Writer's are supposed to write, right? Well I do. It's just been in my head where no one can read it for the past 90 days. Yes, folks, our trial period is over. Even though. I hear white baby boys sell for about $40k these days, we've decided to keep him. And all that he brings with him.
There's the giggles, cuddles, coos and endless hours of staring at him wondering how I could have possibly done something so right. And there's also the 10 extra pounds I still have, the daily headaches, continued baby brain (it got worse) and the perpetual voice telling me not to screw this up. And to stop using the f-word.
Being a Mom is the hardest thing I've ever done. Not hard in the sense of the daily routine. In fact, now that I know being a SAHM is all about operations it's rather appealing to me, it's something I could master. No, it's hard in the sense of the expectations I place upon myself for raising him right. And my new obsessive compulsive disorder that focuses on figuring out what's wrong with him each day (answer = nothing). I've re-read my baby books multiple times, swearing I missed the part that fixes [INSERT RANDOM BABY CONCERN HERE]. Babies aren't logical. That's the downfall of a logician like me (you like that word, don't you). Raising a kid is a giant science experiment that relies on magic, and every day I feel like I'm blowing up the beakers while the rabbit escapes my hat. Poof.
With so much child rearing to think about, it leaves little room for much else. Which brings me to Monday's return to work. For his sake, it's probably better that cray-cray Mommy is off to the mines. Bodes well for his long term mental stability. And I'm at peace with leaving my child. After all, he'll be with his Daddy and a truly wonderful nanny we were blessed to find.
While I am excited to start "having it all" (Step 1: figure out what "all" is), in my current state of mind I am fearful of what I am returning to with all that has, or more appropriately hasn't, transpired while I've been gone. Not to mention the impact of the very short fuse that is my sleep-deprived patience right now. The clean-up promises to be challenging, to put it mildly, thus I'm hoping to find balance, perspective, and a filter before Monday.
Balance. Ha. I'm still figuring out how to shower by 10am, let alone working in the 9-5. I know, I know, everybody does it. And Marissa Mayer, well isn't she the quintessential working mother. Thanks for killing maternity leave for the rest of us. Oh, and telecommuting.
And so Life 2.0 begins. Where did I leave my wand....
Friday, March 15, 2013
Saturday, December 29, 2012
A Birth Story (and then some)
A year ago, we were considering starting a family. I was mentally preparing myself for a difficult time conceiving and the possibility of not at all, worrying about my heart condition, and coming to terms with delivering via c-section should we actually get pregnant.
Which only goes to show God laughs at your plans.
I think I'm still in a little bit of shock that there is a 9-day old human, mine, asleep in his nursery dreaming of his next feeding. I could not have imagined this to be a reality as quickly as it became one, nor the way in which it did.
After getting pregnant immediately and having an easy pregnancy at that, I figured the rest would be a bit more complicated. When he was diagnosed with his heart condition, I felt vindicated, as I'm perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then we determined it was simply something to watch, and knowing I've lived a full life with the same thing, there was suddenly less to worry about.
So therefore delivery would most certainly be on the grueling end of the spectrum you hear about so often (e.g. 20 hours of labor followed by an emergency c-section). And then it wasn't. Induction, roughly 6 hours of contractions felt simply as pressure (thanks to that epidural), four strong pushes, and voila -- baby.
Yep.
And now were home, finding our way in our new world and getting to know one another. It's, in a word, surreal. Exhausting, exhilarating, frustrating, rewarding...every possible emotion on the spectrum. And it's only just begun.
I've learned a few lessons, and there are a few things I wish I'd known:
Which only goes to show God laughs at your plans.
I think I'm still in a little bit of shock that there is a 9-day old human, mine, asleep in his nursery dreaming of his next feeding. I could not have imagined this to be a reality as quickly as it became one, nor the way in which it did.
After getting pregnant immediately and having an easy pregnancy at that, I figured the rest would be a bit more complicated. When he was diagnosed with his heart condition, I felt vindicated, as I'm perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then we determined it was simply something to watch, and knowing I've lived a full life with the same thing, there was suddenly less to worry about.
So therefore delivery would most certainly be on the grueling end of the spectrum you hear about so often (e.g. 20 hours of labor followed by an emergency c-section). And then it wasn't. Induction, roughly 6 hours of contractions felt simply as pressure (thanks to that epidural), four strong pushes, and voila -- baby.
Yep.
And now were home, finding our way in our new world and getting to know one another. It's, in a word, surreal. Exhausting, exhilarating, frustrating, rewarding...every possible emotion on the spectrum. And it's only just begun.
I've learned a few lessons, and there are a few things I wish I'd known:
- Get a brazilian before labor. You will be spread eagle and exposed most of the day in front of nine of your closest medical professional friends. And your husband. All humility is lost.
- The "every three hour" feeding is actually every 2-3 hours, which equals about 1 1/2 - 2 hours sleep for you, max. Feedings are counted from the time they START, not end. Devastating.
- Baby Blues affect everyone. In some way shape or form. Mine manifests in anxiety starting at 7pm each night, like clockwork, until my 11pm feeding. Crying has become a full time hobby, be they tears of joy or pain. Hormones are awesome.
I've also had a few unexpected realizations:
- Having a baby has evolved and deepened the love I have for my husband. Seeing him embrace and enjoy the role of Daddy makes an already amazing man absolutely incredible.
- It's true - you can't describe the feelings you have for your child when placed in your arms for the first time. It's a whole new level of love, and an entirely different emotion. It changes you forever.
- Your body is superhuman. You will find a way to exist on 3 hours of sleep over 4 days, and manage to socialize. And you won't need caffeine (or blow) to do it.
- I will never, ever, for a single second, consider delivering naturally. The 5 minutes of contractions I felt were enough for one lifetime.
And now it's time for nap.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Extreme Nesting (among other extreme behaviors)
If I could somehow convince a camera crew to follow me around these next few weeks, I'm sure it would be 5 -star entertainment that might land me a new reality show.
Nesting. The emotion and actions of late pregnancy prepping for baby, sometimes accompanied by a surge in energy. Not something I thought I would experience as I am a natural nester when not pregnant.
Wrong. It's manifested in an extreme state. I am bat-shit crazy, and everything under the sun needs to be done. Yesterday. And this applies not only to my home, but my work. I have been insanely productive at the office, but making my husband insane at home. Trade offs, you know?
Let's look at my list. We got the windows cleaned and painted. In that order. So naturally they need to be done again. We had a bathtub installed for the baby, which is awesome, less the drywall dust that has cast my home in a lovely shade of grey that now needs to be resolved. We need a new bed, the damn Tempur-Pedic won't stop stinking. One thousand loads of baby laundry need to be complete. And the house needs to be cleaned -- top to bottom to include the baseboards, floors, vents, cabinets, and every visible surface. At least the garage and closet projects went well. And are done.
And then I need to hire a cleaning lady. Set up the cradle, pack-n-play, and baby bathroom. And pack my hospital bag.
Christmas shopping. Shit.
In the meantime, I understand how people go schizophrenic. All these things remain undone, it's like I don't know where to start. It's paralyzing. Debilitating. And making me so agitated and angry, which is awesome for my kid, right? The mood swings are visible. So I focus on working. Like 14 hours a day, because somehow that's easier to get done.
Here's hoping I get it all done this weekend so some semblance of peace of mind can return.
Nesting. The emotion and actions of late pregnancy prepping for baby, sometimes accompanied by a surge in energy. Not something I thought I would experience as I am a natural nester when not pregnant.
Wrong. It's manifested in an extreme state. I am bat-shit crazy, and everything under the sun needs to be done. Yesterday. And this applies not only to my home, but my work. I have been insanely productive at the office, but making my husband insane at home. Trade offs, you know?
Let's look at my list. We got the windows cleaned and painted. In that order. So naturally they need to be done again. We had a bathtub installed for the baby, which is awesome, less the drywall dust that has cast my home in a lovely shade of grey that now needs to be resolved. We need a new bed, the damn Tempur-Pedic won't stop stinking. One thousand loads of baby laundry need to be complete. And the house needs to be cleaned -- top to bottom to include the baseboards, floors, vents, cabinets, and every visible surface. At least the garage and closet projects went well. And are done.
And then I need to hire a cleaning lady. Set up the cradle, pack-n-play, and baby bathroom. And pack my hospital bag.
Christmas shopping. Shit.
In the meantime, I understand how people go schizophrenic. All these things remain undone, it's like I don't know where to start. It's paralyzing. Debilitating. And making me so agitated and angry, which is awesome for my kid, right? The mood swings are visible. So I focus on working. Like 14 hours a day, because somehow that's easier to get done.
Here's hoping I get it all done this weekend so some semblance of peace of mind can return.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Memories Echo, Part II
"there is only so much you can control in this life"
-- Courtney Saunders, November 1, "October Lessons" blog post.
Never were truer words written. Two weeks ago, I found out that my Baby Boy has a hole in his heart. Just like his mommy. Of all the traits I had hoped to pass onto him, this was not at the top of my list. I always knew there was a "small but significant" chance this could happen, but when it does you are no more prepared for it than if you had zero knowledge of the possibility.
This condition, known as CHD, (and VSD or ASD depending on the location of the hole), is not all that uncommon. Approximately 1 in 100 newborns, in fact. And provided the hole remains small, the prognosis is that it will eventually close on it's own as his heart grows. Surgery is not usually recommended, unless it's large enough to impede function. In short, it's a lot less scary than it was 35 years ago when I was born.
But no less scary when it's your child.
You want the best for them. From the moment they are conceived and every day of their life there after, you strive to give them all the advantages you can because life is hard enough. So I didn't initially deal well with this diagnosis, no matter how insignificant it may ultimately turn out to be. Beyond my worry, it makes me mad. Furious, actually. Especially knowing I personally had something to do with it.
But I can't dwell on it, and my anger won't solve anything (nor will my tears). My doctors don't seem overly concerned, including the pediatric cardiologist who did an echo of his heart last Thursday. An echo in utero. Amazing, right? I thought my own echos were uncomfortable. I was very wrong. It's much worse when they are stabbing you with the evil wand in the stomach and applying pressure you didn't know was possible without popping.
But the pain was worth it, as will be most unbearable things I do in this life for my child's well being. In doing this we know exactly what we're dealing with and will be able to take any necessary steps to ensure his health (and Mommy and Daddy's peace of mind).
In the meantime, Baby Boy is growing well and kickboxing, tumbling and flipping like a champ. We're praying for his continued good health, comforted by the fact that we already know he's a fighter.
Just like his Mommy.
-- Courtney Saunders, November 1, "October Lessons" blog post.
Never were truer words written. Two weeks ago, I found out that my Baby Boy has a hole in his heart. Just like his mommy. Of all the traits I had hoped to pass onto him, this was not at the top of my list. I always knew there was a "small but significant" chance this could happen, but when it does you are no more prepared for it than if you had zero knowledge of the possibility.
This condition, known as CHD, (and VSD or ASD depending on the location of the hole), is not all that uncommon. Approximately 1 in 100 newborns, in fact. And provided the hole remains small, the prognosis is that it will eventually close on it's own as his heart grows. Surgery is not usually recommended, unless it's large enough to impede function. In short, it's a lot less scary than it was 35 years ago when I was born.
But no less scary when it's your child.
You want the best for them. From the moment they are conceived and every day of their life there after, you strive to give them all the advantages you can because life is hard enough. So I didn't initially deal well with this diagnosis, no matter how insignificant it may ultimately turn out to be. Beyond my worry, it makes me mad. Furious, actually. Especially knowing I personally had something to do with it.
But I can't dwell on it, and my anger won't solve anything (nor will my tears). My doctors don't seem overly concerned, including the pediatric cardiologist who did an echo of his heart last Thursday. An echo in utero. Amazing, right? I thought my own echos were uncomfortable. I was very wrong. It's much worse when they are stabbing you with the evil wand in the stomach and applying pressure you didn't know was possible without popping.
But the pain was worth it, as will be most unbearable things I do in this life for my child's well being. In doing this we know exactly what we're dealing with and will be able to take any necessary steps to ensure his health (and Mommy and Daddy's peace of mind).
In the meantime, Baby Boy is growing well and kickboxing, tumbling and flipping like a champ. We're praying for his continued good health, comforted by the fact that we already know he's a fighter.
Just like his Mommy.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
October Lessons
For one who likes to call herself a writer, I sure don't write much. It's been almost three weeks since my last post, but feels like yesterday. I woke up to November this morning, after 12 1/2 hours of much needed rest to get over the month of October, and pondered the things I've learned since we last spoke (well, wrote and read).
Kids change you. More than you think they will. And mine isn't even born yet. I was faced with a fairly monumental life decision over the past few weeks, and ultimately went in the direction the single, non-Mommy version of Courtney would have never, not in her lifetime, chosen. I went the safe route, and looked the other way from adventure and opportunity. Even I didn't think I would until the moment I did it (and then got violently ill wondering what the hell I had done). I know, right? Who does that, certainly not this girl. But some little voice nagged and nagged and I could not make it shut up.
I've since come to terms with it, and have reconciled that this is the first of many sacrifices I will make in my lifetime for my child. Someday, I'll be glad I chose him.
I've also come to find that pregnancy is hard when your old. Especially late pregnancy. I'm not talking about people discounting you with "pregnancy brain" or dropping rude comments about how large you are (with two months to go). No, that's just the tip of the iceberg. Screw the emotional, I'm talking about the physical.
I went into this thinking I'm Wonder Woman, I'll work up until my due date, carry on as normal la ti da. I didn't consider how limiting all this extra weight on my front side would be. You know, like limiting how well (and if) you walk? And how much you sleep, if at all. I sit there, my brain spinning, with a list of things I need and want to do, yet. You just.can't.do.it. Physically speaking. It is BEYOND frustrating.
No one really talks about this phase of pregnancy -- maybe because it's so close and you're simultaneously wrapped up in the excitement of meeting your child? Women forget, God's little trick of nature to make you have more kids.
I'm going to the Dr. tomorrow, and worried they are going to put me down for the count. Just a hunch, seeing as my candle has been burning at both ends with activity and my stress level could stand to come down a few hundred feet. Not to mention I'm sick. And can't walk. So naturally they will put me on bed rest because that's the last thing I could possibly deal with right now.
And finally, I've learned that there is only so much you can control in life. You do your best, and good enough is sometimes, well, enough.
On that note...
Kids change you. More than you think they will. And mine isn't even born yet. I was faced with a fairly monumental life decision over the past few weeks, and ultimately went in the direction the single, non-Mommy version of Courtney would have never, not in her lifetime, chosen. I went the safe route, and looked the other way from adventure and opportunity. Even I didn't think I would until the moment I did it (and then got violently ill wondering what the hell I had done). I know, right? Who does that, certainly not this girl. But some little voice nagged and nagged and I could not make it shut up.
I've since come to terms with it, and have reconciled that this is the first of many sacrifices I will make in my lifetime for my child. Someday, I'll be glad I chose him.
I've also come to find that pregnancy is hard when your old. Especially late pregnancy. I'm not talking about people discounting you with "pregnancy brain" or dropping rude comments about how large you are (with two months to go). No, that's just the tip of the iceberg. Screw the emotional, I'm talking about the physical.
I went into this thinking I'm Wonder Woman, I'll work up until my due date, carry on as normal la ti da. I didn't consider how limiting all this extra weight on my front side would be. You know, like limiting how well (and if) you walk? And how much you sleep, if at all. I sit there, my brain spinning, with a list of things I need and want to do, yet. You just.can't.do.it. Physically speaking. It is BEYOND frustrating.
No one really talks about this phase of pregnancy -- maybe because it's so close and you're simultaneously wrapped up in the excitement of meeting your child? Women forget, God's little trick of nature to make you have more kids.
I'm going to the Dr. tomorrow, and worried they are going to put me down for the count. Just a hunch, seeing as my candle has been burning at both ends with activity and my stress level could stand to come down a few hundred feet. Not to mention I'm sick. And can't walk. So naturally they will put me on bed rest because that's the last thing I could possibly deal with right now.
And finally, I've learned that there is only so much you can control in life. You do your best, and good enough is sometimes, well, enough.
On that note...
Friday, October 12, 2012
House of Destiny
As I work from home this morning, happy to be horizontal and unshowered, I ponder how much this house has brought to our lives. It's done much more than provide a roof over our head. You might say it's predicted our fate. A little story for you.
Finding our home was a bit of happenstance in itself. I drove by it one day while touring the area, a little side street I'd never seen before, and loved the neighborhood. I got excited when I saw the For Sale sign, but completely defeated once I looked it up online. It was absolutely beautiful, exactly what we had searched an entire year for, and way out of our price range.
And then it wasn't. For some reason I elected to watch the property, and a few weeks later I was notified the price dropped, significantly. It was a short sale (defeating realization number two). But we went for it anyway. Pestered real estate agents, banks and home owners for three months, until the day after Thanksgiving they called to say the sale was approved. I get a little teary-eyed just thinking about it. We closed December 20th.
You see, my home is everything to me. It's my rock in the storm of life. My sanctity from all things that trouble me, and nothing can touch me when I'm in it. I am not stable unless my home is.
Finally settling in our home was so powerful in bringing my now husband and I closer together. Which is why three months after we moved in he proposed to me in our bedroom. It couldn't have been more perfect.
In searching for a wedding venue, the Mansion on Forsyth park had stuck with me following a trip to Savannah several years ago. But they only had Sunday dates available for 2011. We decided to visit anyway. The day we arrived to tour the property, they had a cancellation for Saturday, October 1. And of course you know that's the day we got married.
What I didn't mention is that the Mansion was designed by the same architect that built (and from whom we bought) our home. Coincidence? I think not. It was meant to be.
We've spent the past two years feathering our nest, getting it just so, enjoying it with friends and family, and never for a second forgetting to appreciate how fortunate we are to have it.
Now, we're getting ready to share this dwelling with a new little guy. This morning, as I was standing outside waiting for Gizmo to be done with his business, I happened to glance at a sign that had been left in our garage that we just never moved. It was a sign for our neighborhood developer. It.was only then that I realized....our top choice for our baby's name is on that sign. And he's due almost two years to the day that we closed.
So you see, my home brought much needed stability to my life, led to my marriage, picked my wedding venue and now has named my baby. That's a lot for a house to do outside of providing comfort and shelter.
We can never move. It just wouldn't be right. Can't wait to see what it cooks up for us next.
Finding our home was a bit of happenstance in itself. I drove by it one day while touring the area, a little side street I'd never seen before, and loved the neighborhood. I got excited when I saw the For Sale sign, but completely defeated once I looked it up online. It was absolutely beautiful, exactly what we had searched an entire year for, and way out of our price range.
And then it wasn't. For some reason I elected to watch the property, and a few weeks later I was notified the price dropped, significantly. It was a short sale (defeating realization number two). But we went for it anyway. Pestered real estate agents, banks and home owners for three months, until the day after Thanksgiving they called to say the sale was approved. I get a little teary-eyed just thinking about it. We closed December 20th.
You see, my home is everything to me. It's my rock in the storm of life. My sanctity from all things that trouble me, and nothing can touch me when I'm in it. I am not stable unless my home is.
Finally settling in our home was so powerful in bringing my now husband and I closer together. Which is why three months after we moved in he proposed to me in our bedroom. It couldn't have been more perfect.
In searching for a wedding venue, the Mansion on Forsyth park had stuck with me following a trip to Savannah several years ago. But they only had Sunday dates available for 2011. We decided to visit anyway. The day we arrived to tour the property, they had a cancellation for Saturday, October 1. And of course you know that's the day we got married.
What I didn't mention is that the Mansion was designed by the same architect that built (and from whom we bought) our home. Coincidence? I think not. It was meant to be.
We've spent the past two years feathering our nest, getting it just so, enjoying it with friends and family, and never for a second forgetting to appreciate how fortunate we are to have it.
Now, we're getting ready to share this dwelling with a new little guy. This morning, as I was standing outside waiting for Gizmo to be done with his business, I happened to glance at a sign that had been left in our garage that we just never moved. It was a sign for our neighborhood developer. It.was only then that I realized....our top choice for our baby's name is on that sign. And he's due almost two years to the day that we closed.
So you see, my home brought much needed stability to my life, led to my marriage, picked my wedding venue and now has named my baby. That's a lot for a house to do outside of providing comfort and shelter.
We can never move. It just wouldn't be right. Can't wait to see what it cooks up for us next.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
The Elusive Down Time
I'm slowly learning that sleep and relaxation are not so bad. That is, when it actually happens.
Let's start with sleep. It's amazing we get any at all seeing as we can't seem to find a mattress that works for us (and Gizmo). Scott and I have been together for 9 years, and in those years we've had 4 different mattresses. Truth be told, it's him, not me. But not this time.
The week after Labor Day we bought a Tempur-Pedic bed (seeing as we've been through most brands of innerspring and a Sleep Number, not even kidding). It took two weeks to arrive, and when it did it took over my house. With it's smell. Or, "offgassing" as they call it. So bad it caused me headaches, nausea, a stuffy nose and a cough. Not to mention fighting my way out of quick sand each of the four times I had to get up to pee. Seems my side of the bed had a defect. I slept in the baby's room for a week before we finally returned it. And for the record, that $200 Ikea mattress rocks.
A new Tempur-Pedic has since been delivered (we've been old our first one was a defective model), and while the smell is significantly better, it's still there. Every day, the windows are opened, fan is turned on high, and the bed is generously doused with Febreze and left to continue "offgassing" for 12 hours. Then every night, we re-make the bed and flick our new pets, the stink bugs, off the curtains back out the open windows. Not exactly the nighttime ritual I'm used to, but at least I'm sleeping in this bed.
I've got three more months to slumber when I want and as long as I want. Let's hope this bed works out.
Our couch, on the other hand, has seen a lot of me. I've taken to naps, at least once day including weekdays after work. It's a wonderful indulgence, and boy do I need them. This weekend, I planned to practice relaxing and napping -- part of my committment to taking care of me. We did all of our chores and activities on Saturday, so nothing but laundry and football would be left for today.
And then my husband woke up with the flu or stomach flu -- maybe a little bit of both -- and God laughed at my plan. Granted, I haven't left the house, but I haven't exactly been sitting on my ass all day either. I spent my morning cleaning vomit off the floors and walls of the bathroom, and now I'm playing nursemaid. Believe me, he needs it. I'm simultaneously scared for him and of him. But as bad as I feel for him, I can't help but pout a little too. It's my turn to be taken care of, damn it.
Although let's hope not because I get what he has. That would forever define my hell.
Seems down time is just going to have to wait a little while longer.
Let's start with sleep. It's amazing we get any at all seeing as we can't seem to find a mattress that works for us (and Gizmo). Scott and I have been together for 9 years, and in those years we've had 4 different mattresses. Truth be told, it's him, not me. But not this time.
The week after Labor Day we bought a Tempur-Pedic bed (seeing as we've been through most brands of innerspring and a Sleep Number, not even kidding). It took two weeks to arrive, and when it did it took over my house. With it's smell. Or, "offgassing" as they call it. So bad it caused me headaches, nausea, a stuffy nose and a cough. Not to mention fighting my way out of quick sand each of the four times I had to get up to pee. Seems my side of the bed had a defect. I slept in the baby's room for a week before we finally returned it. And for the record, that $200 Ikea mattress rocks.
A new Tempur-Pedic has since been delivered (we've been old our first one was a defective model), and while the smell is significantly better, it's still there. Every day, the windows are opened, fan is turned on high, and the bed is generously doused with Febreze and left to continue "offgassing" for 12 hours. Then every night, we re-make the bed and flick our new pets, the stink bugs, off the curtains back out the open windows. Not exactly the nighttime ritual I'm used to, but at least I'm sleeping in this bed.
I've got three more months to slumber when I want and as long as I want. Let's hope this bed works out.
Our couch, on the other hand, has seen a lot of me. I've taken to naps, at least once day including weekdays after work. It's a wonderful indulgence, and boy do I need them. This weekend, I planned to practice relaxing and napping -- part of my committment to taking care of me. We did all of our chores and activities on Saturday, so nothing but laundry and football would be left for today.
And then my husband woke up with the flu or stomach flu -- maybe a little bit of both -- and God laughed at my plan. Granted, I haven't left the house, but I haven't exactly been sitting on my ass all day either. I spent my morning cleaning vomit off the floors and walls of the bathroom, and now I'm playing nursemaid. Believe me, he needs it. I'm simultaneously scared for him and of him. But as bad as I feel for him, I can't help but pout a little too. It's my turn to be taken care of, damn it.
Although let's hope not because I get what he has. That would forever define my hell.
Seems down time is just going to have to wait a little while longer.
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