Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six HUndred Minutes...

How do you measure a year?

The past 525,600 minutes (I refuse to type that out again) have, indeed, been the most precious of my life so far. At 7:49 pm on a warm Saturday evening in June, all at once, I fell in love, had my biggest dream fulfilled and felt my heart break in a completely new way. I remember a very real feeling of panic as they placed this tiny peanut-person in my very shaky, unsteady, new-Mom arms. "Can't these nurses see that I don't know what I'm doing? Are they really going to leave her with me? What now??"

Looking back, I wish I could say that I remember more of our first few days and weeks together as a new family. Unfortunately, for about the first 3 months, I walked around my house half-robed in a zombie-like state, searching for either a paci, the coffee maker, or a burpcloth. So perhaps, the last year could be measured solely in the amount of time I spent awake when I should have been sleeping. I'm gonna guess it was about 495,000 minutes of the 525, 600.

But I have a confession. I didn't write in her baby book this year. *Bad Mommy.* I had every intention to. I even went out and bought a scrapbook, stickers, paper and special markers to do her very own scrapbook. And every time I open my hall closet and see all the materials still neatly tucked away in their original packaging, I laugh at my own naivety. Sure, after the baby goes down, the house is picked up, dinner is made and errands are run, why wouldn't I want to sit down and spend a couple of hours with a glue stick, scissors and stickers? I have a sneaky suspicion the book and all of it's components will be hanging out in our hall closet- quite possibly- until she's in college. So unfortunately, I wish I could tell you the exact date she said her first word, rolled over from tummy to back and vice versa, ate her first food and took her first steps, but I can't. But maybe knowing the dates isn't so important after all. I lived those moments with her, regardless of whether I made note of them elsewhere. And while my Mommy brain may not be functioning on all cylinders all of the time, I have come to realize that those moments are etched in my memory just as clear as if they happened yesterday: the way it felt to hold her for the first time, the way I melted when she smiled her first real smile (and I knew it wasn't gas), the first time she said "mama" to me and held her arms out to be picked up, the panic and helplessness I felt the first time we made a trip to the ER at 5:30 in the morning when she spiked a fever, the first time she walked to me....

These moments make up just a small fraction of the grand-total, but they are the ones that have helped define me as a mommy this year.

"In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights and cups of coffee" (and there were a lot of those)

"In inches, in miles, in laughter and strife

"In five-hundred twenty-five-thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure a year in the life?"

How about love? There's been an abundance of it this past year and for that, I'm so grateful. :)

Where did the time go??

Many transformations happen when you cross the threshold into motherhood. There's an obvious physical realm that many can recognize right away. Your hormones take a trip to hell and back- sometimes several times a day- for the first 5 months. Your husband will not understand this and will eventually resign himself to sitting beside you on the couch and gently rubbing your back every night around 8 pm while you cry for no good reason. The emotional rollercoaster continues as you celebrate the gains and mourn the losses that coincide with becoming a first-time Mom. Among the things you gain: insight, patience, a new-found respect for your mother, an overwhelming sense of contentment and a pretty amazing pair of boobs (which your husband also loves, but- much to his dismay- is often not allowed to touch). Among the things you lose: your precious REM cycles, sanity, some babyweight (if you're lucky), and the concept of time. Days and weeks begin to blur together and your life, at least for the first 4 months, is measured in 3 hour increments.

Then there are the changes that take place in the less visible- albeit very real- emotional realm. You realize that you have been forever catapulted into this new state of being and suddenly, there's an intense awareness that every reason for your existence is for this tiny person who depends on you for everything. You will spend minutes- that turn into hours- holding her while she sleeps, memorizing her tiny features, inhaling her sweet baby smell, listening to the rhythm of each little breath. You will wonder how anything in life can be so pure and good. But your heart will break like it's never been broken before. You will never again watch a news story about an infant being abandoned/left/beaten/starved without feeling outraged. Hearing tragic stories of loss will devastate you on a personal level and you will forever be haunted by the thought, "what if that was my baby?" Inevitably, you will dream bigger, pray harder, love deeper than you ever knew you could. You will watch in wonder and pride when she smiles for the first time....babbles...sits up on her own...pulls to a stand...laughs from her belly....reaches out to hug you...says "mama"....holds her own bottle...takes her first steps...and all the while, you will think, "I'm not ready for this. This can't be happening so soon." Before you realize it, you will find yourself on a playdate with a friend, reminiscing about big bellies, 2 am feedings and post-partum hormones. And you will shake your head in disbelief while uttering that famous mom cliche- "where did the time go?"

Congratulations. The Mom transformation is now complete.

But seriously, where did the time go?

I used to think I had a lot of time on my hands. A month before Ella was born, I had a little too much of it. (Go ahead and ask me what I was doing to induce labor. No, really). I used to pride myself on keeping track of dates, appointments, get-togethers, etc., and while I haven't always been the most punctual person, it was a rare thing for me to completely "lose track of time." (My dad, on the other hand, has this down to an art). Perhaps, for the latter half of my adult life, my Type A personality prevented me from ever not knowing what time it was, or where I needed to be, or when I needed to be there. But that was then, and whatever was left of that concept of time was more or less obliterated at 7:49 pm on June 13th, 2009.

Today, I am happy to announce that I am chronically 15 minutes late to just about everything. I am guilty of oversleeping whenever Ella does. I have forgotten doctor's appointments. On days that I could be out, I have defaulted to spending them at home, on the floor with my little girl. Because children beg for us to lose ourselves, don't they? To momentarily forget that it's 3:30 a.m., no matter how tired we feel. To forget where else it is we think we need to be, because whatever it is will always be there, and because maybe, something inside us knows that our babies will not be babies but just for a minute. They will only cling to our legs for a few days, really. They will only nestle their heads in the nape of our necks for just a few nights.

So, maybe my blog hasn't been updated for the last seven months, but as you can see, I've been busy trying to lose track of the time...

Ode to the Woombie

What's the value of a full night's sleep?  Can you put a price tag on sanity, you ask?  Well, I'm here to tell you- YES- yes, you can put a price tag on it.   I'm happy to announce that for me, the cost was a mere $28.95 (plus shipping and handling).   Don't be fooled by appearance.  Your sweet little baby might look as though they are imitating a Jimmy Dean sausage roll, but it will guarantee you at least one REM cycle, heck maybe even two.  I had pretty much decided that I would be willing to dress Ella up as Hannah Montana if it meant that I could sleep longer than 3 hours at a time.  Luckily, I was able to put away the blonde wig and sequins for another time....and instead, found this cocoon of cotton, polyester and lycra.  It's designed to keep baby snug and secure while still giving them the ability to move their arms and legs inside the sack, much like the way they are in Mommy's belly (hence, the name "Woombie.")  The typical swaddle blanket, when used correctly, can work pretty well and will help to pin their arms down, but inevitably, they will get big enough and strong enough to break out of their swaddle and startle themselves awake.  So, as fun as it was for me to hop in and out of bed ever 25 minutes to re-swaddle Ella and shush her back to sleep, I knew there had to be a better way.  I'm *overjoyed* to report that the first night she slept in her Woombie, she went for 7 hours straight.  Seven hours!  I woke up that morning and looked over to see my clock say 5:33 am and I almost wet my bed in excitement.  The next night, she went for 8 hours.  The night after that- and every consecutive night since- she has gone at least a 9 hour stretch.  Last night, we put her down to bed at 9:45 and she slept until 8:30 this morning.  *Nirvana, I tell you.*

I'm sold.  I will buy this for every friend of mine who gets pregnant from here on out.  If the $650 I paid for my epidural was the best money I ever spent pre-baby (and it was), the $32-odd dollars that I paid for this sweet sack of sanity is the best money I've ever spent post-baby.  Such a small, seemingly insignificant article of clothing that I credit with restoring some normalcy into my crazy, overtired, hormonal life as a new mommy...

Finally...the birth story!

Our little Junebug is here!  Okay, well technically, she's been here for 5 weeks now.  But getting this post up got lost somewhere between diaper changes, 2 am feedings (and then again at 5, and again at 8...), too many loads of laundry and too few hours of sleep.  Then of course, there are those moments of just watching her sleep...and those moments turn into an hour, maybe even two. Those are the times when I *could* be catching up on some cleaning, writing the ever-growing heap of thank you notes or even taking a nap (a big HAH to that).  But I just want to sit and look at her.  Try to stop the time from passing so quickly.  Try to memorize all of her sweet little features because I know that tomorrow will bring even more changes.  She's changed so much already, it kinda makes my heart break a little....*sigh*

So here's the long and short of her birth story...(and since I'm stealing a few precious minutes while Ella is sleeping, this will more than likely be the "short" of it).

She took her sweet time getting here- the stats: born at 41 weeks on June 13, 2009- 7:49 pm, weighing 6 lbs 15 oz and 20 inches long.  Someday I will write the entire birth story- perhaps in another post, but judging by the pace of the last 5 weeks I might be lucky to have it finished sometime before her fifth birthday.   My labor lasted for a good 5 days before it was finally the *real deal.*  Yes, I said 5 days.  Yes, they were the longest and most trying 5 days of my life (or so I thought, until we were home and Jake was back at work and my mom had gone back to MI.  Those days were altogether a different kind of "long" and "trying," to say the very least...)  I was one of the unlucky few who had the prodromal labor- basically a fancy term for early labor that starts and stops irregularly with contractions that come close together and that are quite painful at times, but that don't really change the cervix, so most doctors and hospitals will send you back home to continue to wait.  If I had a nickel for the number of times I uttered the words "this is it!!" or pulled out my iPhone to time the contractions on the handy "Contraction Master" app, I would be a rich woman.  I still believe this was Ella's way of preparing her Mommy to realize that life was truly not about me anymore- and will never be again, for that matter. 

When I had my bloody show late Friday night- after labor that started the previous Tuesday- I knew it would be soon and was more than ready to get to the hospital.  We ended up arriving at the hospital early that Saturday morning (but only after stopping at McDonald's so Jake could get breakfast, because we all know the reputation hospital food carries.  But for the record, I passed on the bacon-egg and cheese biscuit, lest it should make a second appearance during labor).  Once we were settled in our room, the doctor came in after I was checked (and it was definite that they were not sending me home this time) and broke my water.  OMG, *ouch.*  I think I gripped the bed railing so hard that I left an indentation.  After that, Jake was too scared to hold my hand for the duration of the labor. (j/k). Next came a dose of stadol, which I was told would "take the edge off" but only served to make me talk out my ass about stupid things and feel nauseous if I opened my eyes the tiniest bit.  Finally, I got the blessed epidural by 1 pm and life was good after that.  Well, "good" in that I felt no pain whatsoever.  However, things didn't go *quite* how I pictured in my head from that point on...

They had determined some time earlier that she was sunny side up with her face looking up instead of at my back.  Because of this, she never dropped into my pelvis, therefore, I didn't progress past 5 cm and 80% effaced....and therefore, the doctor came in around 6 pm that day and said, "I think the writing's on the wall and we may need to proceed with a c-section."  

Done.  

I was exhausted, not to mention STARVING (can I truthfully say that food was probably the number one driving force behind my decision to agree to a section so quickly?  Well, that- and of course, getting to finally meet my baby).  So Jake got changed into the cute blue scrubs complete with matching mask and shower cap and I got topped off with another dose of "heaven-in-a-spinal-tap" and they wheeled me into the OR at 7:28 pm.  Twenty-one minutes later, I heard the most beautiful sound as they pulled her out and she cried for the first time.  

She is probably the most amazing little person I've ever seen (of course, I realize I'm extremely biased), but I look at her and can't imagine that I had anything to do with this little miracle.  She's got her Daddy's nose, my eyes (although they're still blue and look like they may stay that way) and perfectly shaped lips. *Look out Angelina.*  I remember the first time the nurses brought her to me in the middle of the night, only a few hours after my c-section.  I had already been allowed to hold her and bond with her a few hours prior while in recovery, but at that point, I was still heavily drugged and shaking like a fool, so it wasn't the optimum situation.  They wheeled her into my room a few hours later and I was awoken from my drug-induced sleep to hear the nurse say, "Hey Momma, your baby girl is ready to eat again." And then the reality started to hit: Oh my God, I have a daughter.  It wasn't a dream...she's outside in the real world now.  So there I laid in that dimly-lit hospital room, still half-numb from the waist down and with only a little ginger-ale on my stomach to quell the nausea, but none of the discomfort seemed to matter.  I held her with those unsteady arms that scream "new Mommy" and studied every tiny little feature, and just gazed at her and for those few precious minutes, time seemed to freeze.  Ironically now, I can't get the time to stop.  She's changing every day and now I will officially join Moms everywhere who can only comment that this is all going  too, too fast. 

More to come...(when she takes another long nap :-) ) 

40 weeks!!

So this is a picture of a baby at 40 weeks gestation, or more simply, what Junebug and I look like right now (except my boobs may not be *quite* that perky).   A few things come to mind as I scan this picture.  Never mind the fact that until now, I had no idea that I even have something called a "pelvic colon," but apparently there exists such a thing.  And take a look at the poor bladder.   No wonder I'm up 4 times during the night to pee. What's even more disappointing is the "amount" of pee that comes out- I sit down and wait for the deluge, only to have a few droplets echo in the toilet.  So very disappointing but now I see why. 

Perhaps the most disturbing thing to me is the massive size of the head, especially when compared to the ittybitty-ness of the cervix and vaginal canal.  And while we're on the topic of the word "canal," I'd like to say how misleading I find it for doctors and medical personnel to refer to this incredibly narrow passageway as a "canal."  I mean, come on people.  When I hear the word canal, I think of a large body of water capable of allowing barges and ships to pass through unaffected.  THAT is a canal.  What's pictured above is about the diameter of a McDonald's plastic straw.   I understand that psychologically, it's probably not a good idea to envision this part of my body as plastic and unmoving....but for all intents and purposes, it's a TUBE, not a "canal."  A tube that will remarkably allow a 13+ centimeter head to come through.  *And this would be exactly why I'm getting an epidural, thank you.*

So here I sit, 2 days shy of the due date (which I know is nothing more than an educated "guess date") nevertheless, I have the overwhelming feeling that my turkey timer is done and this kid is well cooked.  Right now, this little Bug is doing nothing more than taking up space, head-butting my cervix and bladder, and adding on weight that will inevitably make it harder for me to push out.  I wait for a sign- any sign- that labor is about to start.  Was that a cramp?  Could that be a contraction?  Was that gush of fluid leftover pee or amniotic fluid?  I swear, I never thought I would get excited over feeling period cramps.  I have never run to the bathroom to check my underwear with such enthusiasm for remnants of a mucus plug.  (I'm now beginning to think that I have a phantom one).  And this is the only time in my life I can honestly say I would love to feel warm fluid run down my legs because it would mean my water has broken and could care less if it happens in public where people assume I've peed myself.  (Although maybe I would get off easy and my belly would be a clue that I haven't simply lost all bladder control).   The whole time I'm waiting to feel pain, I'm very much aware that I have absolutely *no* clue what I'm in for.  This is supposedly the worst pain I'll ever experience in my life.  But it's also something my body knows how to do and is equipped to do, so I'm allowing myself to focus on that instead.  As my doctor has said, it's pain with a purpose.  This is not the same scenario as lying in bed for a week with the flu, feeling close to death and almost wishing it upon yourself, only to recover and then say "hey, I had the flu last week."  

I get to hold a baby- our baby- at the end of all of this.  And that's the best reason ever to feel pain. :-)

Fun ways to pass the time at 38 weeks....*tick-tock*

I've obviously slacked off on the blogging lately.  However, since I'm not making much progress according to my doctor (only 25% effaced and not dilating), am no longer working and therefore essentially sitting around twiddling my thumbs in an effort to pass the time, I intend to post as much as I can until this kid decides to make their appearance.  I've also come up with a few other fun things I intend to do in the meantime until "it's time!"

1. Count the dimples of cellulite on my thighs and ass.  This will probably take a good 2 hours, depending on the angle.  I believe that my right thigh and ass cheek have a few more than my left...

2. Scoot myself around our house on my yoga ball.  It's quite comfy actually.  I'm currently trying to figure out how I might be able to roll myself around the neighborhood with Poco when we go for walks.  

3. Rock climbing and/or spelunking.  Because what's more impressive than a big pregnant woman impersonating Spiderman, right? I'm just not sure there are many good spots in Richmond...

4. Figuring out how many different ways to eat a double stuff oreo.  First and foremost, it has to be double stuff- I don't mess with the weird hybrid oreos (mint, cappuccino, peanut butter).  Just give me the plain old fashioned oreo and glass of skim milk.  As for how many ways to eat it, I lost track after the 9th one...guess that means I'll have to start over later this afternoon. *darn*

5. Counting the diapers in the mega box of Pampers I bought. Just to make sure there are, in fact, 216 of them in there.  After that, there are the mega packs of 384 wipes to go through as well.

6. Squeezing and fondling my nipples (and yes, I make sure to practice some self restraint in public).  I've found this to be both fascinating and somewhat painful.  If nothing else, some interesting stuff will come oozing out (*yay- my body works!*).  But supposedly, alternating 15 minutes on each side once an hour releases the hormone oxytocin, which induces uterine contractions.  And I figure, if it doesn't have the desired effect, it will probably at least get my husband interested....which can lead to another fun way to pass the time...

7.  Shaving my legs and "downstairs" region.  Due to the sheer size of my belly, I end up looking like a blind person reading Braille, as I take my razor and feel around to make sure I'm not leaving any patches.  Likewise, I also can't see if I've nicked anything or am bleeding anywhere either, so I guess it's just as well...if things get really slow around here, I'll work on creating a fun design for my OB to find at my next internal.

8. Going to the grocery store and getting revenge....by asking overly curious, stupid or borderline rude shoppers if they would like to strap on a couple sacks of potatoes to wear throughout the duration of their shopping trip and see how they like it. If this doesn't get the message across,  perhaps I'll take a broom stick and mimic baby's kicks by poking them repeatedly in the stomach and back...

9. Writing/editing a series of poems dedicated to my cervix and vajayjay to further encourage their cooperation in project "baby eviction."

10. Going for a pedicure.  I figure if my feet are going to be up in stirrups just any day now, they might as well look cute (since nothing else down there will and all sense of modesty will be lost by then).   Plus, have you seen a 9 1/2 month pregnant woman try to paint her own toenails?  *pathetic*

11.  SLEEP.  Hit the snooze button eleven times before getting out of bed, doze off on the couch after lunch while watching something uninteresting on TV, go to bed at a decent hour and set the alarm for 2 a.m. so that when it goes off, I can remind myself that I don't have a baby to breastfeed *yet.*  Roll over and go back to sleep.  Repeat. :-)

Now off to work on #4 or #11....or perhaps both....

You Know You're 9 Months Pregnant When...

I think it's high time that I write another post. *oops*  Where has the time gone?

I'm officially counting down the days.  That's right.  I'm 11 days from full term, which means I am basically a month from my due date.  *Sweet grandmother's spatula.*  Where has the time gone?  I mean, there were plenty of instances where it certainly felt that time could not go any slower.  First it was the dog-tired days of the first trimester and the waves of incessant nausea when my only countdown was to the golden gates of the second trimester.  Then there was the countdown to the halfway mark of 20 weeks and the "big" ultrasound where most couples will find out if they need to start buying pink or blue.  The next big milestone is viability at 24 weeks, and right around the corner from that is the countdown to the third trimester with it's aches, pains, sleepless nights and flashbacks of fatigue and nausea from the first trimester.  But at that point, you don't care so much.  (Probably because you're too damn tired to care).  You know you're nearing the end of the pregnancy and can manage a few more weeks of discomfort because your eyes are on the prize ahead.  So in honor of officially reaching the 9 month mark (well, in my case, being 3 days short of the 9 month mark), I am dedicating this post to all the joys that go hand in hand with being this pregnant.

And for those of you who are confused about the actual length of pregnancy and think that 9 months means "it's time!!!" I hate to break it to you- really I do, but in fact, we women are lucky enough to have another month tacked on for a grand total of 10 months.  40 weeks = 10 months, but if you are counting lunar months or something weird like that, then it does end up being 9 "lunar" months.  I don't do math and it makes my brain hurt, so moving forward...

You know you are 9 months pregnant when...

1. You drop something on the floor and just stare at it, hoping it will pick up itself because if you DO bend down to get it, one of three things will happen: 

a) You will fart....and this is not the girly fart of days gone by- this is the loud, clear-out-the-room with one whiff type.  If you still have a sense of modesty, you may hesitate to bend down if other people are present.  Otherwise, you've probably reached a point where you could truly give a rat's ass whether anyone hears you or smells you anymore.

b) You will end up like a turtle who's been turned over on it's back- legs and arms flailing about as you try to right yourself and get up again.

c) The baby's head might actually pop out, as you are already feeling some intense pressure from where it has already dropped in your pelvis and before you know it, you will be featured on one of those dramatic baby delivery shows:  "It all started when I bent down to pick up a blueberry..."

2.  You have all but taken your pillow and blanket into the bathroom with you at night, convinced that you can get a better night's sleep sitting propped up on the toilet and at least this way, you do not have to grunt your way in and out of bed an average of 4 times before the sun even comes up.

3.  You're two primary reactions to outside stimuli (TV shows, commercials, strangers with no filters,  husbands who mean well but are unaware of raging hormones) are either to cry or utter the words "bite me."  Both may make you feel better momentarily, but the urge will return shortly- I promise.

4.  You haven't seen your hooha in several weeks (at best) but you are now more aware of its presence than ever before, as it feels as though it's hanging somewhere down between your knees.  And don't even bother picking up a razor to keep things looking tidy since there's no way to really "see" what you're doing down there.  The vajay has taken enough abuse over the last several months without looking as if Edward Scissorhands went to town on it.

5.  You silently pray you don't pee your pants when you feel a sneeze coming on.  You actually throw in a couple of "Hail Mary's" if you happen to be out in public.

6.  You can use your bump as a nice table or "eating shelf" for convenient snacks like crackers, M&M's,  grapes, etc.  If only your tongue was long enough, you could just lap up your treats like a dog and not even have to use your arms.

7.  People no longer make eye contact with you when you're out shopping but continue to stare a hole straight into your navel as if they're expecting the baby to fall out of you at any given moment.  (Refer to # 3)

8.  You're hips feel like they're being held together by a swizzle stick causing you to waddle instead of walk, you can identify the individual ingredients in the food you consumed four hours ago because some of them continue to come back up when you burp, your tail bone feels as if it's been ruthlessly dragged up and down a flight of concrete steps, you have Braxton Hicks contractions that squeeze your belly so tightly that you momentarily lose your breath,  your toes resemble vienna sausages and if you're lucky enough, your hands and feet will swell up to boot....

yet you get excited upon feeling any type of pain or pressure that *might* be the beginning of labor.  You think "YES! I'm feeling pain!" and will proceed to drop whatever it is that you were doing, put on your shoes and walk (read: waddle) a mile and half around your neighborhood or bounce up and down on an exercise ball to see if you can bring about even more pain...because it is, in fact, time to get this show on the road.