Fluidity not Rigidity

Ponylicious,

I balked at routines when I first had you.  Not because they didn't totally make sense on every level but because I think I was so overwhelmed with the youness of you that it was extremely difficult to focus on anything else.  It's like these photos I took of you the first day you were breastfeeding.  I thought that you looked so sweet and adorable so I posted them on facebook.  It wasn't until Papa called and asked me if I really thought it was okay to have pictures of my nipples on facebook that it dawned on me there was even a nipple in those shots.  But lo and behold, when I looked at them again there it was, my national geographic nipple staring right at me but I couldn't see it before because all I saw was your beautiful little face.  I promptly removed the photos, fyi.  And now I can see the absolute necessity for routine.  Actually, employing a very flexible yet somewhat consistent one has kind of changed our life with you today.

And what I have learned most about our routine, is how important it is to know when to NOT follow it.  This is where true instinctive parenting comes in.  And it is working beautifully. You are such a calmer happier baby and we are more confident parents.

For example, this morning only an hour after you got up, you yawned big twice in a row- that was when we knew it was a call to action.  I swooped you into my arms and because my toast was burning, of course, I had to quickly lay you in your bassinet and rush out to turn off the toaster with every intention of returning and helping you soothe to sleep- but when I got back and peaked in on you, you were laying there totally content and peaceful just looking around and cooing to yourself.  So I let you be.  Eventually you fell asleep. I think because now you know you get a consistent morning nap and you actually seem to look forward to it, if that is possible.  It makes me feel really good knowing that I am giving you what you need.  And now there has been  no more crying fits to endure.  I'm sure those might come back at some point, but really, you were too little for that right now.  My heart couldn't stand it.

Your Papa and I were just laughing right now remembering the days before You when we used to smirk at our friends with babies who would say things like- You can come by at 11 but you have to leave by 11:45 because it's her nap time.  We were like, "What the fuck, that is so ridiculous, who wants to live like that? We will never be like that when we have a baby."

Guess what?  We are like that.  We would go to any lengths, even possibly risking some jail time, to protect your precious naps.  Funny how a tiny little thing weighing less than 10 pounds can do that to you and your life.

So there you have it.  You are six weeks old today and it feels like such a milestone.  Your smile is gigantic when you see us.  I can't believe it.  It makes me go ape shit inside.

Our good friend Leigh was telling me about a conversation she had with a friend of two little darling ones.  She said that by the 2nd it was all improvisation and laughter.  All might be an exaggeration I injected, however, I can see what she means.  I miss that brevity.  It's coming back though.  I swear.

I was afraid I had lost my sense of humor on the birthing table along with all those strange fluids but nope, I think I still got it.  It just comes and goes, kind of like a gopher in a hole.

You get to meet your Godmother soon. She just returned from spending 3 weeks with her family in a Villa in Tuscany for the Summer.  She's from England originally and one of the funniest smartest most beautiful women I know.  I think we picked a good one for you.  

Your Godfather is pretty awesome as well. His name is Dustin and he's a famous music composer person.  He's incredibly talented and just might teach you the piano one day, if we are lucky.

Okay.

I am done for today.

I'm gonna go peak on you one more time.  I love watching you sleep.

Mom

Pony P.

Driving down the road the other day and thinking about all the errands I really did need to run but had no chance in hell of doing because it would mean taking you in and out of the car seat a zillion times and manipulating you into the Sleepy Wrap over and over again until your head started spinning around and you vomited green sludge- I couldn't believe how I took my former life for granted.  In fact, it's hard to even fathom what that life was like somedays it feels so very far away.  And it's not that I miss it or yearn for it in any way, it's just so far removed from any semblance of reality today that it feels like a different world and I have a hard time even remembering it in detail.  I  guess sleep deprivation can do that to you.

That and force you to write crazy run on sentences that are redundant and confusing, i.e. read paragraph above.

Sleep.
Our culture is obsessed with it, at least when it comes to babies.  That is the million dollar question these days- how is she sleeping?
And if you hear of someone who seems to of unlocked the secret code you glob onto them for dear life.
At least I have.  But what's really fucked about the whole thing is that everyone's secret code is DIFFERENT!
Yes.
What works for one family with one kind of baby could totally not work for another.  It's a crap shoot.  And I hate Vegas.  Always have.  I'm no gambler.  I want so badly for someone to take me aside and say, hey, this is what you do for sure without a doubt every time and this is the result you will get.  Like proofs or theorems or whatever they were called in Geometry.  I preferred Algebra.  It made more sense.

So- we are 'discovering' what works for us.  And it's a bumpy road.  Better keep our seat belts on.

We are the perfect parents for you Pony, and you are the perfect child for us.  Over and over again in my head to soothe myself.

Because that is the gift I really want to give you, the ability to self- soothe.  Take it from a self soothing neophyte.  You will want it and need it or you just might end up using 'bad things' to do it for you and by the looks of the long road your Papa and I have traveled to get here today, we hope we can help you avoid some of the pitfalls along the way that you might be genetically facing.  Another ridiculous sentence, but I don't care.  I'm too tired.

Tonight was brutal.  You were so over tired it hurt me to watch you fight it and I knew as parents it was our responsibility to help you get you to sleep.  So we did.  But it wasn't easy.  And I held you along the way.  And I sat outside and meditated along the way too.  And the funniest thing was that while you were working it out inside outside I was listening to our neighbor's toddler working it out too.  I guess this is pretty universal.

If for any reason you ever need therapy Pony, we'll pay for it.

This new world is so new, brilliant, and intense with you.  It's non-stop, 24 hours a day, filled with dramatic exhausting peaks and valleys.  It has obliterated my life before it.  The days when I did whatever I wanted and the nights I played it by ear.  It's funny to me that there was a time when your Papa and I would stay up late tickling each other's legs, watching documentaries, and talking in real voices.

But I wouldn't change this wonderful wacky world with you for anything.

You make it all worth it.  You and your father.

I totally won the lottery with this deal.  No doubt.

love love love,

Mom

Addendum:

After publishing this you started squeaking and squawking so your Dad and I crawled on our stomaches and elbows trench war fare style into the room kitty corner from your bassinet below your line of vision. We watched you soothe yourself for about 1o minutes before you fell back asleep.  It looked like you have finally discovered your own hands and possibly a thumb.  You are genius.  We are so proud of you. We backed out slowly.  Leaving you to your dreams.

Relax

Dearest Pony,


I ran across this paragraph today in an article about attention and meditation:


Back in 1971, when the web was still twenty years off and the smallest computers were the size of delivery vans, before the founders of Google had even managed to get themselves born, the polymath economist Herbert A. Simon wrote maybe the most concise possible description of our modern struggle: “What information consumes is rather obvious: It consumes the attention of its recipients. Hence a wealth of information creates a poverty of attention, and a need to allocate that attention efficiently among the overabundance of information sources that might consume it.” As beneficiaries of the greatest information boom in the history of the world, we are suffering, by Simon’s logic, a correspondingly serious poverty of attention.


Oops.  


I think in my quest to be the perfect parent for you I am deluging myself with information therefore making it almost impossible for me to hear my intuition.


A new wonderful mommy friend gave me this mantra today:  I am the perfect parent for Pony and she is the perfect child for me. 

I want to cry right now and I don't know why.  I am sitting on the couch with you in between your Dad and I.  Noodle is laying at his feet.  You are napping deliciously.  Nothing could be more perfect in our world at this very moment.  Maybe that's why I want to cry.  Because it is so damn good.  And I have never known such goodness before.  It's kind of overwhelming at times.


Plus your eyelashes are so long and we keep stopping what we are doing to both stare at you and talk about how beautiful you are.  We are a little obsessed.  It's probably kind of creepy for you.  


It's probably not going to ever go away.


You might just have to get used to all this love.


Lord knows I am trying to myself.  


xx
mum

Biology and Psychology 101

Oh Dear Pony,

I am so sorry for the last two nights.  I used to envy the first born, as I am a middle child, and being one has always given me so much fuel for my self indulgent pity parties.  However, I now see your situation in a whole new light.

You are, unfortunately, one giant experiment for us as new parents.

We should try this?  No, wait, what about this?  This could work.  Oh shit, that was bad.  Let's not do THAT ever again.  How about this?  Oops.  Not good.  Try something else.  Score!  THAT works!  Oh.  Not tonight?  It doesn't work anymore.  Fuck.  What now?  I thought we were going to do this?  Now you are doing that? I'm confused and frustrated.  Let's start over.

All while you Pony are spitting up, burping up, scowling, howling, laughing, gurgling, and trying to sleep or fight sleep as best you can.  Meaning, you are just being a baby through it all while we fumble along as your parents.  But at least we are trying something.  That much I believe to be good and true.

Let's take the last two evenings- for example.  Because both had elements of success and complete failure in both of them.

It all began with a book.  Those damn books...

I picked up The Modern Parent by Michel Cohen M.D. who is a French pediatrician in New York and father of three beautiful little girls.  He tells it like it is, straight up, no holds barred and I really like that about him.  He has this A-Z guide for just about every question you could have about babies and child care.  A dear friend recommended it.  And she has two little wonderful girls.  He goes from adenoids to the x-rays and everything in between.

He has this little note at the end of his book-

Voila! It's the end of the alphabet and the end of the book.


But I hope it's also a new beginning for you, an opportunity to embrace this softer approach to child care.  You've got my song in your head by now:


Kids are tough
tune them up
fix what needs fixing
stand by them
stand up to them
Your love will take care of the rest


I also hope the The New Basics has given you the confidence to relax, and trust your intuition, so that when it comes to the health of your child, you'll rely less on this book or any other.


Thank you for letting me make this house call.  I am delighted to have been a part of this important time in your life.  My warmest wishes to you and your family.


So what's not to love and trust about this guy?

He doesn't subscribe to switching boobs while breastfeeding, militantly burping babies, worrying about the fore and hind milk, attachment obsession, doing gymnastics to release gas, the urban myth called colic, rigid nap and sleep schedules, and tummy time.

What he does subscribe to is The Witching Hour and how to handle it.  He says if she's dry, fed, and cuddled and nothing else works to soothe her she's probably over tired and over stimulated so let her cry for five to ten minutes, pick her up, put her down, five to ten minutes, repeat until she's soothed herself to sleep.

Sounds easy, don't it?

Ha.

Pony love.  Two nights ago you were positively witchy and no amount of parenting somersaults were going to stop your fussing and you kept wanting to eat which kept making you throw up and you wouldn't take a pacifier or a pinky so we did it- we let you cry for ten minutes.  It was the hardest ten minutes of my life.  Almost.  I might be exaggerating a bit there because last night was pretty awful too.  However, after I picked you up and soothed you I put you back down and you only cried barely at all for another eight minutes before you fell asleep.

Score!!  Said Papa.  I wish I could have a stiff drink.  Said Mama.

I felt sick and sad about it all day.  I called the committee to consult and read every sleep book we had ever been given or bought on our shelf.  By the end of the day I was a basket case of too much information and opinions.  It's my drug of choice these days.

So we tried something different last night.

It didn't work.  I tried staying with you while you cried.  You only looked at me like I was the antichrist and ended up in hysterics that took hours to calm you down from.  I never want to experience that again.  Ever.  And I know your Papa doesn't want to either.  It hurt us way too much.

And what I have come back to- once again- is that I have to I must I can't ever not trust my intuition and use what works for this family and fuck the rest.  And that includes other people opinions and books.  It would be so much easier to say oh we are doing attachment parenting or RIE completely.  Because what I know from my own life is that it is much easier to live in black and white, to live in the extremes and to label myself as this or that.  It is so much harder for me to live in the grey area, walk the middle road, be an intuitive collage from one day to the next.  But it is where I continually strive to live.

So tonight we will do something different yet again.  We'll take into account each of our personalities and dynamics as a family and we'll create our own unique experience, one that works for us.

It just might take awhile.

And then it could all change the next day.

Because you my heart and love, are changing too.

You are so incredibly brilliant and dynamic.  I can't stop talking to you.  I love your eyes.  They say so much.  And your smile.  It's beginning to grow bigger and bigger.

It's all one big experiment anyway, Papa and I are home night and day with the bunsen burner on and our notepad out, learning as best we can.  

In fact, what's kind of interesting, is that after the horrors of last night, we all spelt the best and longest we have in a long long time (you ever) and today you are a dream baby.  I am having so much fun with you and you are soothing yourself for naps like a little angel.

So who the fuck knows.  No one knows our baby or our family but us.  

I intend to honor that.

xx

mom

Nestle in my boobies

Pony,

I love breastfeeding you.  Like Anne Lamott says, "it's the purest form of communication there is."

It's so adorable and fascinating to me when you get super fussy at the boob and start punching it and slapping it.  It is totally your boob and you own it.  Then sometimes you get super contemplative and thoughtful, taking little breaks to stop and look up at me, a little milky grin on your face, then back to the boob for a few more pulls.  And lastly, when you have had enough and you just can't take anymore you push off, literally, pushing the boob away with one hand another up by your forehead, like Scarlet O'Hara, then throwing your head back, milk running down your cheek and chin, eyes closed, arching your back and grunting.  It's a process.

Now I know why my Mom breastfed my little brother Dusty until he was 3, she knew it was her last baby and she didn't want the party to end.  I totally get it.  I don't think I'll be breastfeeding you till your 3, but I will hold out as long as I possibly can, I promise you that.

Papa planted us a garden today.  He put red bell peppers, cucumbers, and carrots in there.  He also stopped the ice cream truck to get me the popsicle I mentioned I was craving the other day.  He remembered that and did it, without me knowing.  You and I were taking a nap.  We got ourselves a good man Pony.  He's setting the bar pretty high.  But I know there is someone just as wonderful out there waiting for you, the trick is if I can convince you to hold out for him.  To never settle.  It's never worth it.  You are too precious. I am going to remind you of that every single day of your life.  How wonderful you are.  How wanted.  How loved.  That your body is a temple.  Treat it that way.

Personally I've got my eye on a couple of guys out there for you. Don't worry, I'm not going to arrange any marriage for you but I'm just planting the seed that if you grew up and fell in love with either Henry or Kasper, I would not be bummed.  I love their Mom's and I trust they are gonna raise some special little boys.  It's gonna be hard for me not to protect you too much.  I can already tell.  But the good thing is, you can tell me when I'm being an asshole, I'm pretty good at hearing that sort of thing and I can back off rather quickly.

I'm just so amorous of you.

You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my whole entire life and when you look deep in my eyes and give me a little smile, it makes my heart do somersaults and back flips.

I adore you Pony Girl. Stay gold.

Mom





 

The fighter in you

Dear Pony,

I never want to squash the fighter in you, whatever it is that will make you fight for your dreams, ideals, life.  But for fuck's sake darling, there is a time and place for everything.  And going to bed isn't the time or the place, especially when you are so obviously painfully tired.  You remind me of myself sometimes and how I joked for years before finally quitting the 'sauce' that I wanted to run into those weird AA meetings with a beer in one hand yelling, "My momma didn't raise no quitter!"  To prove what?  Exactly. Pick your battles.  It's some of the best advice I can give you. Well, that and don't drink old spice.  That was the advice your Grandpa Wally gave me the first time I met him in a hotel lounge when I was 18.

You made us earn our keep last night, sweet pea.  You put your Papa and I through Parenting Bootcamp.  We tag teamed though and eventually after the umpteenth time on the boob, you passed out, out of sheer exhaustion I am sure.  Then at 4am you were amped and ready to go, you wanted to party.  I gave you boob but then gave up and handed you off to Dad.  I was soaked with leaking milk on one side and just felt like my tank was too low to party like a rock star with you.  He whisked you away and the next thing I knew my boobs were aching to feed you and it was 7am.  I found you guys in the rocking chair, you were asleep in his lap and he had that glazed over high on parenting look in his eyes.  It's a mixture of incredible boundless love, sheer exhaustion, and total pride.  There was an empty bottle by the chair and a peaceful baby gurgling away, about to fall asleep in his lap.  He had done good.  So good.  It was the first time you had ever taken a bottle completely from him.  I think we've turned a corner here.  Do I sense a little freedom coming our way?  Meaning, a run here, a yoga class there, maybe even a date, if I could be so bold?  Although it's hard to imagine being way from you at all ever forever like for the rest of your life, I know at some point it is a necessary evolution.

I just peaked in on the two of you to make sure you both were still breathing.  You are.

I don't know why I have such a morbid vivid visual brain that wants to torture me.  I don't know if that is alcoholism or just plain idiocy, but it's not fun and I know it drives me crazy.  I run through a rolodex of the worse possible scenarios sometimes when I look at you guys and it only serves to make me feel horribly sick and confused with imagined grief.

What kind of a moron does that to herself?  It must stop.  I'll get an ulcer if I don't. I've just never met a love so big until I met your Dad and you.

Our meditation teacher, Jessica, tells me to 'focus on positive' whenever I start to do this. So I force myself to turn my imagination from potential disasters to positive images of you in the future.  Like picking you up from preschool and you running into my arms, giving your valedictorian speech at high school graduation and thanking both your Papa and I for doing such a good job, then winning your elections.  Of course you won't be a Republican.  That would be some twisted shit.

You both just woke up for a brief moment, only enough to each end up in the bed with me. Dad is lightly snoring on my left and you, after having some boob milk, ended up as a tree frog on my chest.  Then  Noodle our Labordoodle jumped up at my feet.  It's moments like these that I need to focus on.  Because these are so positive they make my heart giddy up and my head tipsy with joy.  I am sitting here with that silly new parent high on my face, I am sure.

I love that you love laying on me.  It's too easy for me to imagine when you won't.  I remember when I thought my Mom was everything, the whole giant big world, and she was perfect.  Then she wasn't.  And it was heartbreaking. And I am almost positive there will come a time when you will see the real Oz in me, the woman behind the curtain, flaws and all, and you might be disappointed, or angry, like I was. And you might want to take it out on me, or god forbid, yourself, but I pray you don't.  I pray we have built enough of a foundation that you know how to grieve and accept and finally to forgive.  Because it has taken me years to do that with my own mother, and to be honest, I'm still working on it.  And I don't want that kind of punitive tenacity between us.  Ever.

You have this new thing you are doing when you wake up from naps sometimes, you look at me as if you don't know me at all and I might be some Russian Spy in the Cold War.  There is so much suspicion and doubt in your eyes.  It takes you a second to remember, oh yes, I know this face.  I invited her here.  She's not a crasher.  Then you belch like a drunken sailor and fart like an old fisherman and things seem right in your world once again.

So the accepted definition of insanity in AA is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. I think it could also include wanting to have another child when you remember only too well the pitfalls of pregnancy, the trauma of birth, and the endurance of the first few months- of which you aren't even half way through.  So your Papa and I must be insane, because at this moment we do want another child.  At some point, probably sooner rather than later because I'm no spring chicken, but just thinking about it almost makes me giddy with excitement, terror, and the possibility of even bigger love.  Family.  This is what family means.  I don't know if my heart can take it, it feels like it's going to explode when I look at you and your Dad sometimes.

Like now for instance:

But your Dad and I both agreed that we sense another spirit around us, wanting to join our little nucleus, and we did say, if we found out that we were even remotely good at this parenting thing, we ought to give it another go, and I must admit, I think we are, remotely good at this parenting thing.  And I was never too sure I would be.  I have to say, I am slightly surprised at how much I love it.  I love being your Mom. I love being Tim's wife.  With a love so fierce it fires me up and inspires me to be best I can be at all of it.

I know some women complain that having children takes away from their sense of 'self' or 'me' time, and I totally see how that is valid.  However, I have spent the majority of my life exploring my 'self'  destructively (for the most part) and having so much 'me' time it kind of made me sick.  My entire spiritual practice at this point is to think LESS of me, and more of other. So maybe that's why I love being a Mom and wife so much.  I have so many better more interesting things to think about than just my 'self.'  It's kind of perfect for me.  There I go again, back to me.  See how easy that is?

I hope you don't find it too strange when you wake up and see my love drunk face staring at you with a huge silly ass grin because I can't help myself.  You are too beautiful for words.

Maybe that's why you look at me so funny, you think who is this crazy old lady?  Who invited her?

You did sweetheart, when you brought your Papa and I together that fateful day a year ago.

You got this party started.

And you are no quitter.  No Husom is.

Love,

Me, mom.

Dear Pony,

I am sitting across from you right now watching you sleep in your boppy lounger which has warning signs all over it telling us to not let you sleep in it.  But you love it, and I am here, so if you fall out, nothing bad will happen.  I hope nothing bad will ever happen to you.  It kills me just thinking about it and unfortunately I think about it way too often.  But as I have heard, it's part of a new mother's mental illness and will soon go away, or not.  Maybe it never goes away.  I can't imagine watching you leave for college will be any easier.

I love how you get startled sometimes and both your arms flail up like you are about to give the world a giant hug and you squeak a little before letting everything drift gently back into place.  Your little baby buddha belly moves up and down in some angelic rhythm.  Your coos and gurgles are like music to my ears.  Apparently I got more sleep last night and am not so suspicious of you. You slept in your bassinet  and did pretty good!  I was impressed!  I tried a new thing as well, I didn't come at your every coo and grunt.  I forced myself to lay there and just listen to you until I could tell, things were getting much more serious.  And in doing so- you actually seemed okay for much longer than I ever would have allowed you to be on my own.  You are so brave and big now, it's scary how fast you grow.
Picking you up, there is a strength to you, a durability, that I love.  It makes me want to squish you and smell you and hold you so close it hurts us both.  I'm afraid I'm like Lenny.  I get so excited I could eat you.

We have also been staying home everyday this week, which I think, along with no dairy, has helped you and I find our rhythm a little more.  Although, a funny little habit you have seems to be that if I even attempt to lay down with you, when you nap, you refuse to nap.  Like you have some 6th sense about it and your eyes pop wide open the second my butt hits the bed.  I've managed a few winks here or there, but dammit if I wouldn't love to be sleeping with you this very moment.  I don't want to chance it though.  You have the most peaceful expression on your face, I couldn't bear to disturb it.

You cried real tears yesterday.  That was new and incredibly torturous.  I was like- oh for fuck's sake, really?  Real tears?  How am I supposed to handle these?  Your big eyes welled up and flowed over while your bottom lip quivered inside and it was all I could do not to cry myself.

How did you get so incredibly beautiful? How did it happen?

You love sleeping and breastfeeding with at least one of your hands by your face.  We think this was your position of choice in the womb.  It sure seemed like it in the ultrasounds, not that Tim or I had any idea what they were.  Just grey and black blobs, really. And speaking of breastfeeding, the new thing you love to do is bob and weave at the boob until you get it all figured out with a few licks here and there- grunting the whole time until suddenly you open wide and dive in.  I don't even hold your head anymore, I just let you do your thing with a bemused look on my face.  I find it adorable, primitive, and endearing.  In those moments I can see the animal in us.

4 weeks today.

We should celebrate.  I think we will, by going on our first walk in the stroller.  When it cools down, that is.

Two other things to celebrate today:

1)  We decided it would be best if I don't return to work until January.  I can't tell you how happy that has made me.  It makes the nights worth it as I know now I have so  many more wonderful days with you.

2) We are turning our carport into a home gym.  I think this will change our lives.

Those are my thoughts for today.

This is you in your beetlejuice outfit.

I love you- more than you'll ever know.

mom

the worm has turned

Last night was the first time I found myself putting myself in a 'time out' - not that I even necessarily believe in that as a useful tool.  But at 4am when I couldn't find anything to soothe her poor tired self and her gas was making her more agitated then I had ever seen, I walked away, took 3 deep breaths, centered myself, and returned with fresh soft eyes.

It's been more challenging than ever before the last couple of nights.  Her gas has reached new proportions.  She's farting and belching like a man now.  Which I personally don't mind, in fact I find rather entertaining, it's having to watch her grunt and squirm in such obvious agony when her gas gets her and won't let go and not being able to do a damn thing about it that hurts me the most.  I know on some level I should just let her work it out, and I do, I watch her and place a comforting hand on her belly while she wiggles, but it makes me cry.

Second lesson in parenting- helpless empathy.

I used to laugh at Mom's who said they were still in their pajamas in the afternoon or were so exhausted they couldn't see straight, thinking to myself,

Why can't they get it together?   It's not THAT hard...

That was before this week.

I was in my pj's till the afternoon.  I feel like I want to cry I'm so tired.  I've hit the wall.

I actually thought I would miss the wall, bypass it, fly over it, I don't know- I erroneously thought I'd passed it by without knowing it was looming in the distance waiting for me to smack head long into it.  I should of learned long ago- anything I judge about another I experience ten fold.

Another interesting milestone I've hit- the grief.  My other Mommy friends have explained it as the mourning process we must go through for our old selves to die and the new Mommy us to be born.  It's totally natural, normal, and necessary.  But none of that makes it easy.  Everything must be burned to be recreated.  That means our identities as women and our relationships.  I think the relationship might be the hardest.  It has to change- and what it changes into is so much deeper and more profound.  It's a beautiful thing.  It's just scary letting go.

Leap and the net will appear.

1...2...3..

Jump.

luv,  mum.

Burnt toast

My Mom was notorious for burning toast while we were growing up.  So much so that I actually prefer the taste of a little charcoal bread in the morning, reminds me of home.  I always wondered how that was possible- now that I have a baby- I don't know how she ever DIDN'T burn any toast with three small kids.  I can't do it with one little bird who sleeps most of the day.

One of the greatest gifts of becoming a mother is gaining immense compassion and gratitude for your own.

So Birdie-  you changed it up on us last night!  Scratch everything I wrote in the last blog, because last night you hated your bassinet and you basically wanted to sleep on my chest or in my arms only.  We had to bring out the co-sleeper for the bed and give it another shot.  It worked, for a little while.  I have to admit, I do love being able to smell you and see you throughout the night.  I also love being able to smell and see my husband too.  There must be a middle ground.  But you are so little and it's such a short period of our lives, Papa and I can snuggle till we're old and decrepit but I believe there will come a time when you will not want to snuggle with us anymore.  If you didn't, that could get weird.

We went to a sling clinic at the Pump Station on Tuesday to find the perfect carrier for you and I.  We loves the Sleepy Wrap.  It's perfect for us because you aren't squished up like in a sling, you are upright against my body.  We wore it to the La Leche League meeting yesterday and out to lunch with Leigh and Tor.  Our new Mommy friend and 9 week old Tor.  You seemed super content in there, just sleeping and cooing all day.  I'm wearing you right now, while I do the dishes, water the lawn, and write this post.  Although I love having you so close, I do worry about whether I am ruining your chances of sleeping in your bassinet for naps again- but jesus, like Tim said, I don't want to be a family based on fears, I want to be a family based on what feels right.  And right now this feels right.  So we're gonna go with it. We might regret it later, but once again, you are only so little for so long, and that long is really short.

So that's my check in for today.  We are on the hunt for our mommy "tribe."  Haven't found it yet.  Found some awesome Mom's with new babies, but not a group we can connect with.  We have three more options left-  RIE, Bini Mom's (where we took our birthing class), and a holistic mother's group.  I'll let you know how it goes.

I am not very clever or witty these days- I fear I've lost my personality somewhere between 3 and 7am when it's you and me and your gas.  But don't worry- by the time you can talk I should be back.

You are loved so much.  We almost can't take it.

Mom

They forgot the directions

I keep looking for the directions to you in all our hospital paperwork, but they just aren't there. I still can't believe you don't come with instructions.  A manual, a booklet, even stick figure drawings would suffice at this point.

You are like this beautiful brilliant exotic piece of furniture we have to build every day without any tools, then break down and build anew again the next day, while overnight you've decided you want to be a completely different type of furniture but you forgot to tell us.  It's this intense guessing game and problem solving puzzle that doesn't start at 9am and end at 5pm.   It's 24/7 without any breaks.  We were forewarned, we were, but nothing can prepare you for this.  You just have to live it.  But you love it at the same time.   Because those moments when Tim and I watch you sleep or get to make you smile, are worth every second of confusion and frustration at 3am when you won't sleep because you've got too much gas and I don't know what to do to soothe you.  Papa is the gas master.  I don't know what it is but when he gets you in the morning and I get to rest some, he says you fart like a champion!  What the heck, Pony?  Give some fart love to your Momma in the wee hours, please.  

They say this fussy period passes.  I've cut out dairy hoping it helps.  Some say it does, some say it doesn't, we just decided between the three of us, NOT eating dairy can't hurt.  I've never heard anyone say how much better off they were with dairy, but I have certainly heard a lot of people talk about how much better they feel without it.  

Speaking of the some who say and some who say not, I've made myself crazy again with the books and had to once again, put the books down, put my hands up, and slowly back away from them.  It's like an addiction, I keep going back expecting a different result but I keep leaving each book more confused and anxious than before.  My poor cuticles are a bloody mess.  They all make sense and they all contradict each other completely.  Each one speaks to a different part of me too- intellectually I realize the need for space and independence and routine but then my emotional side takes over and I can't bear to be apart from you even for a second.  The funny thing is that you are fine sleeping in your bassinet by yourself, you don't seem to necessarily want me to wear you all day, and you look like you love laying in your play pen just watching the sky and talking to the wind.  I don't have to co-sleep, carry you everywhere, or entertain you all the time.  That was what we wanted!  Yet I have this intense internal struggle going on daily- between wanting to encourage all these amazing independent characteristics about you and start a routine and on the flips side super paranoid and terrified that you won't feel bonded to me or attached for some unforeseen reason.  And I know where that comes from- my own stories about my early childhood and not bonding with my own mother and knowing only too well what that did to me.  

But you are not me and I am not my mother and I have to remind myself of that everyday.  

So I keep going back to this idea I have about Intuitive Parenting, about really becoming a Mindful Momma who doesn't raise her child based on some dogma, theory, or book.  But who is super present to what is and responds with an arsenal of information and a mountain full of heart.  I know I said it before and I don't know why I forget, but you will and do teach and tell me everything I need to know about you, if I am willing to listen.  If I am willing to set aside my idea of what your directions should look and sound like and actually accept that they are here, right in front of me, in your deep soulful eyes.  You talk to me all day, in a language I am just learning.  My heart hurts when I feel I misunderstand you so please forgive me and be patient while I stumble along.  It's only when I get scared and impatient that I think I need a book.  Just like I used to think I needed a drink.  When all I really need is you, and few long good pulls of deep fresh air.  I need to drink you up.  Your smell is intoxicating, I must admit.  

So I think I know what needs to happen for me now- I need my sea legs.  I need to find my authentic mothering wisdom.  To dip into the river of responsiveness and presence- forget the puddle of trying to create a specific outcome based on an application of a theory in a book.  Only through being here and now and totally open to whatever is it possible.  It's terrifying to truly let go of the moorings and see what happens.  Because I have a feeling, like our birth, it will turn out completely different and completely perfect and better than anything I could of imagined in my limited little brain, if I just let it.  Let it in.  Crack the door, even just a tiny bit and it lets a ton of light through.

Some baby milestones-You must love significant dates because two weeks exactly your umbilical cord came off.  You and Papa woke me up with it.  Such exciting news.  This is it in my hand next to you sleeping in your pack-n-play outside.  

I know you look little but you are actually getting quite big.

FYI's

At 3 weeks of age you:

*Nurse constantly, every hour or so and you love to fall asleep at the boob.  I have tried so many different combinations of boob switching, times, and methods of keeping you awake but at the end of the day, we must be doing something right because you have gained almost 2 pounds and grown almost 2 inches!!

* have a 'witching hour' it is between 7-10pm and then reoccurs from 2-5am.

*are gassy, like your Mom.

*have a totally erratic schedule of sleeping and eating but seem to sleep well in  your bassinet now.

*love being held and sung to

*smile and laugh at your Papa a lot

*get very dramatic while breastfeeding sometimes, making lots of noises and squeezing and pushing at my boob.

*smile while you dream.

*make lots of noises.

*hate the car seat and long drives

*tolerate the mai tei wrap

*hate sling and swing so far.

*have a very strong neck already!!

*love being carried high up on our shoulders and walked around the most.

My favorite times with you are laying on the bed and watching Mr. Fan, holding you in my arms after you've fed when your head is up near mine and I can hear all your little sounds, and when you wake up and I get to smell you once again. 

Also- I was adement about NOT using pacifiers or swings with you as props- but at this point, I will use anything.  We keep trying to get you to take a pacifier, but you just spit it out. You prefer our pinkies.  And the swing?  I'm trying again today.  Not gonna give up till the fat lady sings.

I tried at first to keep a log of each of your feedings, which breast, how long, diaper changes, poo or pee, and naps.  But I have given up.  There are too many feedings to record.  It started driving me crazy.  Your Papa too. 

Your cheeks are getting so full.  I just want to eat them.

And you have acquired some baby acne!  Oh no!  I guess with your genetics, between your Papa and I, we shouldn't be surprised.  But we still were.  It hurts me much more than it hurts you.  

You are still absolutely perfect and beautiful in every possible way.  And besides, if this is any indication of what might happen to you when puberty strikes, like it did to Papa and I, we had to admit, it built character in us.  

Lastly- look at your eyes!  We think you have your Papa's eyes, big and bold.  You definitely have my earlobes, fat and juicy.  The jury is still out on the rest.

Big love, Mom.

Attachment Baby

Every idea I had about how I'd raise you as a newborn went right out the window that first afternoon we brought you home.

Nothing in the world prepared me for the level of anxiety and fear that gripped my heart and twisted it maliciously every time you sneezed or coughed.  Your fragility alone was gut wrenchingly heartbreaking.

There was no way in hell you were sleeping by your self in a bassinet, even if it was right by the bed. I needed you in the bed with me.  I couldn't be apart from you that long.  It physically hurt me.  My body didn't recognize you as separate from me, not yet.  So we put you on a co-sleeper on the bed where I could smoosh my face up against and stare at you if I needed to.  And I needed to.  I still do.

All my ideas about attachment parenting and how co-dependent granola eating dirtfooted it was have been tested and turned.  I can't help myself.  I am madly in love with you.  I keep trying to wear you, which I swore I'd never do.  But every time I put you in a sling you projectile vomit, and you'll only allow me 10 minutes maximum in the kozy carrier- the Asian wrap that lets you sit facing me.  But I keep trying.

You have made an attachment parent out of me.  Even if you don't like it.

I sense an independent streak in you.  You hate to be swaddled, unless absolutely necessary, and it has been absolutely necessary a few times.  Your Dad is the swaddle master.  He's got the 5 s's down to a science.  Although you rarely need them.

I cried the first time we took you out in the car.  To my credit it was after we'd had way too many visitors in a row and I was losing my mind.  Too much, too fast, way too soon.  Other people were holding you and I wanted to tell them that they were holding my heart in their hands but I couldn't speak.  I was in shock still from the birth and you were across the room, way too far away from me.

I've cried every time we've left the house.  I feel the unpredictability of the world crashing and smashing in around me and it feels so out of control.  Home alone with you and Dad is where I feel safest.  I love our little family of 3.

I must admit, I am not immune to the hormonal meltdown.  It's happened a few times, heck, it could happen again right now as I write this.  It's late right now- 9:45pm.  You have finally gone to sleep, without a hitch so far.  Dad and I are working in the living room trying to take advantage of this respite.  See, you've entered into your 'fussy' stage and have a distinct witching hour around 5-10pm.  It is what the lactation consultant at the Pump Station called Intensive Parenting time.  Intense is the correct adjective.  I'm pretty proud of your Papa and I though.  I think we are a good team.  I take the night and day shifts, he takes morning and early evening.  He's the better burper.  I'm the better breastfeeder.  Which reminds me, THANK YOU, for being such an amazing baby at the boob.  You have gained 2 pounds almost in two weeks.  Your weight never went down.  You've grown almost 2 inches!  And my boobs barely missed a beat.  You latch like a champ and I must have nipples of steel with cream for milk.

We couldn't be happier about this.  Some women really struggle.  I'm extremely grateful we do not.

We've seen two pediatricians so far in our quest for the perfect one for you.  The first one was too...how do I say this?  Uncolored in for us.  He was obviously obsessed with Disney characters, as he had them all over his office and as pins on his lab coat, but he himself seemed like an unfinished idea left on the cutting room floor.  He had an outline but no color and no character.  Bland as could be.

Then we met another pediatrician just the other day. This guy was certainly a finished fully flushed out character, except a character that needed to be retired.  He must of been 90 years old, he looked like a scarecrow and lectured us about the benefits of breastfeeding while we were breastfeeding.  He repeated himself several times and even went so far as to touch my boob with a gnarled finger tracing the veins in his demonstration of how a boob works.  A big fan of attachment parenting, he also happens to be Heidi Fleiss's father.  Now- I'm not going to go into the whole debacle of who she is, suffice to say, this man should probably not be handing out parenting advice.  We were very disappointed.

So onward and upward.  I'll keep you posted.

It's late right now and there is so much more to write, but I just heard you squeak in there and I must go see if you are okay, if you are still breathing, and to smell you one more time.

Love,

Crazy in love mama

Our Birth Story

Dear Pony,

We did it.  And it was a total family affair.  You, your Papa, and I worked like an Olympic team bringing you into this world.  We had some amazing coaches and trainers too- Dr. Dwight and the nurses at Good Sam's.  We owe them a huge giant hug and thanks.

Here's how it all went down- it was pretty miraculous as you will see.

First of all, it became pretty clear as the dates past your 'due date' kept rolling by that a medical induction was necessary.  This was the first hurdle for me to leap over.  It meant the end of all my 'natural birth' fantasies- which included soft music playing gently in the background while Tim, our doula, and I, swayed through each contraction, breathing as one unit, surrendering to each 'surge' as it were.  Well, surrender we did, just not to contractions, to what needed to be done, in a hospital, and not at home.  Little did I know that this was the first of many surrenders to come.

Check.

Okay- now what?  We set a date for your induction- Thursday, July 21st at 10pm.  We decided this on Wednesday, July 13th, when you passed your second 'due date.'  Then a funny thing happened, Thursday night I kept having this repeating thought enter my head, much like the one that told me to ride my bike that fateful morning I met your father, or the one that kept telling me to show up for him and let him show up for me, but this one was telling me we should induce on Tuesday instead of Thursday.  I couldn't explain it because it made no sense and went against every natural thing we knew.  We chose Thursday because it was the last possible day our Dr. would let us- so why did I want to move it up two days?  I had no answer but I told your Papa that if Dr. Dwight said he wanted us to move it up, I'd be okay with Tuesday.  Well, we saw Dr. Dwight Friday morning and he never mentioned moving our date up, I did, out of the blue, at the end of our meeting.  Shocking both Tim and I and thrilling Dr. Dwight. He said, Great let's do it.  Let's see if we can get you in.

Tim and I walked out of the office and waited for them to check availability.  That was when the first of many anxiety attacks questioning my intuition impaled me.  

What was I thinking moving it up?  How could I tell our doula and all our natural home-birthing friends?  Was I crazy?  

I started sweating, because that is what I do when I don't know what to do and it matters very much what I do.

That was when your Papa stepped in and did what he does best, he calmed me the fuck down and helped me find a rational solution.

Why don't we just wait and see if we can get Tuesday and then we'll know?

Right. Wait and see.  Okay.  Deep breath.

We got Tuesday.  It was on.  

That was when Papa checked the dates and realized that if we induced Tuesday evening it meant you would be born Wednesday, July 20th.

ONE YEAR EXACTLY TO THE DAY THAT I RAN INTO YOUR DAD ON GLENDALE AVE. ON MY BIKE, SERENDIPITOUSLY (OR NOT)

I got the chills.  This was totally meant to be.  I stopped questioning everything and felt a calmness spread over me.  All would be okay. 

We went home and told our doula who's only advice was to find out our Bishop's Score that Monday when we saw Dr. Dwight again.  

So what is a Bishop's Score?  That is a number based on a few different variables such as cervix dilation and effacement, baby station (how low is your head in my pelvis), post due date, first time mother, older mother, fluid level, placenta health, etc...

Your Bishop's score determines your potential for a C-section.  1 meaning you most likely would need one and 10 most likely not.  We wanted a high number, obviously.  Just the words c-section made me shake.

With that in mind I did everything I possibly could to start our labor naturally. I was on a mission.  Two acupressure sessions, two acupuncture sessions, hiking with Mimi and Brix, eating weird urban myth salads that are meant to induce labor, and writing you letters.  I talked to you constantly, telling you how wonderful it was going to be out here when in retrospect I should of been talking to my cervix, as that was the culprit, not you.

But hindsight isn't called foresight for a reason.

Monday rolled around, still, nothing.  We went into Dr. Dwight's office feeling slightly defeated but not nearly as defeated as we were when after he checked my cervix and your fluids he leaned back and with a very sad look on his face told us our Bishop score was a 3 and that he could not guarantee a vaginal birth.  My eyes welled up but I refused to cry.  I couldn't look at your Dad right away.  I just had to stare at Dr. Dwight and will him to say something more hopeful, but he didn't.  My will doesn't seem to work that way, never has. I had to learn, this whole process wasn't about my will, it was about surrendering it.

Surrender or be dragged, I've heard before.  I was being dragged.

Dr. Dwight suggested we plan a nice dinner before we checked into the hospital at 10pm on Tuesday.  So your Papa and I decided to make reservations at Little Dom's- the first romantic date we ever had.  It was the best date of my life, too, by the way.  Your Papa arrived on my doorstep with a handful of white daisies looking dapper in a soft silky grey shirt and slacks.  White daisies were perfect- how did he know?  Not too pretentious. I had left planning up to him so when we arrived at Little Dom's I was impressed yet once again. Little Dom's is this fabulous cozy little italian restaurant in Los Feliz with wonderful italian food.  After a lovely dinner and delightful banter across a dimly lit table,  we were waiting for his car at valet outside at valet when your Papa wrapped his arms around me and began to slightly sway.  I asked him if he ever danced and he said something I will never forget and has become one of our family mottos- "I can get through just about anything."

I started falling in love with him in that moment.  I remember it so clearly, the moment when my heart first skipped a beat.

So Little Dom's it was.

I felt resigned and in acceptance of the situation when I got home and then emailed our doula to tell her the news.  That was when the wheels fell off the psychological truck for me.  Our doula wanted us to go in with a higher Bishop score, for obvious reasons, and so she highly suggested we push back our induction date till the end of the week against the wished of our doctor.

Oy vey.

I wish I had better resolve but I hate to admit I am still a bit of a candle in the wind and when she highly suggested we wait I went into a tailspin.  It was one of the hardest nights of my life.  Your poor Papa watched me vacillate back and forth trying to logically reason which would be best and why.  Tuesday or Thursday- doesn't seem like much a difference but it felt like an eternity that night.  Do we risk you breathing meconium and trust our doula or do we trust our doctor and risk a c-section?  There were no guarantees either way and it felt like one big giant chess game I was not emotionally mature enough to play.

Welcome to motherhood.

I sat up all night crying about it- which seems so silly to admit now but is true.  I don't know why a big decision like that brings me so much unbelievable angst but it does.  I was physically torturing myself. There was all this logic and good will and then there was my gut that was telling me Tuesday, even though I was terrified of surgery. I was losing my mind when all I had to do was follow my heart, but I couldn't.  That was until your Papa sat me down in the morning and told me that all I had to do was take some action and see what happened.  Just find out if we can even switch it to Thursday- then you'll know and you'll feel better- he wisely suggested.  So I did.  And Dr. Dwight said that if his doctor friend, Dr. Bochner gave me an ultrasound and said it was okay to wait until Thursday- then it was okay with him.  I went into see Dr. Bochner right away. He took one look on the ultra sound and said not only was it not okay that I wait until Thursday he wanted me to go straight to the hospital right then and there.
Huh?
He said my fluids were dangerously low and my placenta was looking haggard (not his words).
Holy shit.
I told him and Dr. Dwight that I wanted to talk to my husband first but that I would check in as soon as possible.  They both looked hesitant but said okay.
I left feeling super excited and relieved, not only were we finally going to be able to meet you but I didn't have top make any stupid decisions anymore!
I went to your Papa's office, we talked about it and decided to go home, get all our hospital gear, and go have lunch at Little Dom's since dinner was out of the question.

Hell yes.

We had a lovely lunch together, Papa ate hangar steak with arugala and I had ricotta gnochi in a tomato sauce.  Then we parked the car and walked into the hospital together at 2pm.  It was totally surreal, going in this way, but I felt so good and happy I didn't care.  I had finally fully surrendered to whatever would need to happen to get you out in the best way possible and all that mattered was you, not some idea I had about what birthing you should look like.

Freedom.

The labor and delivery room was bigger than we expected and quite nice, actually.  Soothing blue wallpaper, a big open window, full bathroom with shower, and wi-fi.  What more could we ask for?  How about a better bed for Papa.  That was sad.  I don't even want to talk about that.  Poor guy.
We unpacked and got situated and then we waited for Dr. Dwight to come over and put in the first of many things into my body to get this show on the road.
A suppository called Cervidil was manually placed as far into my cervix as it would allow.  Dr. Dwight did this at 5pm.  It hurt like hell, I ain't gonna lie.  I'm not a big fan of things being strategically placed in my cervix, even if they are the size of a piece of trident chewing gum.  I think it has something to do with how far up the cervix is.  Just a thought.
Then we were told to wait, like 12 hours, in which something might happen, something might not.  At the most, we'd love for contractions to begin, at the least, a softening of the cervix.  But Dr. Dwight didn't want us to get our hopes up so he told us to hang in there and stay positive.  He wouldn't be back until 7am and a nurse would remove the cervidil around 3am.  It was only 5.  Open up the laptops, break open the books, start distracting ourselves.  This part was kind of fun, I'll admit.  Our first nurse, Lori, was great.  She and I talked about traveling a lot and she had a really nice demeanor.  She had no kids of her own but was recently married.  Big soft nice brown eyes.  At 7pm there was a changing of the guards and we met our night nurse, Amy.  Amy was awesome.  A total Echo Park lady who wore black rimmed glasses and had two small children and a husband who wrote music reviews.  You can imagine how much we all had to talk about.  She seemed like someone we would be friends with outside of this alternate reality.

The food was horrible. I don't even know why they called it chicken, because it wasn't.  So your Papa went out and scored us some california rolls across the street.  He's a good man! Then after dinner he climbed into my hospital bed with me and we snuggled for awhile.  That felt real nice.  I needed that.
We tried to watch an episode of The Wire but couldn't fully commit, so we gave up.  We thought we were going to be able to finish the final season, how wrong we were.  We spent a lot of time listening to other women labor, some yelled, some grunted, and one doctor sounded like a football coach, all of which ended in a baby's cry.  I tried not to be jealous of the women I heard had just come in hours into their labor, pushed for 30 minutes, then had their baby.   I tried.
The night wore on, nothing happened, and we both decided to try and sleep around 11pm.  It was weird trying to sleep on a strange hospital bed attached to a fetal heart rate monitor the entire time.  They make you wear this belt over the monitors- one for your heart rate and one for contractions- to keep them in place but they are constantly needing to be adjusted because you keep moving and kicking around plus the belt itches like crazy- needless to say- I didn't fall asleep.  I laid there and fantasized about you.  That was- until the contractions began.  And yes- they began, with a vengeance.

Around 11pm something started happening, I didn't know what it was, I just knew I needed to breathe through it.  It felt like my uterus, beginning at the bottom and working it's way up, was being put into a vice grip or through a meat processor.  I've never felt anything quite like it.  Your Papa heard me breathing first and asked if I was okay.  I wasn't sure.  So he got up and started holding my hands and rubbing my feet.  That was when they started coming right after another and for longer and longer periods of time.  Amy came in to see how we were doing but she didn't seem to believe me that we were having actual contractions because they weren't showing up on the monitor.  After about an hour of her watching us work harder and harder through each surge, she finally brought in a new monitor, attached it to my belly, and said Oh shit.  Yes, you are definitely having contractions.  No shit.  We thought.
For the next 3.5 hours your Papa was the most amazing birth coach I could ever ask for.  He was right there with me for each one.  When one would start no matter what he was doing he'd drop it and rush over, grab my hands or feet and lock eyes with me counting breaths slowly- in two three out two three.  That was until there was no time in between then he just stayed with me.  I remembered this woman in a coffee shop telling me how she got through her hardest contractions by just knowing it was only gonna take three or four breaths to reach the end.  These were taking 6 to 10 breaths.  Not fair.  I wanted 3-4 breath contractions really badly.  There was no down time.  My right hand gripped the side rail and my whole body shook.  I didn't know how to submit to them, and relax into them, they rocked my world.  At one point we tried standing up and swaying with Papa behind me pushing on my hips but that felt stupid and I never wanted to do it again.  I was attached to an IV at this point too- so you could be well hydrated, so wandering around the halls, taking long hot showers together, none of this was possible. I sat upright on that bed and endured the best I could while falling more in love with your Dad because he was so damn awesome and I'd never felt so vulnerable before in my entire life.  If I started to panic all he had to do was tell me to look at him and I'd feel better.  He was a total pro and cool as a cucumber. Except for that one contraction, he lost his cool, and abandoned ship.  But it wasn't his fault. It was mine. I let out this giant medicated fart right before a huge contraction began.  I tried to apologize to your Papa but there wasn't time.  All I knew was that by breath count 6 his eyes began to water and he said he couldn't, he just couldn't anymore.  He had to let go and step away.  I had to laugh, even in that much pain, I laughed.  So did he.  We kind of needed it at that point.

By 4am I started to have doubts about keeping this up till God knows when.  I remembered two conversations vividly, which I think saved us- one was when I was talking to Michelle about her birth with Matisse and how when I told her how amazing it was that she did it au naturale she told me she'd wished she'd had an epidural. That is was a traumatic experience for her.  That stuck with me, because I admire Michelle tremendously.  And then just the day before, I'd been walking around the reservoir with Nanna and Willow and Nanna was telling me that she wished she'd had an epidural instead of trying to tough it out because she was pretty sure it could of saved her from the c-section she had that was wrecking havoc on her body in recovery.  With those two thoughts in my head I started to consider doing it, the big E. I looked at Tim and Amy and said I wanted to talk about it.  Both knowing my intense desire to have an unmedicated 'natural' birth knew to try and distract me first.  We made a deal, Amy was going on her break from 4-5am.  Could we discuss it when she got back?  Deep breath- ummmm...okay.

One more hour.  I could do it.  I was tough.  I had Timmy.

At 4:30am a little Asian Elf came by.  Her name was Meow.  She was short and stocky and confident.  She took one look at the monitor, one look at Tim and I breathing on the bed, and said, You know- if you want help.  It's okay.

That was all she needed to say.  It was okay.

Tim- get Meow and get me drugs.

What's the code?

One Eyed Jerry!!

You got it.

I don't know why I picked One Eyed Jerry as our epidural code, when our doula asked it just came to mind.  I worked at a coffee shop in Venice when I was 19 and there was a regular named Jerry who only had one eye.  He was a vietnam vet and I don't think he knew we called him One Eyed Jerry, but we did, and my dear friend Katie and I even went so far as to name our fictitious all girl Twisted Sister cover band One Eyed Jerry.  It just stuck.

So there it was. I said it.  And I was really glad that I did.

By the time Amy returned from her break Dr. Blasco was already getting set up in the room.  A man of few words he took his job very seriously.  Which is good, I want a man who is sticking a foot long needle into my spine to be serious.  I don't need to be entertained at this point.  The hardest part about getting the epidural was staying absolutely still during gut wrenching earth shaking contractions so he could put the needle in my spine and not fuck any shit up.  Amy held my shoulders.  My whole body quaked.  Papa didn't look at the needle.  I'm glad. Then it was over.

20 minutes and a few contractions later I was basically numb from the top of my uterus down.  I did not like the feeling but I appreciated not feeling the contractions.  It was strange having so many cords and wires coming out of me, me, who has never been to the hospital for anything before in my life.  I was definitely NOT in Kansas anymore.  But I slept.  Thank God for that.  I slept a couple of hours with the nurses coming in every once in a while to move me.  I had to switch the side I was laying on every twenty minutes or so in the hopes that it would move your body down and into the birth canal.  It felt so weird not being able to use my legs.  So humbling.  So was the catheter. Nothing sexy about that either.

We kept that up until 7am when another change of the guards happened and we said a teary huggy good-bye to Amy and welcomed Carla, the 5'11" volleyball player.  She couldn't of been more different than Amy and yet so perfect for this next phase of our journey.  Dr. Dwight came in at 7 and checked my cervix.  He was super shocked and pleased to hear that I had contractions yet I had only dilated 1.5cm.  My heart dropped.  That was all?  Instead of using the foley balloon he was going to try he decided to just start me on pitocin and up it every half hour.  That was the plan.  Fine with me.  He still didn't seem hopeful about a vaginal birth but he did seem committed to doing everything he possibly could to try, and that was enough for me.

So up the pitocin and wait some more.

That was how we spent the day.  Me being shifted from side to side and your Papa answering emails and making me laugh, as much as I could.  The weird thing was that even though I had an epidural, my body kept shaking through contractions.  It was really strange knowing what kind of stress my body was going through and not being able to feel it.  So disconnected.  But necessary as it was the only way I think my cervix was going to open, if I relaxed, and since I couldn't relax on my own, the epidural was key.  I will forever be grateful for it.

At 9am Dr. Dwight came back.  Not much progress.  Back again at 11am but this time he when he checked my cervix he really went for it.  I could feel some pressure as he told us he was manually going to try and open my cervix.  The stubborn little cervix it was.  I saw the look on Papa's face while Dr. Dwight did this and it didn't look fun.  I am so glad I couldn't feel it, just the pressure was enough.  He left saying he thought he got us to 4cm!  What wonderful news, only 6 more to go, and it only took almost 24 hours.  This was looking like it would be a very very long day after all.  Dr. Dwight left, once again, not very hopeful.  But Papa and I secretly hoped for the best even if we didn't say it out loud, it was there between us, alive and well in the room.  Hope.

Then the strangest thing happened, I started to feel contractions again, not nearly at the level before, but I could definitely tell you when they were happening without looking at the monitor.  I also became extremely nauseous and threw up bile.  I thought it was because of the epidural.  I had a digestive charlie horse on my left side that happens when I don't eat enough for a long period of time and I thought maybe more epidural would help it but it did nothing.  It just made me sick, or so I thought.  Little did I know what kind of intense magic was going on in my body right at that moment. Because when Dr. Dwight came back for his periodic cervical check in at 1pm- just two hours after he thought he got us to 4 cm- he  went in and instead of looking disappointed this time he shocked us all by looking at us and said-

You are fully dilated, kid.  Get ready to push.

With the biggest grin on his face and just like a PE coach.  He was a proud doctor right then.

Wow. What?  Wait!  I'm not ready.  I need to prepare...

No time to prepare.  It was go time.  Tim immediately called our doula and told her we were pushing.

Pushing.

I was actually going to able to push my baby out.  I couldn't believe it.  It seemed too good to be true.  It felt like a miracle had occurred.  I didn't even care when Dr. Dwight said we were going to turn off the epidural, I wanted to feel every push.  I wanted to remember every single moment that was coming.  I wanted to be present for all of it.

Dr. Dwight told Carla, our super nurse, to call him when I crowned.  That was when she and Tim assumed the positions.

Since our doula wasn't there it meant that Papa had to take her place at my feet- I had your Dad on my left, holding my foot against his chest, and Carla on my right, coaching me through each contraction and push.  She was amazing.  Having been a cheerleader you'd think she might get bossy but she was perfect.  She was clear and direct.  I listened to her voice and watched your Papa's face.  Especially since from the beginning he had said he was staying North of the action and wasn't necessarily interested in the activities down South.  Well, now he had no choice.  South he was and South he would stay, front row and center for the show.  Best seats in the house.  Now I really hoped I didn't poop on the table.

As the epidural waned the pushing waxed.  It actually felt good- in a relative way- to push with each contraction.  The only hard part was when I would know that I'd wasted a contraction not pushing correctly.  It was easily the most physically strenuous thing I have ever done- way more than running a half marathon in the hills.  Because there was no backing out or pausing.  I had to give each and every push everything I had in the tank and then refuel in between.  I think I even fell asleep in between a couple of them.  And it was challenging learning what where and how to push correctly so that your little noggin could get out from under my pelvic bone.  I could tell when I'd had a good push by the tone of Carla's voice and the look on Papa's face.  He'd look amazed as Carla would tell him that it was his daughter's head he was looking at.  I had to focus the pushing on the upper part of my uterus then move it down bearing down into my anus.  That part was weird, she told me to push like I was pooing the biggest poo of my life.  And when I did, pulling on the hand rails, curling my body in, holding my breath for 8 counts, and bearing down like an animal, it worked brilliantly.  If I forgot one part of of the equation or got lazy anywhere, it was a wasted push and I hated that more than anything.  Conservation of pushing was my goal.

That was when I smelled it.  I knew it!  I pooped on the table!  They both told me I didn't, but I knew they were lying.  It didn't end up mattering because after the next push Carla said I was crowning!  I knew this meant the ring of fire, and I felt some intense pressure down there accompanied with a stinging sensation but it didn't last too long as Dr. Dwight was swiftly procured and rushed in getting ready.  For some reason when I saw him I erroneously thought, oh great, now my job is done,  he just has to take her out of me. Phew!

I yelled- Okay Dr. Dwight, you can take her out now!

But that was not to be the case.  The hardest part came next when they told me I couldn't push for one contraction, that I needed to wait for Dwight.  WTF?  NOT push?  Were they out of their minds?  Okay, Carla conceded, little pushes.  I pushed half ass.  Nothing major happened except I felt better about it.  That was when I looked at your father's face just as Dwight was assuming his rightful position there to catch you.  Papa looked utterly dumbstruck and amazed at the same time.  There was such a sense of complete wonder and possibly confusion residing there in his eyes.  It reminded me of when he first felt you kick.  For a split second I marveled at how lucky I was to share this incredible raw messy primitive experience with someone as brilliant and wonderful as your Dad and how I'd never felt closer to another human being then I did in that moment with you and your dad.

Then Dr. Dwight told me to push and to be honest, I don't remember much of what happened next.  All I know is that something primal took over my body and in two more contractions with animal like sounds coming out of me I felt this incredible release and relief wash over my whole body and I regained consciousness fully.  That was when they put you wet and wily on my belly, still attached to my body.  I think I said Holy Shit and your Dad said What the Fuck.  Nothing in the world can prepare you for that moment. It was 2:11pm, we pushed for one hour.

The nurses were quickly wiping you down and trying to get you to take a breath.  It seemed like forever.  You were dark and grey/blueish in color.  My first anxiety attack (many more to follow) as a mother came when I worried you weren't going to breathe.  You took a tiny little gasp, then let out a sweet little wail, but not enough.  Dad cut the cord before they whisked you away to the little warming bed so they could give you oxygen.  Dad went with you and I watched as he put his face right up to yours and started talking to you.  Immediately you stopped squirming and stared straight into his eyes.  You definitely knew his voice.  It was an incredible moment to watch.  Your Dad talked to you and explained everything they were doing.  He has such a calming reassuring presence.  I watched it's affect on you, the same as it is on me. That was when I delivered the placenta.   Dr. Dwight wanted to show us how calcified the placenta was and Tracy Doula took a photo of it.  It didn't look like anything we wanted to bury, dehydrate, or eat. And then you were back, and you were nursing right away, and Tracy (who made it just as you came out) was taking photos, and your Dad and I were in total shock and awe.

It felt like such a miracle holding you in my arms after all that.  I've never felt more blessed in my whole life. You were so little and helpless and fragile.  I was so scared I was going to break you.  I didn't know how to hold you right away.  I had to learn you.  Dad and I looked at all your fingers and toes.  We smelled you and talked to you. You looked at us with the biggest most beautiful alert baby eyes in the whole world.

They wheeled us right away into the recovery floor and it was like entering a whole other dimension.  One floor down and another quality of room and care all together.  Tiny suffocating room.  They kept coming in to check our temperature and my blood pressure and we thought for some reason we could leave in the morning, like first thing in the morning.  We were wrong. We would have to stay at least 24 hours for them to check you for jaundice.  Oy vey.  Another 24 hours.  We settled in.  Then we met Sung, our nurse for the night.  She was this petite Asian woman with a fairly strong accent, but we liked her.  She was very attentive and direct.  She made us watch a newborn care video and she liked to make jokes that weren't that funny but she laughed anyways.  The food was still horrible so Papa got sushi again.  I could barely eat or sleep, my adrenaline was racing.  All I wanted to do was stare at you, nurse you, and smell you.  At one point in the night you slept next to your Dad, who was already a natural with you, and every time you made a noise your Dad said he'd look over only to see my eyes big as saucers with a huge toothy grin peering over my hospital bed making sure you were all okay.

I couldn't help it.  I couldn't get enough of you.

They said we were breastfeeding pros.  And I think we were too.  In the morning Dr. Dwight came in and congratulated us again.  He said we had humbled him as a doctor because he really didn't think we were gonna be able to do it, and we did.  We proved him wrong.  I don't know how, I'll never know, and it don't need to.  I'm just so glad he was our Dr. because he never gave up on us.

Okay- that is the story of your birth.

Next installment will be the story of taking you home.

That, my love, is a whole other adventure.

No one told me that along with this great gigantic tsunami size wave of love would be in equal measures morbid horrendous anxiety.

The story continues....