The feed

There is a brown bag on the floor near the front door. It contains the breast pump I bought two weeks ago and have not yet touched. The bag and I are engaged in a staring contest and so far I can't tell who's winning.

I am of two minds about how to do the food thing when Margot goes to daycare in May. On an intellectual level I know that breast milk is the best option and given that I am producing a startling supply and she is feeding like a little raptor (at our last pediatrician's visit we found out that she'd gained 2 pounds in a week and a half), it seems like a waste to cut off the supply of boob. On the other hand, however, breastfeeding is a full-time job in itself. Pumping at work would require a commitment that I am not sure I can fulfill. It's not just the theoretical 15-20 minutes of actual pump time, it's the setup (which requires stripping from the waist up and putting on a corset-type garment that holds the pump horns in place and simultaneously destroys any and all semblance of dignity/self esteem I might have left), pumping, cleaning the pump, and refrigerating the milk. Two to three times a day during work hours. I admit, I am intimidated by the very thought of this endeavor.

Formula seems like it would be much simpler for everyone involved and it would actually allow me to do things like eat lunch, not get fired, exercise, and have my boobs to myself. But there is so much guilt involved in choosing between the two--at a very granular level there is a deep feeling that I would be a terrible mother if I chose to stop breastfeeding for what seem like purely selfish reasons. Of course she would be fine on formula but the politics, the politics. I find feeding Margot very satisfying right now and have not even been able to bring myself to deal with the bottle issue yet. And so the pump remains in the bag and every day I continue to stare at the bag warily as if it contained a giant spider that was waiting to jump out and eat me.

Scully

Scully went to kitty heaven this morning. We miss her horribly.

I rescued Scully from the MSPCA 10 years ago. During those 10 years, we moved around the country, lived with various roommates, boyfriends, and one amazing husband/cat daddy, and weathered a lot of ups and downs. She was a patient, loyal, wonderful friend who was happy as long as we were together. No matter where we landed, the sound of her purr and the feel of her fur were home to me.

Scully started to decline right after we brought Margot home and at first we thought it was a stress reaction to the baby, until we saw how much weight she'd lost. After running every test the vet could think of and doing two ultrasounds, all we knew was that she probably had cancer and it was untreatable. She stopped eating or drinking and then lost the use of her hind legs, which was unbearable to watch. She made it clear that she intended to keep soldiering on but her limbs were getting weaker. We decided to let her go before things got any worse for her. It was one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make. I feel strongly that she may have been sick before but she fought to stay with us until the baby was here. Though the house feels achingly empty without her presence, I have to believe that she is now somewhere warm, eating grass and lying in the sun and watching the birds fly around. There is a furry white hole in our hearts. I miss my sunny girl.

It has begun

The Force is strong with this one...

Working girl

Today I took Margot in to my office for a little show and tell. Happily, she snoozed and smiled and charmed her way into the hearts of my coworkers and it was a good visit. One thing I have realized over the past 3 weeks is that I am feeling good about my decision to go back to work after my leave is up. Who knows, that might change once I actually have to leave Margot at daycare. But right now I feel that it's the right decision for us as a family and for me as a mom, wife, and person. This was a topic I was very torn about before Margot was born and so I am glad to have some clarity, though I still worry that I'm walking too closely in my mother's footsteps. Strangely enough, I learned yesterday that my mom was home with me for almost a year, something I hadn't known before.

Anyway, going back to work, even just for a few hours was really good. Turns out I have missed my friends at the office and missed that aspect of my life. I am glad to be home with Margot and grateful to be able to have this time with her, but also glad that things are the way they are. At least for now :)

It's all a blur

So all that talk of how new parents don't get any sleep? Turns out it's true. I don't think anyone really buys it until they have a baby and then suddenly you learn the true meaning of sleep deprivation. This is actually the part of parenthood that made me the most nervous. I have always needed my sleep--I never even pulled all-nighters in college--and so the idea of being kept awake by a small, needy person felt intimidating. But c'est la vie. I am now taking the advice of all the other parents we know and trying to nap when the baby naps, which she thankfully does for chunks of the day (on a good day).

The baby continues to grow and amuse us to no end. Actually, at both ends. Because her lungs didn't get constricted by the birth canal, she's still a bit congested and so she makes the most hysterically funny honks, snorts, wheezes, whirs, and beeps. I sometimes wonder how I gave birth to a Snork, but she is the most beautiful Snork I know. Also, if projectile pooping were an Olympic event, it turns out that we'd have a future medalist on our hands. Other babies might be better sleepers or faster eaters but can they poop across the room?

So far maternity leave has been something of a surreal blur, a time that I know I need to treasure but cannot seem to hold on to. I wake up and suddenly it's 5pm and then 3am and then 1pm. The days themselves are full but not with anything that I would have classified as accomplishments prior to the baby. Now it takes planning to get up and unload the dishwasher or run the laundry. I have to strategize to get out of the house. Going for a walk is the high point of our day--if it's warm enough to leave the house, that is. Everything seems to have slowed down and speeded up simultaneously.

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

Some babies love to go for a drive. Our little bear is not one of them:



This was right before our first trip to the pediatrician and we weren't sure whether the screaming had more to do with the bear suit or the car seat. Turns out, it's the car seat. Which is fine. Unfortunately, M picked up a stomach bug from some of the other kids in our building and did some high volume regurgitation all over the car seat yesterday, so now she hates it AND it smells gross. Yay!

Also, in case the whole Cringer-as-cat-nanny thing sounded hyperbolic, here is some photographic evidence:

Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow

I can't remember a time when my mother wasn't giddily happy to recount how difficult her labor with me was. "Thirty-two hours and then a c-section!" she'd say. Well, now she can't do it anymore because my story is better: 72 hours and then a c-section. Woo!

We are enjoying being home from the hospital very much. Lunchboy's mom is staying with us for a week, which is amazing and for which we are super grateful. Grandmas are beautiful things. So far Margot is an excellent baby. She eats like a champ, sleeps like a log, and is about the cutest thing I have ever seen. For example:



Also:



Griffin and Cringer investigate whether the baby's cuteness surpasses their own:



So far the cats' reactions to the baby have been widely divergent. Griffin isn't sure how we could have misunderstood her dislike for children enough to bring home one of our own, but since we're that dumb she'll tolerate the baby as best she can. Scully is curious but isn't a fan of the crying. Cringer has designated herself nanny cat. When Margot cries, she comes running and start talking back to make sure everything is ok and see if there's anything she can do. She observes breastfeeding with intense interest and likes to sniff Margot's head when I'm feeding her at night. She's the only one of the three who's sleeping on the bed again. The other two mostly like to be where the baby is not. I am hoping they'll come around, but who knows.

Heart-shaped glasses

Margot Lauren
Born February 8, 2009 at 6:41am
8lbs 3oz

We are all happy, healthy, and doing great. More pictures soon.

Yeah

1. I woke up at 4am with a head cold and am now really, really glad the bean isn't here yet and doesn't appear to be on the way. Just...bleh.

2. My acupuncturist told me to be patient. Actually, what she said was "Patience is a good thing." I love her but she has no kids and I just want to smack her. I'm so tired of being lectured by people right now. This probably has to do with being tired, sick, and 10 MONTHS PREGNANT, so please keep the advice to yourself lady.

3. If one more person (including my mother) tells me that I can't have the kid until XX date, or that I have to have the kid immediately if not sooner because their schedule doesn't work around ambiguity, I am seriously going to scream. LOUDLY. It doesn't work like that. It's not about you. GET OVER IT.

4. The eviction notice has been served: my doctor went ahead and scheduled me for induction in like 2 weeks, so I am really hoping that something happens before then. From what I hear, Pitocin is like taking a hammer and hitting yourself in the face with it really hard for about 15 hours.

And now the venting is done.

Vamped out

Over the last nine months, food has been Lunchboy's way of contributing to my pregnancy. It's been his way of making sure I and and baby are taken care of. He's relished the unpredictable donut cravings, the 11pm PB&J requests, the desperate need for cheeseburgers at completely random moments. He bought and read books about eating for a healthy pregnancy and cooked dinners even when I wasn't hungry just because he wanted to make sure I'd have good food in case I changed my mind.

So as we've started revving up for the baby's imminent arrival (though to be honest, right now I think this kid is happily camped out with no plans of leaving the premises anytime soon), Lunchboy found this meal plan online that is supposed to keep us in frozen dinners for a few weeks after we bring the baby home. Yesterday he embarked on a 9-hour food preparation and cooking spree that involved every dish in the kitchen and what seemed like a metric ton of Ziploc bags. While he cooked, he watched a couple of movies on the DVR that he'd been dying to watch but hadn't had a chance yet. For some reason half of the movies were horror movies and one of them was 30 Days of Night. Thinking that I was a grownup on the verge of becoming a parent (and parents are supposed to scare away the monsters under the bed), I made the gigantic mistake of parking myself on the couch and watching half of the movie.

Other than zombies and aliens, vampires are my great childhood fear. I can't explain it. They terrified me to the point that, when I was 10, I sprinkled garlic powder on the carpet in my bedroom. My parents had the rug cleaned but the smell never really came out and I was totally ok with that because it meant that the vampires would never make it all the way to my bed. Anyway, the problem is that even though I know they're not real, the fear sticks in my head for weeks. So last night, when I woke up at 5am as usual in need of chocolate milk, I started down the stairs and found myself face to face with a vision of the vampires from the movie, and turned right around and went back upstairs to bed. The idea of shrieking, toothy creatures lurking around every dark corner was just too much. Parking downstairs in the garage after yoga tonight? Also not good. Being home alone? I have all the lights and the TV on. I am my 13-year-old self. But at least the kitchen smells like the 40 cloves of garlic that Lunchboy used to cook his phalanx of food. That has to count for something, right?

Waiting

Last night I dreamed that I was carrying the baby around in her snowsuit and another mom asked me how old she was, but I couldn't answer because I didn't know the baby's birthday. Then I dreamed I was back in college and was trying to figure out how to take classes with the baby in tow. Could I breastfeed in the back of class? It all seemed to make sense in the dream. I think.

The weekly snowstorm is raging outside and I am grateful to be cozy on the couch with no shoveling to be done. The cats are being ridiculously lazy and I cannot blame them. They are also slowly colonizing the nursery--Scully's new snoozing spot is smack in the middle of the glider that Lunchboy's mom got us for Christmas. On the crib blanket no less. After finding Griffin sleeping in the crib one too many times, we have lined the crib with tin foil and that seems to be keeping her out, but she is still stubbornly addicted to the changing table. Most spoiled cats EVER.

I'm due in 10 days and I am EXCITED. Also impatient, though I don't really have cause to be. I am having lots of contractions but they aren't going anywhere yet, so I am just walking as much as I can, taking lots of baths, eating lightly, and taking things as they come. On Monday the doctor told me that I'm 1cm dilated, which made me giggle because while it means that things are kicking into gear, it's also like passing the one mile marker when running a marathon. This part of the journey is such a lesson in letting go and nonattachment. I just can't wait to see what this little person will be like!

All in my head

Last night I had a birth dream, the first baby-related dream I've had since getting knocked up. In the dream, I went into labor but could not find the doctor or the hospital or Lunchboy. I was surrounded by chaos but felt completely calm. When it was time, I found a lovely spot in an outdoor garden and gave birth admidst flowers and greenery. It felt very important to be in nature. One push (definitely a dream). She had her eyes open when she emerged and it was so amazing to meet her.

Also yesterday, I hoovered an entire bag of Gummi Savers--on the way to the dentist, no less. Could this have caused the dream? Anything is possible.

I boomerang between feeling safe assuming that I've got 3-5 weeks to go and waking up every day wondering if today will be the day. Every twinge gets me thinking. Signs that make other people think things are afoot turn out to be nothing, so I have stopped putting much stock in anything but patience. This is hard for me, as I have never been a patient person.

It doesn't help that symptoms from the first trimester are re-emerging, probably due to all the hormonal insanity going on. I have a weird taste in my mouth all the time. My appetite is reduced but I only want very specific foods (almost entirely carbs and processed sugar). I FEEL weird but assume that has more to do with the crap I'm eating than any imminent changes. I spent 7 months avoiding sugar like the plague but now cannot resist cookies/gummi bears/chocolate/anything sweet. It's gross and perplexing, but lean protein now tastes awful to me. WTF???

I was sort of hoping for an inauguration baby, but I don't think preference plays into that kind of thing. Hooray Obama!! I never want to see or hear from GWB ever, ever, ever again.

What could possibligh go wrong?

Griffin's new napping spot:



37 weeks (with new kitchen, dining room, part of the living room, and a snacking Scully in the background):



Feeling much better. Not commuting seems to have stopped me from becoming a walking sponge. We hung curtains in the nursery today, and now it's all mostly in place. Griffin agrees--the changing table has actually distracted her from sitting in the crib, which had become her new favorite game. Cat thinks she is a child. What a rude awakening she's going to have...

The big heavy

So last week was a tough week for me. Work was crazy and I felt progressively more and more like I was carrying an anvil around on my back. By Sunday I was on the couch and felt bad enough that I uncurled myself from my nest only long enough to take a long, hot bath at noon instead of right before bed. Lunchboy found me in the tub, lolling like a beached whale, and said "tub time already?" I was like, "I am never getting out, if you need me you know where to find me." And then I cried. Everything hurt. My hands and feet were so swollen and painful that I couldn't open the child-safe cap on the Listerine and my running shoes felt like they were squeezing the life out of me.

At my weekly doctor's appointment the next day, I found out I'd gained 5 pounds in one week. "It's all fluid," the doctor said. REALLY. But then she said the magic words: "Are you ready to be done with work? Because I'd like to get you off your feet so this fluid retention stops." And I said yes, yes I am. So now I am on modified bed rest, an ambiguous term that somehow encompasses working from home and the possibility of short term disability, depending on how the insurance company decides to handle it. All I know is I can lie down for most of the day and this is the greatest, most amazing development I can imagine. Except, you know, giving birth.

It has been very, very difficult for me to come to terms with the level of discomfort that I've felt over the past two weeks. Pregnancy is supposed to be beautiful, right? I'm supposed to be glowing and fulfilled by the creation of life in my womb at every possible moment. No one seems to gripe about the last few weeks. In my prenatal yoga class there are 4 women who are at 41+ weeks and they all talk about how fabulous they feel and how they could go on being pregnant forever. That is not me right now. I am pretty miserable and don't feel sincere about trying to put a happy face on it. Should I be stronger or at least stop whining? I often feel that way. But I am definitely feeling very positive about having this baby and taking care of her *outside*.

It's not about babies!

What this week has been like:

They weren't kidding

I thought I wanted to nest a few weeks ago, but what's come over me the last few days takes the concept to a whole new level. I can't stop sweeping the house. The dresser and changing table finally arrived and I'm itching to get everything put away and ready. Even though she probably won't be sleeping in it immediately, the crib bedding is washed and the crib is made up. I can't concentrate on anything other than getting organized and making sure the floor is clean clean clean. I see myself doing it and I know it's insane but I can't stop.

A couple of our friends are now placing bets on when the bean will actually make an appearance. So far we have January 23 and January 25. I'm not due for another month but apparently I am carrying really low (I can't tell). It would be really wonderful if she hung in until she's full term in another week and a half, but after that--fire away. I'm in that weird, lumbering phase where I can't move very well and nothing fits and I'm generally uncomfortable most of the time, but I otherwise feel fine. When she moves, my whole belly moves. Bathtime has turned into a series of scenes from Alien, where my torso goes through these amazing ripples and contortions.

This whole experience has been such a ride. There are moments when I get nervous about giving birth, but right now I'm in a place where I'm just so excited to meet this tiny person and see what she's like. I'm incredibly curious to see how the rest of this journey plays out and what happens when.

More than a rumor

On Sunday we went to a party celebrating Lunchboy's grandparents' 70th wedding anniversary. That's 7-0. I mean, how often do you see that? It's amazing and it was such a great way to start the new year. They got married when his grandfather was 23 and his grandmother was 19, and they are both in their early 90s now. They had nine children, who have created this gigantic family of grandkids, great grandkids, cousins, in-laws, and more children than I've seen at your average daycare center. The room was filled with people laughing, hugging, crying, and watching his grandparents, who held hands the entire time, be interviewed by the evening news. I had this deep feeling of satisfaction watching the reporter ask them questions about what kept them together for so long. Maybe it's just that the news these days is usually so awful that I loved knowing there was something good going on that wouldn't get buried underneath more depressing stories. Later, his grandparents fed each other cake and drank fizzy apple juice. They were amazing to watch. When we went to say hello to them (we had to wait in line--how great is that?), his grandmother put her hand on my belly and said "We're all counting the days!"

Not too many more days to count. I'm due a month from today. The bean will be our first addition to our little family, but it just expanded my heart by a factor of 50 to know that she'll be part of this enormous family that's just waiting to meet her.

Diving in whole hog

Happy new year! I am serious. I am full of hope and faith that 2009 will be all that 2008 wasn't. It feels like everyone is pretty excited to put 2008 behind them. I guess we can only have our asses handed to us so many times in the space of 12 months before we need a fresh start, a clean slate. For me, 2008 was a year of serious ups and downs and I know there will be more of those coming, so my intentions for the year are focused on stability in as much as one can ask for that. Though it sounds naive, I am optimistic about the power of staying open to growth and change, and I feel like there is a lot of that power around at the start of a new year. To me, it's like diving into a pool at the height of summer and instantly feeling cooled and cleansed. But then that may be the hormones talking. Even so, I wish this sense of optimism for all my friends and hope that 2009 will be kickass in the best possible way.

Tempting fate

When you are dying to get some closure and be done with a house sale, what you don't want to have happen is for the phone ring on Christmas Eve and hear that your realtor has bungled a simple form so completely that he has put the sale of your house at risk. Want to know what else is no fun? For your real estate lawyer to vanish completely when he is most needed and to find yourself navigating a really bad situation alone, despite the fact that you are paying through the nose for these professionals to represent you and be on your team.

This was why our Christmas wasn't what I'd call relaxing.

Basically, our realtor forgot about a form that's required for the condo sale to go through, a form that had to be signed by at least two of the other owners in our condo association (but somehow he thought he only needed one signature). In the process of scrambling to get this form signed a few days before the holiday, the realtor somehow managed to piss off one of the units so badly that they refused to sign the form. He also tipped off SMTT that the house was about to be sold and she declined to sign the form. Our lawyer, the one we were paying to help us with events such as these, promptly vanished. We actually never heard from him again, except when he sent one of his minions to the closing to notarize documents.

After days of panicking and feeling completely disempowered and getting no sleep whatsoever, we finally consulted a lawyer friend, without whom I don't think the sale would have gone through. He helped us understand our rights in the situation and suggested how we could move forward, and on Sunday night we finally got the signature we needed. At the closing on Monday, the lawyer and realtor dropped the ball again and so the sale wasn't legally on record until Tuesday morning. But it's done. Closed. We deposited our check and handed over our keys. Our relationship with that condo is over.

Yet for some reason I don't feel closure. I am still grappling with so much anger, frustration, and resentment over what happened and these are feelings that I don't particularly want to be feeling. I want to be letting go and cleansing myself of all the negativity that we experienced since October. I am trying to focus on our new place, which we LOVE, how happy we are here, and how we can now focus on preparing for the bean. But mentally I'm still putting nails in SMTT's tires and upbraiding the realtor and the lawyer. I need a ritual or something to put this behind me--any suggestions?

Merry Christmas!

For real! Our first Christmas with our own tree, our last as nonparents. So goddamn it, we are happy! Life is good!

A fuzzy tree shot with a curious Griffin looking for ribbons to eat:



A scrubby me, wearing one of Lunchboy's shirts because at 33/34 weeks my shirts no longer cover my belly:




That's part of the new living room, as you probably guessed. I've been unmotivated to take pictures lately but I'm working on that.