. That's better than 0%! I go again on Tuesday.

*******

We have a pediatrician! There are 7 physicians in the practice we chose, and 3 there at a time on any given day, and the lovely woman we met this morning, Dr. Voigt, was very warm and welcoming. It's good that we have a doctor before the baby's born. It would suck if we just had to take whoever Magee scraped up the day the baby is born.

*******

We have a valence and roller shade for the nursery. The roller shade has to be cut to fit (weird, huh?) and I also have to cut up the valence because it's a tab-top and ugly but it was all they had at Wal-Mart, and I'm not going back (see previous post.) So that'll be done. At some point.

*******

Tomorrow we will finally go to Babies-R-Us and get all the rest of the stuff we need. It's odd, I think, that we keep getting stuff and getting stuff when all the other stuff isn't really put away, but I guess I can spend time putting things away and organizing after baby comes. I can't really go out and buy it all after it comes. So there you have it. I have been wanting to post some pictures of our living room/dining room, since the mess is seriously comical. But we cleaned up a little last night, and now it's just sad, not funny. But it looks a little better.

Hell on Earth

I hate Wal-Mart.

I used to love Wal-Mart. When I first came to college, it was so magical to go to this huge place that sold everything you could ever want at dirt-cheap prices. I was there all the time. The layout of the store was imprinted on my brain, and I could find absolutely anything in that store in like 2 minutes. Then, I slowly got sick of the crowds, and the people that shop there, and the people that work there, and then I became socially conscious, and I decided that it's a sin to patronize a business that is so blatantly anti-union and that treats its employees like scum. As far as it putting everyone around it out of business, I'm a little more torn there; I mean, it's terrible, and I hate to see small businesses fail. But I don't know that I blame Wal-Mart or the executives for that. I mean, what should they do? Purposely try to NOT be successful? It may be true that they use courts and aggressively pursue building where they're clearly not welcome, but depending on whose side of the story you believe, I don't know if they're wrong or not. We are a capitalistic country, and if you build it, they will come...... I blame our society and Wal-Mart customers for Wal-Mart putting everyone else out of business.

Okay, back to the topic at hand: I hate Wal-Mart.

I haven't been there in, sheesh, I'm sure at least a year. I haven't made a habit of going for the past, oh, probably 3-4 years, but I've had reason to stop in every now and again when it was, for some reason or another, the most appealing (i.e. only) option. But it really has been a long time since I heard the sounds, smelled the smell, and just, you know, had the experience.

I went there this morning. I was very nervous about going, but we got a gift card, and when you're running low on money and you need lots of new stuff, thirty bucks is thirty bucks!! It was a little after 9AM when I got there, and I was totally taken aback. They've updated our nearest Wal-Mart. The walls were painted a pleasant taupe color, and they had newer, more attractive signs marking sections. As I careened into the store, determined to make quick decisions and get the hell out, I was reminded of why I loved Wal-Mart so many years ago. My God, is there anything they don't have?! And it's all so cheap!! It's just got such a monstrous selection. There is WAY more stuff there than is available at, say, Target. It's seriously like a Best Buy, Michael's, Target, and Lowe's all in one. The home improvement section just blows Target out of the water. They have fabrics and baskets and fake flowers and yarn and all kinds of great things.

I'm not sure why I'm focusing on what makes it so great.

Anyhow, so for a while, I was totally tempted to come back around and just shop at Wal-Mart again to simplify my life. I wandered around, checking everything out, marveling at the offerings. And then wandering around got old. They didn't really have what I wanted to buy. So I was trying desperately to come up with things to buy to use up the $30 and get out. I found two little bottles I wanted, and a pair of baby nail clippers, and I found shower poofs, and then I started thinking of things that it'd be good to buy. Like a big tub of Oxiclean. And a roller shade and valance for the nursery. And some A&D since I had a $1 off coupon. But every single one of these things was on the opposite end of the abyss of a store. I went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I must have walked a mile and a half or two miles in Wal-Mart. Finally, oh finally!, I was finished. I made my way to the front of the store. There was one cashier open, and 4 self check-outs open. There was a monster line at the one cashier (it was nearing 11AM by now), but only one or two people at each of the self check-outs. So I got behind a lady who was almost done checking out her stuff. And after a few minutes, I figured out what was going on. All four of the self check-outs were waiting for someone to come press some button to make it work again. I waited patiently, and there was one poor white-haired woman working all four of these check-outs, and she peered carefully at the screen for a while, pressed a couple buttons, moved a couple items, peered at the screen some more, and pressed another button.... she had no clue how to use the machines. But I continued to wait patiently, because I didn't want to go stand in the big line. And she finally came to help the lady in front of me, and she scanned some coupon, peered at the screen for a while, and then pressed a button, and then my lady could resume, so the white-haired clerk went on to the next waiting self-checker, and my lady swiped her card, and the machine beeped and buzzed and then announced, "Please wait. Assistance is on the way." #$@%*#!! So we waited. And waited. And the white-haired lady came back, peered at the screen, and pressed a button, and peered at the screen some more, and then my lady could pay and holy shit it was my turn!!

So I swiped my things. It was harder to swipe than at the grocery store. The computer was really slow, and froze between each item, as it thought about what it weighed in the bagging area. But I carefully and patiently swiped each one, and deliberately placed it in the bag, and I knew that I was smarter than this machine. And finally I swiped the Oxiclean, but the machine didn't like that because it was too big for the bagging area, so someone who worked there had to come confirm that I was placing it in my cart. Apparently. So I went on and swiped my coupons, one of which required assistance. So I stood there. And stood there. And stood, while the two other people checking themselves out stood there, waiting for the white-haired lady, as the white-haired lady helped the fourth person checking himself out... And I looked around, and looked around, and tapped my foot, and looked around, and I saw a yellow sign above the check-out I was using, and it said YOU CANNOT USE TWO PAYMENT METHODS AT THIS CHECK-OUT. And I thought, "Well, shit, they're not going to let me pay with a gift card and then put the remainder on my debit card. F%@k me."

So I hit the cancel all items button. And it said 'OK to cancel all items?' And I clicked 'yes,' and it announced, "Please wait. Assistance is on the way." And I was like "Yeah right!!" and I walked away from the counter. And I went to the big, l-o-n-g line to be checked out. And it moved like molasses. I remember Wal-Mart being very wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am when it came to checking out. The lines may have been long, but they didn't mess around when taking your money. This was not like that. But other than it taking like forever and a day, it was uneventful. I got checked out, and I left, and I vowed to never go again.

This was a really long, stupid post, and I'm sorry. But maybe this speaks to the misery of my life right now--not that my life is so miserable, but I am miserable. I act miserable, I feel miserable, and I feel bad for Mike. But mostly I just hate Wal-Mart.

Oh, and duh.

Happy V-Day.

I've always thought this was kind of a silly holiday--it seemed more important when I was younger, and in high school I held great expectations. Now it just seems like another day and probably the worst day imaginable to try to go out to eat or anything. So Mike and I will make meatballs for dinner as planned, and perhaps light some candles while we eat our meatballs, and maybe we'll even celebrate by going to bed after Jeopardy and getting 10 1/2 hours of sleep. I can't imagine anything more indulgent.

Stick a fork in me

Whew. I'm exhausted. I'm overwhelmed. I feel like I can't keep up. I think I need some help already, but I don't even know what kind of help. There's not all that much to do, I guess, and we should have at least the next 3 weeks to get it done, but still! Three weeks has a way of flying by, especially when you have other shit you have to do three evenings out of a week. Well, that was only this week. But still.

People at Mike's work have been unbelievably generous with hand-me-down stuff. In fact, one of the boxes he got yesterday was HUGE, and a good bit of the stuff inside was brand new with tags!! They gave us several brand new hooded baby bath towels, and a bunch of used ones, and a bunch of new clothes and a bunch of used ones, and even some new toys! And one of the new with tags clothing items was none other than a Steeler onesie. Mike was beaming. And in the more useful department, there were tons of receiving blankets and burp cloths and just rags and stuff that I know you need so many of. So I'm thrilled to have all this stuff. But, now it's all over the dining room, and I have to decide what to wash and put away, and what to leave in storage until we meet the little bugger. (Lots of the new clothes are decidedly boy clothes.)

We don't have a bag for the hospital yet. We don't have a crib matress pad yet. (I did put a sheet on the new crib mattress, though, so I could see it all put together, and I put foil down to scare the cats from using the crib.) We don't have a cover on the changing pad yet. We don't have a stroller yet. We don't have anything to give the baby a bath, but I'm not sure if you're allowed to give it a bath before the umbilicical cord heals. ??? I hope someone tells me before I take it home. I'm sure we'll figure it out.

We do have: 4 kinds of diapers to work with until we choose a favorite, 3 kinds of wipes, baby bath, baby lotion, baby powder, diaper rash cream, clothes, clothes, and more clothes, and a boppy for feeding. Mike is stressing about what will happen if for some reason the whole breastfeeding thing won't work. Perhaps this is naive of me, but there is no doubt in my mind that it'll be fine. But I guess we'll have to wait and see. You never know. But he's wanting to have some formula in the house just in case. I'm wanting to not set myself up for failure.

Speaking of, a very small part of me is terrified about nursing. Most of me really looks forward to it, but the other part of me thinks the first week will be an exercise in misery and I'll cry constantly as I try to figure it out. I can't imagine the embarassment of trying to learn, and I'm nervous about that. At least it'll just be us, and I know that by the time this baby gets out of my body in all its beauty and nastiness, there will be absolutely nothing that could possibly embarass me in front of Mike. But I feel like I'll be embarassed for myself. Even when you're completely alone, and there's no one to see you be gross, you can gross yourself out.

But what about everyone else? I don't think I would even feel comfortable in front of my sister, who's closer to me than pretty much anyone in the world. I don't know how my older sister, Becca, did it. Of course, by the time I saw her nursing, she had a month of so of practice. I don't know how the first week or two was for her. Plus, she was pretty open about the whole thing. If you were in the room, you were seeing her nipple, and that was that. If you didn't want to see it, you could leave the room. (Please bear in mind that I mean in her own house, NOT in public.) Her living room was like boobie central! And it didn't bother me. (I don't even think it bothered Mike.) But I don't think I could do that in front of my dad like she did, or in front of other relatives. But I also don't want to feel like I have to go hide in my own house every time the baby wants to eat for the next year of my life. So I'm not sure how we'll work that out. I'm just hoping that by the time there are guests in the house, I'll have the subtlies of nursing worked out, and there won't be milk running down my belly, and I'll be able to keep a shirt or blanket tastefully draped over us, and it'll be okay. But I am having serious anxiety issues about it (see previous post for more on anxiety.)

Back to feeling overwhelmed: this is a lot like what I expected my whole pregnancy to feel like. I thought I'd feel stressed by all the change and by financial concerns and by hormones. But up until these last few days and weeks, I was perfectly fine! And I'm suddenly feeling, well, maybe sad? It's not that I feel sad about what we're going to do, and I'm thrilled about it, but I feel stressed and I've pretty much been on the verge of tears at all times. It's exhausting to feel like you could cry at a moment's notice all the time. And Mike keeps asking me if I'm okay, because I just look "sad." So perhaps I am sad. Or scared. Or just exhausted. But whatever it is, I'm tired of it and I'm ready for the next step.

Another day, another doubt

I am worried about baby again. I remember so clearly in the beginning worrying about whether or not the baby was even in there, and then I worried if its heart would just stop beating, and then I worried about when I would feel it move. And then I had a couple of months that were just plain delightful! The baby reminded me every day, many times throughout the day, that it was there, rolling around, having a grand ol' time. And I didn't worry about whether it was going correctly--I was very confident that everything was just fine. What sheer pleasure I got from watching my belly dance, watching the baby poke and prod, trying to get comfortable.

And now, all of a sudden, my worries have been turned back on like a switch. I have read that I'm supposed to feel baby less because it's running out of room in there! Gone are the days of baby frolicking through my uterus. Now it's just jammed in, probably trying to get the crook out of its neck. And I have 3 major worries. In no particular order:

• Is it in the right position?? I know that it shouldn't matter, and Mike keeps comforting me, assuring me that the baby knows how to get into position, but some babies don't know, or they can't get themselves there because all of a sudden one day, they're just too big to turn over anymore! And even though I think it's head down, how can I really know? There is a huge hard lump that can most often be found within 3 or 4 inches of my belly button. With luck, that's its little butt, and the head is squished down south. But what if that's its head by my belly button? Or what if that's a shoulder or something? What irritates me is that this concern could very easily be answered with a quick peek at a sonogram, but I'm not allowed to have one. Well, I've not asked to have one, but I know they'd say no, and not to worry about it. But I worry about it. I've also had some nights when the baby is pushing off SO hard on my right side, I think a foot will pop out of my belly. And seriously, it's pushing so hard, it's like it HAS to be laying in there sideways. And so I'm terrified that the baby is transverse, and that it'll never be able to get head down, and I'll have to have a cesarean. And again, all I need to make this fear go away is a quick peek inside. I'm tired of the doctor palpating my lower abdomen, and mumbling, "Uh, yeah, sure, that's probably head. Sure." Uh, probably?!? Could we find out, please?
• Why does it not move for so long? I know I'm supposed to feel less movement. I know. But sometimes I'll feel like hours have gone by and I haven't felt it. I'm probably just not paying attention, but once I realize it's been a while, I pay close attention. And then when I finally feel the slightest movement, it actually scares me more... And this is where it gets kind of crazy. I know this is delusional. But I can't help it. The thought keeps recurring, and it really really really upsets me, but I worry that the movements I feel are actually the baby struggling, trying to move itself because it's stuck in a dangerous position, or that it's being strangled by its own umbilical cord. I've feared that the very subtle jerks I feel are even rigor mortis or something sick like that. I'm so terribly scared that something will happen to the baby because it's too big to just float around fearlessly now. I mean, what if the cord really was wrapped around its neck??? What if it was stuck like that and struggling to get free? Last night as I lay in bed for an hour, trying to get back to sleep, I felt the baby moving vigorously, but in a weird pattern that was probably hiccups. But these were huge hiccups! These were not the cute little ones I used to feel; these were like Happy 21st Birthday I'm-going-to-throw-up-the-14-shots-and-8-beers-now hiccups. But I lay there, agonizing about whether these were actually desperate cries for help, or the baby writhing in pain or trying to get free, and even though I knew I was being psycho, I couldn't get the thought out of my head.
• And my final worry, that has only begun in the last 2 days, and I haven't confessed it to anyone: I'm just scared that something, anything, will happen to the baby. It's completely and totally officially our baby, and it's like a real baby now, since I know it could live on its own, and it has lots of outfits and stuffed animals and books waiting for it at home. It's not just a fetus. It's not even an investment of time and energy that I don't want to waste. It's my baby, my child. It depends on me to protect it, and if I don't keep it safe for the next 4 weeks, or if I allow it to be choked by its umbilical cord, or if my membranes rupture and its head descends and cuts off its own blood supply through the cord, or if during childbirth it doesn't get air or blood or I don't know... if it just breaks somehow, I will feel like it's my fault, and I feel absolutely positive that I would be beyond inconsolable. I think I might go completely crazy. I've made myself cry in bed at night, thinking of having to come home from the hospital without our baby. I know that people with good prenatal care don't typically lose babies during childbirth, but it happens. Sometimes there is nothing that anyone can do to anticipate a problem, and sometimes babies just don't come out healthy. We still have no guarantee that our baby doesn't have spina bifida, or mental retardation, or only one arm, or whatever. But I can totally live with any of those things. But what if it has something so terrible that it can't live outside of me? What if its lungs don't work? What if its heart can't pump enough blood? What if its liver doesn't function?

And there you have it. I suppose once we get a healthy baby out of me, I will go on to worrying about every other terrible thing that could possibly happen to baby. But I made a promise to myself a long time ago, and I know that this is just me and it will come naturally, but I absolutely refuse to raise my baby in fear. I will not fear every little thing and try to protect my baby from anything that may come its way. But DAMN, that's going to be hard.

Just for fun, check out this safety equipment I could buy, if I were a sucker and bought into the fear. Cool! I could use one of these for myself.

No, I don't have cravings. That's weird.

Psychosis

I've been avoiding the blog. I did so well for a week or so, and then I didn't have it in me to post, because my mother always said 'if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.' Oh, hell, my mother never said that, she pretty much always said 'do whatever. Get away from me. I'm on the phone.'

But someone at some point told me that I shouldn't be an asshole or a whiner. But again, this is my space, and if I want to be an asshole, so be it. I am crabby, crabby, crabby. I could blame hormones or fatigue. It really doesn't matter. It's probably a little of both. I'm really not all that sleep deprived, but I feel like I am. The 7-8 hours of sleep I get a night just isn't cutting it. To be fair to me, those 7-8 hours are very restless and I wake up all the time and I'm never comfortable, blah blah blah, bitch bitch bitch. So maybe I really am sleep deprived. But I just have this feeling like I could sleep for about 13 hours a night, and then I'd feel much better. But the gross creases in my big belly would probably get really nasty, since they're gross and uncomfortable after only a couple hours on one side. (I have to flip through the night, a couple of hours on each side at a time, and occasional 15-minute sessions on my back, just letting my sides regain shape. It's kind of like grilling kabobs.) And then there are the hormones. I think that would be why I cry. But I usually only cry if I'm so tired I want to pass out. So I cry when Mike makes me get out of bed in the morning, and I cry when I get home since dinner has to be made and dishes have to be done and there's good tv to watch but I just don't have it in me. (Exhibit A: I didn't see one second of American Idol this week.) And Mike has been a saint (except for the making me get out of bed part... asshole), because I can't remember the last time I did dishes. I tend to half-heartedly contribute to making a half-hearted dinner, and then I veg on the couch until I pass out, while he does dishes. Anyhow, these must be the 3rd trimester blues.

And work sucks. It just sucks. I have so much to do, but since half the people I schedule don't even show up for their phone calls (usually 1-hour long interviews), I don't know how my days get so full. And I don't know how my coworkers don't have anything to do. Oh well.

Tomorrow is a vacation day for me, so today is my Friday. Thank God. Tomorrow I get to sleep in a little, pick up groceries for a family weekend, and then relax until the in-laws get here. Okay, okay, I might run the vacuum upstairs, but that's it. Any other mess is there to stay. I'm also pretty excited because this weekend is my baby shower, and I am just so so so so so excited to have baby stuff. It sounds so terrible and selfish, and it's not like I'm excited to get presents. It really isn't. It has always made me feel uncomfortable to receive a lot of things that I don't feel I deserve for any particular reason, and I am perfectly happy to get my own things for myself. But, I have not been allowed to buy anything for the baby. Nothing. We got our crib and other nursery furniture as hand-me-downs, so that was great, and I got the indulgence of having something baby-related in the house. And we've also gotten a couple bags of hand-me-down baby clothes that I love to touch and fold and unfold. But nothing else. We have a sprinkling of items that have been gifts and other hand-me-downs, like a used Baby Bjorn (carrier) and a couple of crib sheets (no mattress yet, so not taken out of package yet), and stuff like that. But I just want to go to Babies R Us or wherever and go nuts buying everything we'll need! But of course, that would be stupid with a shower on the way. I know that our very very very generous families will help to provide us with everything we could ever need, so we won't have to buy much. And I am so hugely grateful for that. I mean seriously. How can one ever really make up for things like that, or appropriately thank someone? I suppose you do it by providing the same kind of support and generosity when it's another family member going through their own huge change.

In the meantime, I am just so so so excited that this weekend, I will have baby stuff to play with and clean and set up! I feel like a little girl with a new dollhouse, and I want to move the furniture over and over, rearranging it this way and then that way, until it's just perfect. I want to wash and fold and unfold and refold all the clothes, over and over, and stack them in the drawers in the nursery, and arrange them until it's just right. I want to have the changing table stocked with diapers and lotions, and the baby tub hanging in our tub. (Aside: we registered for the coolest baby tub ever, and cheap, cheap, cheap! Instead of a big hard plastic tub, since our bathroom barely has room for the two of us to brush our teeth at the same time, we chose a round pillow kind of thing that floats, about the size of a boppy, that has a mesh hammock-y net over the hole in the middle, so you just plop baby on that, and fill your own tub with a couple inches of water. And since it floats (if it really turns out to be bouyant enough), I dream of taking a bath with baby! Wouldn't that be great? And then we can just hang it on a hook in our shower, and it won't take up much room. Cool, huh?)

Okay, I feel better now, dreaming of all the baby stuff that will be around the house. This will make it so much more real. And sleep would be nice, too.