Hurling and fistcuffs

Seems both of the kids have been working on self-control this week.    Zia is obsessed with her hands and figuring out how to control them.  So obsessed, in fact, that she practices (and practices and practices) getting them into her mouth at night, while she sleeps in the crook of my arm.  I'm learning to ignore the practice flails and wake for the hunger ones.  Learning curves for all ;)

P, after a happy Halloween (for which I nevertheless felt some guilt -at the lameness of it all.  Just as he is old enough to do some great projects and really get out to pumpkin patches or something, just when his dream of a front porch to decorate finally materializes... I'm MIA.  Next year, I kept reassuring myself, next year he'll still be young enough and I'll be better at juggling...)  But we managed to finally carve the pumpkin just before dinner.  And this year he actually did it himself!  Except for removing the guts, of course, yuck ;)  He drew his design and sawed away with his carving kit.  The neighbor boy joined and watched in awe (P had crashed their family carving party the day before:)

Snapped in the dark during treating, but at least finally snapped ;)

Then it was a mad dash to do dinner and don the Harry Potter costume before Zia started her "bewitching hour" ritual.  We didn't quite make it,  thus the absence of cool costume pictures :(  But we did make it to the neighbors in time so that the boys could trick-or-treat together, along with a couple of other kids (of whom, the older princess and P had quite the courtship;)  He was so happy being with his buds and collecting candy that he barely even noticed a few blocks later when I had to exit with a screaming baby who would no longer play second fiddle :)

Unfortunately, being allergic to all things unnatural and Halloween don't go together as well as peanut butter and chocolate.  P ate some of his candy a few years back and was so miserable he hasn't tried any again... until this year.  The lure was too much.  He carefully put it in piles (per usual) and spent forever looking at wrappers and asking names and asking me to describe the flavors.  And then he decided it.  This year, he would eat some.  "Its only one time a year, Mama," he reassured me :)  I agreed!

He was very careful the first night.  Avoiding the nutty ones or any with obvious food coloring, he selected the two I said had been my favorites.  We were both impressed when he woke up feeling fine the next morning.  Oh, happy day!  Could he be outgrowing this?  (Not that I want him to eat shit, but it would be nice for it to not make him sick if he does:)  The next day he ate, erm, quite a bit.  Not a lot by a normal kid standard, but a lot for the Little Man.  He woke up puking the next morning with a bright red tush to boot.  After a few trips to the toilet to hurl his already empty tummy, he looked askew at his candy filled pumpkin and asked, "Where can I put that?"  He now has No desire to eat traditional candy ever. again.  (At least not for a  few more Halloweens ;)  Super self-control ;)

Mine is growing stronger too, as I forgo favorite foods.  I really buckled down this week and was super careful to stick to turkey, potatoes, apples and brown rice (with a little pumpkin seeds, millet bread and avocados for variety;)  Poor Z started going downhill.  Waking every 5 minutes at bedtime, shrieking.  P was scared :(  E was alarmed.  Then it hit him.  His brother is allergic to potatoes.  Oh Em Gee.  So I stopped the sweet potato habit and whalah.  Happier baby!  I hope this video loads.  I haven't edited it, so excuse the babble, but there's (post-potato) baby smiles!!!

The sun will come out...

Tomorrow.  It was tomorrow (thanks, Peck;)  It has gone back to yesterday, as of today, but tomorrow will show up again, now that we know the key...

Poor little Zia, she was so, sooo miserable.  I believe the correct word would be "inconsolable."  The crying was almost unstoppable,  short of finding just the right bounce and vigorously repeating it, amid white noise, without variation, for ridiculously long bouts.  (Hell, maybe all of the bouncing was just our way of coping and she was just tuckering herself out each time ;)  Then, once she passed out, I had to stay standing and swaying/bouncing.  If my ass hit a seat, she'd wail...  It wasn't pretty.

And then there was her poor little tummy.  She was often miserable after eating, or in the middle of eating even.  Wanting to nurse, she would try, swallow, and scream in pain.  Her constant bouts of silent spit-up seemed to burn her throat, instead of effortlessly sliding out like P's always had.  And after lying down at night for just a few hours, she could no longer stand the prone position (all that gas and burping and spit-up and misery) so we'd have to spend much of each night sitting upright in the rocker.  It sucked.

So, she was miserable, I was on the verge of a body breakdown and poor P, he was spending inordinate amounts of time brooding while the baby wailed.  Her discontent was so constant I had a terrible time getting even the pre-cooked deli stuff out of the fridge for P and I to eat during the day.  And dressing was fortunately optional, since she was too manic to leave the house anyway :)

And it was getting worse, almost no eye contact :(   Our awesome lactation consultant (the one who helped with Z's tongue issues) suggested an elimination diet after watching Z fall apart repeatedly one afternoon. I was willing to try anything.  And P's problems as a baby were definitely due to nuts, so...

The results have been nothing short of Amazing.  Seriously.  After two days we noticed a difference.  A little less intensity.  After 5 days, she was sunshine in a bottle :)  Once, she sat in my wrap and just. fell. asleep.  It was amazing.

Thursday and Friday were really good days.  P and I actually left the house!  We sat and read together.  We even played on the floor together.  Sure, she fussed and had normal newborn needs, but this seemed like cake after the past few weeks :)

Unfortunately, it seems we need to add a few things to the elimination diet, as she's going downhill, massively, this weekend.  Yesterday was touch and go, but we didnt' realize this until we were already going out of the house.  So we just flowed with it, and she was ok.  Today, after another meal of the suspect food, she is back to constant bouncing and the fun part is over :(  But, we saw what could be and are determined to get there again.  So, just turkey, pears and sweet potatoes this week for me it is...

Yesterday we went on a family outing.  It was super sweet.  We wanted to visit the downtown farmer's market.  But still aren't brave enough to strap the kid into a car seat and listen to her wail, so we went by bike where she could stay on my body.  Superman schlepped us all on the back of his Mundo.  It was super fun :)  And oh my, was it amazing to get out of the house!

Crossing a bridge into downtown, our lovely new city shrouded in fog.

We rode right past occupy Portland.  Its HUGE.

This market, actually, kicks Union Square's ass.  I was shocked.  Its the best farmer's market I've ever been too.  Evah.  P was thrilled with his food options.  I had a moment of mourning that there was nothing I could eat :)  The produce was so gorgeous and the setting is just beautiful.  Fall leaves, college buildings, beautiful park, kids in costumes, compost bins everywhere and delicious organic food.

 P is wowed by some gorgeous carrots.

P, on the back of the bike.  I sat right in front of him, with Zia asleep in the wrap.

Walking back through the park.

What a great place for a farmer's market!

Going back over the bridge - we're seriously falling for our new town:)

P noticed OMSI (our science museum) as we crossed the bridge and really wanted to stop and play.  He loved it.  Zia woke up at this point for good, so there are no more pics ;)

 It was a treat to spend time as a family again.  We've been following a divide and conquer approach the last few weeks.  Now, just gotta get some stuff out of my system and see if it helps little Z again.  I want those sweet smiles back :)

Message to the Universe

 Real Men wear babies :)

E, figured the wrap out all by his big self and took Zia on many walks Sunday to quell the screaming.

P and Z, sharing a sweet snuggle.

Dear Mastitis (and your fiendish friends, Fever and Pain): you SUCK.  And Insomnia (from said fiendish friends)?  You, too, Suck.  And Colic, my evil arch-nemesis from the past...  Was haunting my first born really not enough?  Must you possess my sweet second too?  You?  You Super Duper SUCK!  And lastly, Elimination Diet (no dairy, no wheat (gluten, really), no eggs, no soy, no corn, no nuts, no chocolate (sob), no kombucha (double sob))?  You?  You starve me suck-a-roni!!!

There.  All better.

And to my seemingly forgotten first-born:  I know, this sucks.

And to my Superman:  Without you, this would be beyond suck.  Thanks :)


...We will return shortly to our regular, optimistic broadcast...  

Its Friday? Friday updates.

Zia, surrounded...

First, thank you Superman, for telling me to sit for 30 minutes rather than make dinner.  You ROCK.  (This blog post, thanks to Superman.)

I was making an appointment for Zia this morning and had to ask the woman what day of the week it is...  When she said "Friday,"  I didn't have one of those, 'oh, yeah' moments, her answer completely surprised me.   Telling, truly ;)

Ms. Z had her little procedure this week.  Thankfully, Superman went with us.  I couldn't imagine driving to a distant quarter with a screaming newborn and was relieved to sit in back, sandwiched between my babes (neither of whom screamed :)  Funny, the ride was the only part I was really dreading, since all of our research promised us that such young babies don't have many nerve endings in the frenulum areas.  No pain, just a drop of blood.  

Ummm.  Sweet Z had just gotten down for a nap when the doctor came in.  She was fairly patient about being woken up with fingers in her face.  He agreed she was totally tongue tied and her lip frenulum was too tight too.  But no other mouth issues, which was great!  The assistant came in to hold Z's head, I chose E to hold Z's arms down and out came the scissors.  

Seriously, I question the mental state of the people that do this for a living.  I mean, super yay that they are there for babies in need, but oh. my. gawd.  I don't know how they stomach it.  Poor, tiny little unsuspecting babies!  Her shrieks killed me.  But the real tear inducer was watching droplets of blood skitter into the air as she choked on it and continued screaming. 

There were a few more snips and a bloody gauze pad shoved into her mouth and then it was over.  Kinda;)  They sent us to the next room to nurse and the poor thing just wailed for a bit.  Then she latched on... and I could instantly tell the difference!  Granted, she was sliding around due to all of the blood (and sweet Superman stood there, all serious, wiping Z and I dry, over and over, muttering that he didn't like blood on his baby's face), but her mouth was obviously more open and able.  Knowing this helped E and I, but I don't know that Zia was that impressed :)

She passed out and slept until P's curiosity woke her... too soon.  She then wailed for the rest of the evening.  So, so sad.  The next day sucked too.  She had started making serious eye contact and reeeeally smiling at us just a few days before the procedure.  The day after the snipping, no smiles, no eye contact.  For the. whole. day.  

Add to the worry that she had lost faith in us and was thoroughly traumatized the fact that we need to do mouth exercises 6-8 times a day to make sure her wounds don't reseal and then add a six year old boy who felt ignored and upset by all of the wailing and you have a pretty decent shit-storm for the day.  

But Ms. Z didn't seem as upset by the exercises as we worried, and P has 6 long years of lovin' to fall back on, and sleep is not essential.  And Dina texts me down.  And Zia was smiley again today :)))  In fact, I laughed earlier and this made her smile so big I actually felt warm fuzzies.  Fer real ;)

So, we're glad we went through with the procedure.  No worrying for the next few years that she'll have language issues from skipping it.  No threat to her milk supply.  No gap teeth in her future :)

But it hasn't been the cure-all we had hoped for...  Seems there are still some digestive issues going on for little Z, we have an appointment next Tuesday to learn more.  She still has a reeeeeally rough time getting to sleep/settling, showing a distinct preference to highly aerobic dancing and bouncing by her carrier.  Curling her while sashaying through the day was killing my back, so we are working on a peaceful solution that puts her in a wrap or sling.  (Which also means once she's asleep for her cat-naps, I can move about with P, making his life much better:)  

Zia, hilariously positioned in the wrap, sleeping.

So, what does all of this do to the sibling relationship?  The one I hoped would be a cake-walk due to the age difference (which is nice)?  The Little Man is still being understanding, but you can tell that by this week, his "understanding" is wearing just a titch thin.  He just doesn't understand why she has to cry.  So Loud.  And So Often.  (Honestly, I agree ;)  I mean, I'm feeding on demand, carrying her everywhere, doing all of the stuff that tribal cultures and their unbelievably content babies do and... no cigar....  I seriously feel like I'm sucking but not sure of why.)  

At any rate, I try to validate his annoyance.  And vocalize how I view Z's, erm, vocalizations.  So, the other day, she was crying, I was bouncing and hopping and checking her diaper etc while soothingly telling her to "tell me her story", that I was listening.  P jumped up and, as he exited the room with his hands over his ears (a rarity, he typically sticks by the noise for some strange reason) angrily said, "I don't want to hear her story!  Her stories SUCK!"  

So glad he was out of the room.  Cuz I found this heee-larious.  

So, there are annoyances that I didn't foresee.  And I worry about the noise making the boy not like the baby.  But so far so good.  After she wakes up (on no-surgery days;) she's pretty darn cute for about a half an hour.  And the Little Man either ignores her or obsessively plays with her.  He loves watching her mouth exercises.  He tells her constantly how adorable she is.  He tries to dress her.  He vigilantly makes sure she doesn't choke when I run to the loo.  In fact, the other day she woke up (heaven forbid you put her down while she is napping and steal even 5 minutes of peaceful sleep from her during the day.  I mean, if you have to work for 20 minutes to get her to sleep for 20 minutes, you just don't eff with that!) and was all happy.  So I laid her on P's rug and ran to the jon. I must admit to being slightly nervous leaving her with him.  I mean, I trust him and all, but, well, he is six.  

This is what I returned to:

He was chanting something about how he had her surrounded.  She was totally captivated, turning her head to follow him.  He was pretty pleased with himself.  I guess he was safely acting out any aggressions...

He's also Very Pleased with his front porch.  Long has he dreamed of decorating for Halloween.  Now out of NYC, he made it happen. He has dedicated many, many afternoons in the last week to this project.

And Artemisia (P caller her Artie the other day and it cracked me up!) turned one month this week.  Here's a shot of how big she is getting (almost 10 pounds!)

And one last note for the week.  P's favorite baby thing happened today.  She was bopping her head around as she nursed and I muttered something about how she'd probably be a tummy time champ.  He quickly asked what "tummy time" was and if we could do it.  So we spread a blanket and put Z on the floor.  She immediately popped up and looked all around.  She stayed there, quite happily, for a couple of minutes, holding her head high and looking around.  I was so surprised (she's still so cuddly and floppy when you hold her!) I grabbed my phone.   Someday, the second will get an actual camera shot... ;)

In the meantime, every time she wakes up, P asks if she can do tummy time.  I think he thinks she's going to just push up and start crawling ;) And I think he'll be the most excited person in the house on the day that she does!

Expectations on my manic Monday

Sleepy dreams.  Zia is a smiley baby.  I know "they" say babies don't really smile at you until six weeks, but I swear this kid already gives us gummy grins.  My mom saw her gazing at me with the sweetest smile (at only two weeks old!) and pronounced her extra special on the spot ;)  Z especially likes to smile at P, which he adores :)

Yes, its a tad nerve wracking when he holds her... but they both seem so darn happy together...

These sweet smiles made her manic tendencies over the last two weeks even more perplexing.  Just awoken and well tanked, she is calm, collected, amazingly alert and so, so sweet.  Give her a tiny bit of time though... and everything falls a.p.a.r.t.

Which brings me to my point.  You know, everyone promised me two things this pregnancy:

1.  Labor would be shorter.  (ummm, we went from 28 hours the first time to over 48 hours the second time...)

2.  This baby would be chill (compared to the the first, that required constant bouncing for any semblance of peace.)

Ummmmmmmmmmmm.  Which leads me to my life lesson.  (Again.)  The one I have repeatedly failed to truly learn: 

Fuck Expectations.  They will fuck you Every Time.

And so, as her already questionable caterwauling escalated as she hit her three week growth spurt this week, the truth descended.  Expecting anything in life (the sweet in-arms babies all of my friends have had, you know that chill in their sling, nurse to sleep...) will break. you. down.  I had planned on that baby.  Chillaxing in my wrap, popping out to poo, slowly integrating into the family for the ease of P...  And here was a baby that was requiring c.o.n.s.t.a.n.t. help finding a shred of contentment....

She wanted to nurse all. the. time. Now, I don't mean, like every two hours.  I mean at 12, 12:15,, 12:45, 12:54...  Then maybe she'd pass out an make it a whole hour.  We tried our pinky finger a few times, thinking surely she wasn't hungry, she just likes to suck!  (She was, erm, producing like a champ, so we knew there was, erm, intake.)  Hell, we even tried a binky (which she seemed highly insulted by.  Smart girl ;))

Obviously, not a lot gets accomplished when nursing with this sort of frequency.  Especially when the nursing is accompanied by wailing and arching and sputtering and choking (rather than just peaceful, sling squatting and happy nibbles.)  And then the sweet first born is running around with his ears covered.  And you're covered in milk spray and tears (everyone's tears...)  And your heart is breaking because your beautiful baby is just miserable.

But I'm slow.  And maybe stubborn.  I was going to have that simple sling baby.  I would still parent my first.  We would still go to the library.  The walk would sooth her!

Um.  NO.  (The Bangles song streamed through my mind Monday as we stood in the rain, outside the library, with the screaming infant and the upset six year old and the exhausted mother....)

By Tuesday I called it quits.  This wasn't just a growth spurt.

And so today we met with a lactation consultant (who, come to find out, is an unschooling mum!) I was hoping we had managed a bad latch and there was a brilliant fix.  Maybe she just needed to grow a tad bit to keep up with my supply or get more practiced with a strong let-down...

Turns out Ms. Z, poor thing, is tongue tied.  Top and bottom :(  (For the breastfeeding novice, this means her frenulums are too tight and she can't move her tongue (and top lip) adequately to move the milk!

So, umm,  she is actually always hungry.  And by the grace of gawd I had been responding to all of her hunger cues rather than just assuming she was full of shit, so she has been chunking up appropriately.  Granted, in very short, sad little blips.  Because her mouth gets tuckered out trying to hang on.  And she can't manage it when she gets a reeeal mouthful, so she has to stop for a break and then try again.  In a few minutes.  Which pisses her off.  And then again a few minutes later.  This makes for a tired and consistently hungry baby.  Thus, all of (our) tears ;)

So, while I'm pretty darn bummed tonight that she is going to have to be clipped next week (cut on my perfect new baby!  eeeeek!) I am over the moon excited to let her manic phase morph into the more smiley stuff her (momentarily) content self has hinted at.  And I'd be lying if I didn't mention being a bit psyched for a solid(er) chunk of sleep ;)  Hers, and mine :)

All set to venture out for a walk.  (A total FAIL, by the way.  But come next week after her procedure...:)

Phoenix has been beyond, well, just beyond through all of this.  As I bounced my desperate daughter on the birthing ball to calm her yesterday, he astutely noticed the floor had gathered more items than a floor really requires.  And he set to picking them up.  And actually putting them away.  Unrequested.  He made us pancakes for breakfast the other morning when Zia couldn't sleep (or stop whimpering.)  He sits on the couch, patiently waiting for me to read again after yet another spot of nursing.  He fetches me anything, anytime I need it.  And though he repeatedly says he hates the crying, he constantly coos at his sister, telling her she is precious, adorable, loved.  I am filled with thanks, everyday, for his sweet heart.  And filled with surprise.  His expanded independence and expanding level of acceptance wasn't what I expected when we got pregnant.

But there's that expectations thing again ;)  

As in, I expected labor to be much faster (and thereby easier;) this time.  I also expected that I would be, gawd forbid it happen again, unable to handle what I went through the first time.  Too old.  Too out of shape :)  And yet, this labor, 20 hours longer, with a flip-sided baby and blood loss, was much easier.  As soon as I saw things weren't going as expected, I set aside those damn expectations and just rode the ride.  At home, with Superman.  I will always look back on that birth as beautiful. 

I also expected this parenting bit to be hard.  Real hard.  Because it was so hard on E and I the first time.  But I'm finding that expectation to be shit too (as most of them are...)  It was so hard the first time because we weren't parents.  We were partying, playing, free-wheeling non-parents.  And the transition from that to parents was tough.  Reeeeal tough.  

But now, we're already parents.  We have absolutely NO expectations of warm meals or long showers.  Privacy or free time.  Uninterrupted sleep or unsoiled clothing.  This transition, from three to four, has been surprisingly peaceful, despite the screaming, tongue tied newborn.  In fact, the last three weeks have been beautiful.  Hard, sure, trying, sure, but unexpectedly beautiful.

So, while I expected to struggle with the lack of freedom etc, and for P to struggle to accept a sibling, that hasn't been what is true.  I didn't expect to struggle nursing, or carrying my baby (she reeeeally hasn't taken to wraps or slings (oh my back!), unlike her brother, who wouldn't get out of one for the first three years...), and yet, that is where we are.   Expectations, they'll make a fool of me, every time.       

Now, I just have to fight one big expectation.  That sweet Z's procedure will produce that peaceful baby I've always dreamed of parenting.  While the lactation consultant promises a definite improvement post procedure, I don't want to get my wishes all up in a wad.  But, true to my life thus far, I'm not having a lot of success setting this one aside... ;) 

And the Saint departs...

So, our last day with the Saint's help was three days ago.  Our first day flying solo (and E back to work full-time) felt very successful.  I was dressed.  The children were fed.  The tears were managed.  The second day felt like failure incarnate.  I was not dressed.  Teeth were not brushed.  Each meal was abandoned amongst tears (I'm not saying who's...)  Today, well, we're only half way there, but we are all dressed, various foods have been eaten and there is even a calm quiet as P listens to a story and plays making melting wax sculptures and the baby naps.  So I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it feels wildly successful already :)

The Little Man has been a superchamp.  Though the pooping still bothers him, and the crying brings on dramatic ear covering followed by his own wails of "too loud!! too loud!!!!", these are his only hiccups.  He has expressed dismay at having a sister that takes up attention.  He has also expressed extreme love and happiness at having "this precious little sister."  Seems about status quo for a sibling relationship so far ;)  But as far as "sons" go, he brings tears to my eyes with his fabulousness.  As E fed us a real meal last night for dinner after all of the mayhem, P looked at me smiling and talking and said "I'm glad you're feeling better, Mama."  Superman is good to me (ok, amazing;), yes indeed, but I have never had anyone as dedicated to me as this Little Man.  He is so supportive its heart-wrenching.  (Three times yesterday he came to me and asked, "What can I do for you, Mama?  Do you need anything?") I only hope he's not swallowing too much of his own discomfort trying to look out for mine during these early days...

Zia is trying to settle in.  She's not awake for hours at night anymore.  Unless she super-poops and then is up after her diaper change ;)  But she's having some nursing/sleeping trouble during the day that keeps us on our toes whenever she wakes.  Which, with an exuberant 6 year old in the house, is fairly frequently ;)  But we'll figure it out, she's so brand new...

Some quick phone pic updates:

We are officially Portlanders now... we own a bike!  The boys run our errands on it and take it down to the river for outings.  P rides on the bench behind E (apparently, occasionally hopping off, mid stride - eek! - and then running and hopping back on - double eek!) It rocks and they are in love.  

Our last evening with the Saint, I realized I hadn't caught a single shot of her with the kids.  I still haven't taken a real photo of Zia... poor little second born ;)  P's life was documented from the moment he exploded onto the scene...

My beautiful mother and her newest grandbaby...

My good-sport of a mother and her very ornery grandson...

Trying to respect my mom's privacy, she stays out of the blog limelight, but seriously, she Saved our Sanity this past month.  And its a testament to her fabulous relationship with Phoenix that it all went so swimmingly.  P hadn't spent but one night away from us in his whole life and he spent almost every night in the last three weeks at Grams' home away from home here in Portland.  This allowed for nighttime shrieking and diaper changes without adversely affecting the six year old.  It allowed for amazing baby bonding time, without the six year old feeling ignored.  It allowed for Mama healing time, without the immense guilt that would have ensued.  It allowed for home-cooked meals, full of iron and nutrients, naps, and laughs.  And through it all, the Little Man had a Blast.  I truly believe the Saint's presence singly handedly made this transition from three to four the success it has been thus far....  Were she to want to move to, say, Portland, well, :)

Clowning around - do you see the child's happiness?!?

And a sweet E and Z snuggle.  The man is crazy in love :)

A very tired baby, who is absolutely, positively, completely and undeniably Addicted To Sucking.  I mean, babies like to suck, yah. But she is over the top.  She came out with little spots on both of her wrists where she had sucked and sucked in the womb.  And she hasn't stopped since.  Here, she tries to fit Both hands into her wee, sleepy mouth....

One Week Old

Zia is a growing munchkin!  When the midwives weighed her at one week, she'd already gained back all of her birth weight... and then some :)  Unfortunately, all of that munchin seems to have brought on an oversupply of milk, something she is less than pleased with this week (gulp, gulp, choke, gasp!)  Her sleep is still a little wonky (day, night, whatever;), but she is the cuddliest little baby and I keep promising her that everything will fall into place in another week or two :)

Meanwhile, her big brother is being the world's best.  Thank gawd he has The Saint, I think this aids his outlook ;)  He's spent a couple of nights here with us, but the vast majority of his time is spent playing with Grams and sleeping over at her house.  Honestly, I miss him terribly, but would be pretty worthless to him right now, so I'm thrilled he will look back on this time as a happy blur of games and sleepovers instead of shitty diapers and a weak Mama!  Nevertheless, I think he's still pretty jazzed about gaining a sibling.  He excitedly introduced his buddies next door to his baby sister the other day and I overheard him telling them how much he loves her :)

Ode to a husband

"Oh, all of this nursing and pooping just wears a girl out!"

An exhausted Superman, sneaking some zzz's with Zia.

We had our wedding anniversary a few weeks ago (14 years of marriage - about, what, 22 years altogether?  Wow, time flies;) when I was sick. Superman sweetly carried in food and didn't blink at my boogery-self's uselessness.  Then his birthday hit the day after his daughter's and he was massively lost amongst the shuffle.  Labeling him "Birthday Boy" each time I addressed him was about as far as that all went...

And now, his bed-rest stricken wife has lazed about for a week, stuck upstairs with the sweetest little (constantly nursing!!!) babe while... he has gotten up before the crack of dawn to work a half day, then rushed downstairs to make said wife breakfast, wash diapers, clean dishes, do more laundry and diapers (umm, this kid is so getting EC'd as soon as I'm mobile!!!), scrub bathrooms and then turn around to fix more food for the silly, starving, stuck wife.  Oh, and he changes diapers, holds and coos at his daughter and then spends the afternoon creating creative number games with his son...  Honestly, the gratefulness I feel for this guy feels just. too. big.  Were I the type to enjoy being waited on hand and foot, this might just be the time of my life...  As it is, that constant of motherhood, Guilt (the bitch) taunts me.  Fortunately, Superman seems to be weathering the storm...

But, weathering it or not, I wish I could give him a Great Big Vacation.  For now, he'll have to settle for a public statement to his greatness :)  Ethan, you are my Superman.  Thank you.

Artemisia West

She's here!  I believe E has sent texts to all of his family (and mine:) but I haven't really been on top of such things... so here's a little mass announcement!  Artemisia West (nickname: Zia) was born Monday morning at 1:56 AM, weighing in at 7 pounds and 6 ounces.  She's all healthy and sweet and we are So. In. Love.  The Little Man declared it the "best day of his life" and is quite effusive in his adoration of her little bits and pieces.  Except for her crying and pooping.  Those, he could do without ;)  But her pinky finger is, apparently, the World's Best Thing Ever.

Most of the women I know share their birth stories with each other, I don't know if this is a modern phenomena or a long reaching reaction to going through a life-changing period, but I never got around to putting P's to paper, so I'd like to do Z's before it fades into the woodwork.  Feel free to skip it ;)

First, my mother (henceforth called Our Saint) arrived on Thursday.  We had a day of fun falling in love with Portland on Friday while I had mild contractions pretty evenly spaced.  I'd had a few of the other classic "get ready for birth signs" the few previous days, so I knew this was probably very early labor, but I'm not counting it in the hourly countdown... that number would sound... obnoxious ;)

I woke up in faster labor at two that night and just tried to doze between contractions for a few hours.  Around six I was so hopeful things would move along and I could meet my daughter in a few hours (haha) that I got up and went up and down the stairs a few times.  Then I realized I was actually pretty tired and should be patient and try to sleep between them again :)

We did the basic early labor thing all day (the contractions were 8 to 10 minutes apart and some of them I couldn't talk through, but a lot were really manageable) so mom and I walked around the neighborhood and went to lunch, hoping to get things really going.  When she left with P that afternoon, I was concentrating pretty hard to get through the contractions, but they still weren't closer together.   One of my awesome midwives stopped by somewhere in there. She was fantastic about being patient with this labor and I was mightily relieved to be far away from words like "pitocin" and "timing your progress."

Let me pause here to sing the praises of the west-coast midwife.  I had a clinical one in NYC (meh - kinda like an OB, though I'm sure the homebirth midwives are quite different there).  With P I had a clinical midwife in the midwest (meh - kinda like a slightly more patient OB, but still kinda walking the traditional Western path) and now a homebirth midwife on the West Coast.  Which, my NYC midwife told me, would be a whole different story.  Now I know what she means.  The trust and patience these women have in the natural process of birthing a baby is almost tear inducing.  They never requested I do a cervical check to show what my progress was.  They continually reassured me that, however variant my labor was to those in the text books, it was going along beautifully.  There were no "time lines" or anything.  Just giving birth, whenever and however it happened.  I love that.

So I labored through Saturday night too, napping as I could, moving on the birthing ball to get through contractions.  Sunday morning brought.... 8 to 10 minute apart contractions.  I'll admit to being a bit bummed about this :)  I was really hoping to see this baby... soon!

My midwives came back again to see if I needed anything.  While they were here, my contractions suddenly spaced to 3 minutes apart and all of the intense back labor/pressure I'd been experiencing shifted.  Ahhh, this is more like I remembered it from P.  Things not quite so painful and moving closer together.  While they may have the patience of saints, I was ready to get this show on the road :)

Things settled into the classic 4 to 5 minutes apart, lasting for a minute pattern and after having tea and hanging out in the living room with E and I,  they left to let me labor.  It shifted back to back labor and lots of pressure in the back, but things were moving along, so I didn't care :)

I LOVE laboring at home like this.  The sweet little farmhouse we birthed in when P was born in Kansas was nice and all, but still, it wasn't home.

As the afternoon rambled on, I was feeling a bit restless and wanted to walk around the block.  It was a lovely drizzly day (I adore drizzle) and we set off, pausing when needed by trees to look like crazies, swaying through contractions :)

Then it started raining.  Like really raining.  We were actually just across the street from the flat my mother is staying in and I missed P desperately by then, so we popped in there to say hi.

My poor mother (aka Our Saint).  Unlike my midwives, she does appreciate a text book labor and was more than interested in her daughter being more comfortable at a little faster pace.  My labor totally stalled while we were there and I realized we needed to go, I was too worried about my mom's worry and P.  So out we went, P following us home :)

By dinnertime that night I was pretty tired of being in labor.  P had gone back to my mom and E and I ate in the kitchen.  We were happy to be following this labor's path, but I was pretty tired and not really wanting to labor through another night.  One of my midwives called to check in and I mentioned the word "discouraged" :)

She came over shortly afterwards with some naturopathics to regulate contractions if I wanted.  I don't know if it was a coincidence or not, but, just as the day before when my other midwife arrived, my contractions almost immediately picked up the pace. Going just a few minutes apart, they checked my vitals and the babies again and all was well.

We went upstairs so I could lay on the bed to check the baby's pesky position.  She had been threatening us with being posterior for the past few weeks and all of the back labor definitely pointed in that direction.  A few contractions and a bit of belly poking later and... yup, she was still not all the way turned.  Which was probably why my labor was draggggggging along, to give her the encouragement she needed to stop hanging out on my side and move to the front.

One of my midwives said she would like to use a rebozo technique to help the baby take the final turn she needed.  Sweet.  I lay down on the floor on top of her rebozo and she rocked my baby belly side to side in a sway.  A contraction interrupted us and as I turned on my side to work through it I felt the baby make a big movement right as I heard a POP!  Strange, I thought, what was....

And then I was totally taken over with contraction on top of contraction on top of contraction on top of, you get the idea.  There was no break for about 6 or 7 minutes.  And I LOVE what Silke said as it passed.  "That seemed like a bigger one..."  Hehee.

I replied that I was pretty sure I was going to make a mess fast.

Sweet Ethan had just been instructed to fill up the birthing tub so I could finally relax through some of these back labor pains (now that things were really moving, we hadn't been wanting to take a chance on the comfort of the water slowing things down) and I could just hear the music he had put on to whistle to while he worked. For some reason, this made me laugh.  I find the man so delightful.

After a few seconds, another one hit and I said I was going to throw up (which made me realize I must have all of a sudden hit transition) and then another one hit and... my body started pushing.  Ummm.  Strange.  Transition supposedly lasts a bit.  But nope.  No puking.  Definitely pushing.

And with that, the tub was abandoned and E (henceforth called Superman) was beckoned to with a bit of immediacy.

I knew there was the commotion of birthing stuffs being brought into the bedroom.  Liners being put onto the white carpet.  Our other midwife being called.  But I was busy.  It was all background because I was so completely consumed by constant contractions and my body being a bit confused.  Part of me was pushing and part of me was just trying to muddle through the contractions like I had for the last few days.  Finally, I realized they weren't really in sink and gave into the pushing part and that was immediately satisfying.  And immensely painful.

Which was frustrating to me.  Because the pushing part with P wasn't nearly this painful.  This was all so different.

And so it went for the next four hours.  Superman helped balance me as I squatted then leaned forward, then huddled on him, then, feeling pretty exhausted, laid sideways on the bed and pushed against him.  There may have been some smacking on his legs.  He may have been told no, pleeeease, when he mentioned the need to pee, there definitely was pushing and pulling on his body parts...  And he was so soothing with light kisses and basically just letting me abuse him however my body needed.  Superman.

Meanwhile, the midwives were amazing.  Their encouragement allowed the worry that occasionally creeped in (it hurt so much worse than P's!  And this was supposed to be, ahem, easier the second time!!!) to be set aside and my pushing to be as effective (thanks to their coaching) as it could be.

So, though their suggestion to move upright (actually will my body to move?!) seemed insane,  I trusted them, knowing that the gravity I'd been trying to dance with all day should come back into the picture and help me out.  As soon as I was up and squatting I knew things had just changed.  "She's coming!"

She had felt stuck for seeming forever.  I could feel her moving further down, but then sliding back up.  Over and over again.  She just couldnt' get past some curve.  And I could feel her trying.  Trying to help me, adjusting in me.  And this made me love her even so much more.  My strong daughter.

Gravity brought her around the bend and I felt her crown.  Oh the supreme joy of that moment.  My midwives before, from P's birth, bailed on me before I could birth P by myself.  They said they didn't think I could do it, that I needed help, that the vacuum should be used.  I remember being a bit surprised because I didn't feel done and ready to give up that night.  I didn't feel like I couldn't do it.   Well, it was in the moment that Zia crowned that I knew that what my West Coast midwives had suggested was true.  I could have done it.  With enough patience and the proper support, I could birth a baby.

And so I was So Excited to push her out.  Feel that ring of fire.  And then her head.  (The midwives all kinda exclaimed as her head came through and I thought it was just that I had reached that point....)   Then her body and oh my gawd.  I'd had a baby.

But there was blood.  Pools of it.  I noticed it as I sat back against E and we both stared in awe at our sweet Artemisia.  I was aware the midwives were busily looking at me while completely not interrupting our moments of bonding.  They seemed interested in me getting my placenta out pretty soon, which part of my brain made a checkmark by as slightly strange after all of the patience, but a silly placenta after a big baby head, well, I was more than happy to acquiesce....  And found out later it was to assure that I was safe and healthy :)

We held and loved her and awed at her until her cord stopped beating and was cut.  She was alert and I think I was a little in shock that the whole thing had ended up with such a perfect little healthy baby.

Turns out, my placenta detached in a weird way, causing immense bleeding.  I love the fact that something kinda big like that could happen and my midwives were able to be alert without freaking or taking that bonding moment away from us at all.

It was just a couple of minutes before 2AM when she made her arrival, and the after "stuff' took us until almost 6.  I was interested in showering.  My midwives weren't so into the idea, but humored me.  I fainted.  Ditto when I went to pee.  Ditto again when I stood up.  Turns out I lost about a quart of blood and that's a lot harder to deal with than I would have guessed ;)

So the lovely midwives sponged me clean, while they cleaned up our bedroom that had turned into a scene set from Dexter.  They made me eggs and toast.  Spoon fed me yogurt after I fainted again and couldn't sit up.  Started laundry.

Then they mentioned Zia had come out posterior. Which made sense.  No wonder she'd had such a rough time getting around that last bend, she was facing the wrong way :)  Which increases a baby's head circumference by, like, 12 feet or something ;)

Which leads to lots of stitches for the mother :)

After the stitches and the weighing and the settling, our amazing midwives headed home so that Superman and I could sleep.

I think that's all of the details.  I have to go, at any rate, because Our Saint has just brought me roast and root vegetables, the better to remake about 1/4 of your blood supply with...  and it tastes So Good.

Still pregnant...

I caught a pic of the cat and P cuddling while I read them a story.  The child cuddles this cat so much during the day its unreal.  E and I have been wondering how the whole manhandling, erm, constant cuddling thing will all play out with a baby rather than the feline...

Obviously, still no baby ;)  Last night, as we took our post-dinner walk, the child wished on stars.  For his sister to come.  N.O.W.  He was a bit disappointed today when the stars hadn't done his bidding ;)

But too busy being excited by our other imminent arrival to dwell on that too much.  My mother arrives tomorrow!!!  We are beyond excited (and thankful).  Hopefully Little Miss won't make her appearance too late into my mother's visit...

But other than that hope, I'm still not feeling completely fed up.  Which is nice.  Since I felt finished a few months ago ;)  I'm just enjoying the ease of these last days as the mother of a singleton.  Or, honestly, trying to enjoy them...  I've been uncharacteristically grumpy the last two days!  Typically, I can sense this and get past it pretty quickly, but its a rut I keep galumphing into, despite my inner chatter about how great life is.  You know, the sort of grumpy where each item that, for gawd's sake, doesn't defy gravity and actually falls to the ground, from whence you must bend over to pick it back up -  just totally pisses you off.   That sort of grumpy.  And as I breathed deeply through yet another annoyance this afternoon, I thought, heavens to Betsy, this child can't come until I get my head on straight!  Who wants to labor under a dark cloud...

I don't know if its the sleep deprivation finally wearing me down, or just feeling like there are so many things I'd like to do that I physically can't, but I'm hoping its just the freakishly full moon, so that this silliness is but a passing pfffft :)

I mostly hope it for the child.  Who is still being so empathetic that it breaks my heart to be anything less than ideal around him.

We have our 40 week appointment tomorrow, hopefully our last!  And then we're off to a park day with a bunch of homeschoolers and then to the airport!  No room for brooding (or laboring, actually) tomorrow.... ;)

39 weeks, 3 days...

Hehe. It has started.  The emails, the texts, the calls.  No, no baby yet :)  Maybe I'll do a brief post each night to mitigate the messages...

But it officially feels imminent.  As P explained to E tonight, when we were discussing something we'd like to do before the baby comes, "Papa!  Papa, the baby could be born, anytime.  Tomorrow even!"  And though contractions keep me up part of the night and the FIVE pee breaks a night are helping me to really get used to that constant newborn need to nurse, I'm thinking it may still be a while.  P was a freaking hardboiled egg (ten days late!) and I haven't hit that ohmygod-I-can't-stand- to-be-pregnant-for-another-second feeling yet.  Yet ;)   In fact, other than the fairly regular belly bashing (gauging my girth seems to be outside of my abilities lately:), it all feels much easier.  I know not being sick helps (!) but its also at the point where I've been pregnant for So Long that it finally feels normal :)

But enough baby babble.  The stuff spread all over our kitchen table (above pic) made me smile the other day, so I had to snap a shot.  This is our life.  The child drags in nature at every event.  There were seedpods, a captured bug, a crown of sticky burs, a seashell and a few old cicadas thrown in to explore the mix.  I can't seem to keep up with the collections, so I think we might make a giant project out of it.  Or maybe two.  I have some plans for our rainy winter that I'm kinda excited about...

Meanwhile, the child is growing into a stage of happy helpfulness.  Of course, bursting with baby, this seems like ideal timing.  In fact, he even stated he'd like to do some "chores." We already give him money every month, its something he was interested in a year or so ago and he is still very happily collecting his savings.  (He's saving for a house;)  Then, a few weeks ago, he said he'd like to earn his money.  Tricky, tricky spot...

We told him we were all for him helping - super yay!  But that we weren't super comfy "paying" him to help.  That, to us at least, family just helps family, well, just to help ;)  Much like we give him his share of the family money, just cuz he's part of the family.  No strings attached. I make him breakfast out of love, not duty.  We had a nice chat about it.

At the end of the conversation, he'd decided to get his money in smaller, weekly (rather than monthly) installments and do chores each week.  This Sunday was the end of the first week and when I went to give him his Sunday sum, he reported he was no longer interested.  He'd like to help out just to be helpful ;)  He didn't take the money :)

This actually ties into the table, I swear :)  So, today, as I was fixing our food, he noticed the table was, erm, less than pristine, as he went to set out the silverware and plates (something he independently started doing a few weeks ago).  So he grabbed a rag and our vinegar spray and went to cleaning.  As I sat the food down, he finished up and grinned at me, "Arent' you glad I'm so helpful?"  Lol :))))

His comment reminded me of something he'd said last month as we headed to the grocer.  Something to the extent (oh that I could remember his quote!) of how great of a kid he is.  Apparently, we have no need to worry about his self-esteem at this point :)  But he seems to have it grounded in some sort of spiritual spot too...  As we cuddled to sleep the other night (oh the simple sweetness of the last nights as a family of three!) I kissed him and thanked him for being mine.  "Your welcome,"  he said, "But you should really thank the Universe.  I wasn't in charge of that."  Phew.  Self esteem?  Affirmative.  God complex?  Negative ;)

Back in time for Not Back To School

Oh my goodness, how good it feels to finally feel better!  Three weeks is too long to be sick in the summer.  And way too long for a six year old to put up with :)

And so when I offered an outing to OMSI on Thursday, the child raced to the car (in his pajamas:)  We had a lovely outing before our midwife appointment and it was just So Nice to hang out together again.

Then, Friday was the Not Back To School party for homeschoolers, held at our little neighborhood amusement park (the one P previously visited with Uncle Seth).  The child raced out the door for this too!  It was a hoot to see how many homeschoolers there are here in Portland (lots) and great to be on another adventure with the Little Man.  (Well, mostly great, minus the extra thirty pounds in the 90+ heat - ouch!  Oy the timing;)

After playing a few bean bag toss games, the kid was ready for rides... only to realize he would be riding solo this time.  A sad, sad moment.  Honestly, the lady at the counter hadn't even asked me if I was buying a ticket for myself.  After all, each ride accompanied one of these signs:

 
Now, don't get me started on Pregnancy being listed along side "ailments" here, but the general gist is correct.  Nine months along and a swirling dervish don't necessarily need to meet.  In pondering this reality, it was in this moment that it really struck home how much empathy the child has shown the last few months.  I mean, he was really, really bummed I couldn't ride with him.  But he didn't beg, he didn't barter or badger.  He merely sunk onto a shady bench and looked so sad my heart broke.

This is the child who has started playing solo while I make breakfast.  The child who has offered me to stay in bed if I'm still tired.  The child who, when we're reading at night and I have to take a bathroom break, tries to help me unravel myself from my pillowed cocoon and stand.  The child who, watching me have a hard time get comfy one evening, patted my cheek and said, "It must be really hard being sick and pregnant."  The child who tries to help pull me to standing from the couch.  The child who offered to do the dishes the other day.

That child, that sweet child who's been putting up with less and less of me had finally had enough.  He said in a shaky voice that he sure wished there was something there that we could do together.   Oh, the disappointment was palpable.  Here he'd come, all excited, to an amusement park, and now he felt like he couldn't do anything there.  And then we spied the miniature golf.  Phew ;)

18 holes later :)  the kid was ready to ride solo.  Heck, a number of the rides he was interested in wouldn't allow any grown-ups, ailments or no.  His smile grew, he ran into a few kids he knew, and the fun rose alongside the temperature.

Then I joined him on the tiny train that rides around the park.  He was soooo pleased I agreed to ride something it was precious.  As we rounded a bend, it jiggled a little bit and P grabbed me, asking, "Does that hurt you too much, Mama?"  Could a heart just burst?  Seriously.

Just about the time we were so sweaty we were ready to bail, a buddy of his arrived and reinvigorated the afternoon.  Now he had a friend to ride with too!  Granted, at different heights and different comfort levels, they had to talk a lot to settle on what they would ride together, but they worked it all out quite happily.  And we closed down the amusement park that day :)