There has been a bit of radio silence at the Baeten household – as far as the blogosphere goes. We have been busy with the normal end of the year hubabalu – all of the things that you normally find in the lives of small business owners/parents of a newly mobile infant daughter/newish owners of a small naughty dog (ie: taxes, excrement removal and subsequent sanitation, baby proofing, addressing a million Christmas cards, advertising budget re-evaluation, payroll….you name it, it needs to be done).
And unfortunately for my husband, who was blessed with a FAR more relaxed personality than my own – for me, the cumulative result of all of this “activity” equals a teensy weensy bit of ANXIETY!
But nothing on my list has caused me greater anxiety than THE SEARCH FOR A NANNY (dun dun dun….ominous music……)
This past year has been the “Year of Baby.”
As previously discussed on this blog, during the delirious naivety of my pregnancy I had visions of productively my working at the studio, baby peacefully napping in her pack n’ play. Me – a stupendous blend of Super Mommy & Super Studio Owner, seamlessly woven into one neat, showered, flawlessly groomed package. Needless to say, this is not exactly what happened. She wouldn’t take a bottle. She wouldn’t take a nap. She was, pretty much, opposed to ALL things that would allow Mommy to get any non-Emerson work done – and so we all learned to just do what we could do.
We are so fortunate that the circumstances of our life allowed me to stay home with Emerson this year. There are many many families that simply do not have this option. But as such, 2009 became the year of “Anna Learning to Let Things Go.” And if you know me AT ALL, you know that this is cosmically divergent from my natural tendency. But honestly, while I did not take to it very easily and may have fought it tooth and nail, in the grand scheme of my life, I am sure that it was good for me…..
IT IS GOOD FOR ME.
IT IS GOOD FOR ME.
IT IS GOOD FOR ME.
But 2010 is around the corner – and I HAVE TO GET SOME WORK DONE. For the sake of the studio. For the sake of the students. For the sake of our staff. For the sake of my own sanity.
And hence – The Nanny Search.
I had no idea how stressful this would be. How much ANXIETY it would cause me. How do you hire someone to take care of YOUR CHILD. Perhaps it is because we are relatively quiet and private people – and hiring a nanny is essentially inviting a stranger into your home – into your family – to be the caregiver of YOUR MOST PRECIOUS AND FRAGILE POSSESSION. I don’t know. I think I am having heart palpitations just thinking about it. Just as a point of reference, I have SERIOUSLY short and very selective list of people I trust to take care of my DOGS. How does one find someone to take care of YOUR CHILD?!?!
Even conceptually it just baffles me.
Filed under: Anna
Just in case you were wondering, Oxiclean does get vomit stains out of carpet. However, you had better start out with some pretty pristine carpet. It does such a good job of “oxi-fying” the carpet, that the spots I cleaned ended up looking shockingly white in the vast last landscape that is the dinginess of the rest of my carpet.
Let’s all say it together now, “Dear Santa: Please bring me hard wood floors for Christmas. Thank you for your time. Cordially, Anna”
Filed under: Anna
On Saturday I interviewed a nineteen year old girl for a job with our studio. It occurred to me after the interview that I bet she thinks I am really old. Maybe if I am lucky, she thought that I was “pretty cool for an older person.” When did that happen?!?!
So I am officially operating in “Zombie Mode.”
Today Emerson turns 7 months old, and while she is doing a virtual cornucopia of adorable 7 month old baby-ish things (rolling over, sitting up, smiling & laughing, making raspberries), the one thing that she is not doing very well is sleeping.
For the past two weeks or so, we have been on the every exciting roller coaster ride known as TEETHING. And it has reeked ungodly satanic havoc on any semblance of a sleep schedule that may have previously existed. I do have to say, that despite her discomfort, Emerson has maintained a pretty amazingly cheery demeanor through this whole ordeal.
But the sleeping. OH MY GOD. The sleeping.
The thing about sleep is that, amazingly, the body does acclimate.
Emerson is 7 months old today, and that means, that as a breast feeding mother, it has been seven months since I have gotten more than 2-4 hours of sleep in a row. LET ME REPEAT MYSELF.
I HAVE NOT SLEPT FOR MORE THAN FOUR CONSECUTIVE HOURS…..IN SEVEN MONTHS.
I know…I should be dead. But somehow, woven into the miraculous evolution of motherhood, I, and millions of other women like me……somehow adapt. We evolve. We SURVIVE.
I remember when my body adjusted the first time. The first two to three weeks of “baby boot camp” were the hardest, and then somewhere in there…..the switch flipped. I just got used to it. Somehow, I learned to function on sleep increments of 3-4 hours, and if I may say so, generally speaking, I do so amazingly well…..with grace, with poise….look at me, juggling all my balls, while still seeming relatively fresh…….look at me, I actually shower at least every other day, and manage to find time to change my underwear EVERY SINGLE DAY………..
AND THEN…….THE TEETHING!
And as those 3-4 hour sleep increments began to dwindle to 1-3 hours…… Oh, you can handle it for the first couple of nights – piece of cake! But as one or two nights becomes three or four…..and then eight……and then twelve……the tenuous threads of sanity begin to fray…..the perilously balanced Jenga game that is the health and wellness of my psyche began to wobble….ever so slightly.
The Zombie emerged.
There is nothing quite like sleep deprivation. It expresses itself in a myriad of happy ways. There are, of course, the physical symptoms: general physical fatigue, blurred vision, shortened attention span, hearing that tunes in and out – the list goes on. But that is nothing to the psychological & emotional ramifications: the irritability, the overreactiveness, the spontaneous bouts of crying – the inevitable loss of sanity, which eventually evolves into a state of numbness.
However, each day brings with it new hope! The teething can’t last forever! And even if it does, the first seven month of parenthood have proved to me that we are nothing, if not adaptable. Forever a biologist in my heart, I believe in evolution. Give it a few more days, and my body might find a way to survive and thrive on this new sleep schedule. Anything is possible!
Filed under: Anna
Disclaimer: FilmChris, if my last post about baby poop caused you to question the relevance of this blog to your life, this next one is going to push you right over the edge. Sorry, in advance.
There are many many things that one does in preparation for the arrival of a new baby: decorate the nursery, take childbirth classes, buy diapers…..the list goes on and on. Well, one of the things that a number of women whispered to me behind the backs of the menfolk, was to make sure that I had an ample supply of giant cushy maxi pads for myself at the house. That way, upon my return from the hospital, I wouldn’t have to send my poor husband to wander helplessly through the feminine hygiene isle of Target.
Well, for those of you that know me, you can guess what I did. I went out and bought the entire feminine hygiene isle at Target. Anything with any amalgamation of the words “super” and “absorbent” went in my cart. BECAUSE YOU NEVER KNOW! Heaven forbid that I should be UNPREPARED and not possess the ONE PRODUCT that I would inevitably need. For those of you that don’t know, in Anna-land, there is a special corner of hell where the souls wander around feeling UNPREPARED and are propetually LATE FOR AN APPOINTMENT. GASP! GASP! THE HORROR! I know……you can send sympathy emails to my poor husband at ihaveaneuroticwife@yahoo.com.
You can shake your head at me all you want, but I was prepared!
- Side Note: For those of you that have not perused the feminine hygiene isle lately, they have made some incredible advances in maxi pad technology! The maxi pads of my youth (resembling large cotton ball filled pillow cases with a strips of adhesive on the backs) no longer exist. They have been replaced with the sleek, thin, ultra absorbent, winged, maxi pads of the future!
Then I discovered that the maxi pads that they have at the hospital were FAR superior to anything that an ordinary non-MD-ed person could get their hands on in the real world. These were special maxi pads, not available to the general public.
And as Sarah Palin would say, “You betcha!” I left the hospital with a bunch of those super special hospital maxi pads packed neatly and securely in my luggage (it isn’t stealing when they give them to you).
I have to say that in those first couple of weeks my maxi pad stockpile did make me feel secure and calm. Not only was everything that I could possibly need right at my finger tips, but I had options! It was like a mini-shopping experience every time I looked under the bathroom sink.
And now we come to the “dilemma” section of the story.
What do I do with all those stupid maxi pads? Needless to say, I didn’t come anywhere close to using all of my stockpile. So now I have a cupboard full of giant maxi pads that will never be used. But I can’t bring myself to throw them away because I spent perfectly good money on them (lots of it) and they are PERFECTLY GOOD MAXI PADS! What an inexcusable waste!
I am guessing that I don’t have any friends that use giant maxi pads on a regular basis, and I am fairly sure that it is generally considered a social faux pas to randomly approach pregnant strangers and offer them your almost full, but opened packages of Super Plus Ultra Absorbent Nighttime Always Maxi Pads with Wings.
So what do I do with all those dumb maxi pads? They have been cluttering up my bathroom cupboard for the past six months, and I am starting to get pretty sick of them taking up valuable bathroom space…..
I suppose if these are the questions that vex my mind, I should seriously contemplate GETTING A LIFE. Not only have I wasted time thinking about this stupid and frivolous problem, but I have wasted the last half an hour writing about it, which in turn has prompted YOU to waste your time reading about it.
Just in case you had any doubt – Damn, it is good to be an American. In many parts of the world they don’t have the ability to adequately manage their sewage. They have no toilets, much less toilet paper….and here I am, sitting on my couch, typing on my laptop, wondering how to dispose of my maxi pad stockpile. Let me say it again, “Damn. It is good to be an American.”
Yes, you read right, the title of this post is POOP.
Today Emerson gifted us with the most impressively gigantic poop OF HER LIFE. It was awesome, in the most literal sense of the word. It inspired awe. It must be the inevitable result of our recent foray into solid foods. For the past few nights Troy has been feeding her oatmeal at the studio before we head home for bed, and uncharacteristically, Emerson has actually been EATING some of it, rather than letting it ooze from her open mouth. The end (ha ha) result: POOP-O-RAMA!
One of the interesting things about becoming a parent is the almost immediate onset of the unabashed and unembarrassed “Poop Discussions.” Now in normal civilized interactions the subject of a loved one’s poop almost NEVER enters a conversation. That is, unless one of the members of said conversation has recently given birth – in which case, all bets are off. If you are the member of the conversation that has NOT recently given birth, BE WARNED! Graphic textural descriptions of excrement may arise at ANY MOMENT and WITHOUT WARNING! Also note that you will be expected to respond with perceived INTEREST and CONCERN! Because baby poo is INTERESTING and IMPORTANT stuff!
I think that this all falls into the category of “Things That You Don’t Really Think Will Ever Happen to You, Until They Actually DO Happen to You and Oh Well.”
Also in this category are (in no particular order – some baby related and some not – but almost all related to bodily functions and/or fluids):
- Passing gas in front of your beau (who if you have reached the passing gas stage, might already be, or perhaps soon will be revealed as, your soul mate and spouse).
- Noticing a little stain of poop on your child’s clothing and thinking, “Oh – it’s just a little bit of poop.” Then seriously debating whether it is worth changing your child’s entire outfit for such an inconspicuous and insignificant amount of feces. (Don’t know about ya’ll, but before I had a baby I pretty much thought that EVERY amount of feces was significant.)
- Peeing your pants as a grown-up. Don’t know about the boys on this one, but from what I can gather from the women, it almost always wrapped up in that pretty “Having a Baby” package – one of those totally awesome “also included at this amazing price, for only the cost of shipping!” add ons.
- Valuing comfort over style in: shoes, underwear, clothing…..….you name it. At home, my cotton underpants, jeans, t-shirt, and flip flop or sneakers outfit has become more than just an outfit, it has become a UNIFORM.
I don’t know if it is my age (quickly encroaching on thirty) or the fact that I just went through one of those defining life changing experiences (having a baby), but this list (and lists like it) seems to be growing for me at an exponential rate. Se la vie.
Filed under: Anna
Last night as my adorable husband and I were engaged in our normal evening ritual, sitting on our butts in front of the television & snacking on pretzels (I know, you were hoping for something a little more exciting, a little more exotic…..perhaps a bit naughty – sorry), our channel surfing landed for a brief time on the classic Christian Slater film, Pump up the Volume.
Expertly crafted in 1990, this epic 90’s drama chronicles the life and exploits of a shy and troubled teenager that happens to broadcast a raunchy rabble rousing pirate radio program in his spare time. The movie follows the stupid life of the Christian Slater character and the lives of his stupid high school cohorts as they rebel against the stupid adult authority, the stupid injustices and trials of teenage life, and generally raise a bunch of stupid hell.
While it is not difficult to see why the Academy chose to pass over Christian Slater for the Best Actor of 1990, watching this movie again for the first time since….oh, say 1990, did evoke some interesting evening conversation in the Baeten household.
Centered around the sentiment: “Good God! Teenagers are SO stupid! Do you remember how STOOPID you were as a teenager?”
Now that we have a daughter, we live in constant fear of teenagers. Every gum chewing, text message obsessed, Daisey Duke wearing, overly made-up girl that aimlessly wanders past us, oblivious to the world around her, sends a shiver of dread through our bodies. (As a side note: Said trampy looking teenage girl probably doesn’t even know who Daisey Duke IS. ARGH! Further evidence of both the stupidity of teenagers AND the inevitability of our own aging process.) It really is a good thing that a good 12 to 16 years of preparatory time is inherently built into the whole parenting process.
Here is a good thought experiment for you (especially if you have children who are or might someday become teenagers): Think really hard, and try to really remember what you were like as a teenager. That is some scary shit, isn’t it?
As awful as the teen years are for parents, I think that it is entirely possible that they are worse for the teenager. Your emotions are bouncing off the walls, your skin looks like crap, everything that you do is awkward, kids are MEAN, your parents are so OLD and out of touch with reality that they COULDN’T POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND!
On top of that, EVERYTHING SEEMS SOOOOO IMPORTANT! Your emotions are so real, so potent, and so completely unbuffered by the leveling effect of EXPERIENCE. So at sixteen, when you are in love and you think that you will never ever possibly in a million bazillion years love anyone as you love THIS BELOVED TEENAGE BOY! You really truly believe it, in the deepest depths of your little teenage soul. And when your heart is broken and you think you are going to die, you REALLY THINK THAT YOU ARE GOING TO DIE, that you will never ever ever recover. When you are snubbed or embarrassed at school, it feels like that emotion is going to last FOREVER. Add to that, the fact that most teenagers are completely enveloped in the cloud of THEMSELVES, and as Keanu Reeves brilliantly said, “Whoa.”
Hell, I have friends in their 30’s and 40’s that still behave and react that way.
It is all so very very scary.
Ruminating on this topic has inspired me to create this list:
Things that I believed in my youth (not necessarily limited to my teenage years), which I now realize are really STOOPID:
1. I am blessed with a relatively favorable metabolism; therefore, I can eat whatever I want without consequence. I don’t care how good your metabolism is at 20, for 99.9% of us this one comes and bites you on the hinder. The bite is of varying degree and intensity for each individual, but for almost ALL of us we eventually will rue the day we ever committed ourselves to this thought. I actually remember having a casual conversation with a regular couple that frequented the little restaurant that I worked at in high school. They had just come in from the gym and were talking with me about their workout/eating regiment, and I actually said to them something along the lines of, “I don’t really have to work out.” I honestly didn’t think anything of it. I wasn’t bragging or being snotty. I just thought it was true. The couple was far too nice to kick me in the head like I deserved, but OMG, SHUT UP YOU STOOPID FIFTEEN YEAR OLD TWIT! NONE OF US HAD TO WORK OUT WHEN WE WERE FIFTEEN!!!
2. The searing cancer causing rays of the sun will not harm me! While I was never a sun worshiper, I was recently reminded that I did in fact “lay out” with my friends from time to time as a teenager. A few weeks ago my 16 year old baby sitter and I took Emerson to the pool for her first “swimming” experience. We are sitting on our little lounge chairs and fair little white-as-white-can-be Kacy whips out her baby oil and starts slathering it all over her body. When she sees me ogling her with a look of horror on my face, she says to me, “I don’t really tan, so I like to make sure I get a good burn. It will eventually give me some color.” REALLY?!?!? WTF?!!? Then I realize, “Oh yeah, you are sixteen. Enough said.”
3. It really matters that you get a 4.0 in high school, are valedictorian, ace your SAT’s, graduate suma cum laude from college, etc. etc. Now don’t get me wrong, I fully realize the importance of these accomplishments in the short term. These things help to get you into the college or grad school of your choice, but I really do wish that someone had told me, “Once you get out in the real world, no one will ever again ask you what your GPA was or care that you got a B+ instead of an A- in Organic Chemistry II.” It would have taken a little bit of the self inflicted pressure off to know that by the time you no longer include your part time job at Wendy’s on your resume, no one gives a poop about your PSAT score. In fact, if you were to mention your GPA at all, even just in passing, people will silently make note of the fact that you are a LOOSER that hasn’t accomplished anything of import since high school.
4. I commit myself to only ever wearing cute panties, preferably of the thong variety, and almost always matching my bra. All I have to say about this one is: PREGNANCY. For those of you who have experienced it, the one word is explanation enough. For those of you who haven’t experienced it, somewhere in the second trimester there is an overwhelming and visceral need to travel to the closest Target available and buy many pairs of the biggest most comfortable 100% cotton underpants you can find. Notice that I said UNDERPANTS, not panties. My child is now 6 month old, and I have had no such biologically urgent need to return to my previous undergarment state – maybe for special occasions.
As for the rest of the list, the baby has just awakened from her nap, so I leave it to you, my handful of friends and readers….I am sure that we each have one or two things that is worthy of this list.
Filed under: Anna
So, in an attempt to distract myself from my crippling dog grief, last week I went out and bought a sewing machine. Martha Stewart, ya better watch out! The craftiness that is Anna is about to be unleashed! That’s all I have to say about that.
Who knew that there is SO MUCH TO BUY at JoAnn’s Fabric? Wow. I had no idea what a money sucking black hole carnival ride the fabric store could be. For those of you that have never set foot inside the fabric store, be warned! You wouldn’t think that it would be the mecca of retail therapy that it is, but IT IS!
My journey to craftiness all started with my desire to buy a new baby sling. I have the very expensive Baby Bjorn, which worked beautifully, until it became clear that we had begotten an adorably roly poly mini sumo, rather than a fine boned willowy Asian flower. For many weeks now, Emerson has been too heavy for me to comfortably cart around in the Bjorn, so I have been looking for other options.
My internet research finally brought me to the “Moby Sling,” which essentially is a big long piece of fabric that you wrap around your body six million times, enveloping your baby in a cocoon of slingy coziness. Because of the multiple layers of wrapping and the width of the fabric, the Moby sling is supposed to distribute the weight of the baby very evenly over the body and back of the mommy. Yay for things that are back friendly for mommies.
The official Moby Slings, from the Moby Sling website cost anywhere from $40 to $70. Now if you know me at all, you know that I am a little bit nuts, and a lot cheap (or is it a lot nuts and a little bit cheap – I can’t remember right now….). So I look at these slings and I think to myself, “Forty bucks! It is just a big long piece of fabric. I could totally make that for a lot cheaper.” (Here would be a good time to point out that I have NO IDEA WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT! But also remember, that last week was not the best week for me as far as emotional health goes – so I guess I will use that as a little bit of an explanation and/or excuse)
So I do a little more online research, and I find a pattern to make said Moby Sling. Bingo! The pattern costs $3.60, and they will send it directly to my email as a PDF. Instant gratification. Brilliant.
The pattern people are true to their word, and in no time, a PDF is waiting for me in my inbox. Now the pattern goes something like this: Get a piece of fabric that is 5 yards long, cut it so that it is 20 inches wide. Ta Dah! You have your sling. Go to Mobysling.com to figure out how to tie it up. P.S. If you don’t want your sling to look like a hobo white trash trailer park sling, you might consider hemming the edges.
I kid you not. I paid $3.60 for that. Oye. I am such a sucker.
Off I go to the fabric store. As Emerson and I drive to the fabric store, I am further contemplating my brilliant home made sling idea,and I come to the conclusion that it is completely unacceptable for me to have a hobo white trash trailer park sling. My sling must have a hem.
We arrive at Jo-Ann Fabrics. We walk through the door, and low and behold, they sell sewing machines there, and a little old sewing machine sales lady to help you with your sewing machine purchase. After much sewing machine edification, I selected a machine. The entire time I am being seduced into the world of sewing machines, I am carrying Emerson, all 20 pounds of her sling-less…..and then she falls asleep…..the dead weight of my adorable little 20 pound sack of potatoes weighing heavily in my arms, further validating my sling quest.
In case you are contemplating a sewing machine purchase in the near future, just know, there is quite the spectrum from which to choose. You can spend anywhere from $50 to $9,000. I decide to go with the entry level machine of the higher quality brand, putting my purchase around $35o, excluding tax.
Then it is off (with my sleeping potato sack of sumo baby in tow) to buy my fabric and necessary accouterments. Now I didn’t really realize this (because I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING), but five yards of fabric is A LOT of fabric. The first three fabrics I selected didn’t have enough on the bolt, so I was left with my fourth choice, an eggplant colored slightly stretchy soft cotton jersey. Then I had to buy all the accouterments: fabric scissors, thread, a measuring tape…….blah blah blah.
Anyway, long story short, we make it out of the fabric store, my left arm about to FALL OFF and my bargain priced homemade Moby-style sling coming in at about $450. Add to that that, the fact that my sling is destined to have a bootleg amateur hem – it is definitely turning out to be a steal of a deal!
Do you see? Do you see the crafty wicked ways of Jo-Ann Fabrics? Evil, I tell you. Evil.
Anywhoo. I got it all home and got to work making my sling, and low and behold…..I LOVE IT. It really does distribute the weight more evenly across my back and body. Emerson likes being carted around in it, and will even SLEEP in it a little! All in all, a successful, though expensive, craft experience.
Since then, I have made Emerson a pair of stripey pants that is too small (doesn’t quite cover up her big ol’ diaper butt) and an eggplant colored (can we say, left over sling?) dress that is much too big. But I am having fun trying to figure it all out. Who knows? Maybe I will learn to be crafty after all.
The obvious, yet still surprising thing about having a baby is that it COMPLETELY changes who you are.
I think that statement deserves a resounding “DUH!” from the crowd.
While I was pregnant, and even before I was pregnant – when I was just contemplating motherhood in a vague and nebulous sort of way – I do not think that I underestimated the enormity of motherhood. I am a fairly pragmatic girl, and I knew that having a baby was going to be an enormous amount of work and something that radically changed the breadth and perspective of our lives.
What I did not expect; however, was how dramatically and immediately it changed me – the essence of me, the core of my identity, and the foundation of my self perception. While I understood that I was taking on a huge new job, I really thought that it was something that would be added to what I already was – like, “Hello, my name is Anna. I am an adopted Korean, college graduate, chocolate chip cookie lover, wife, small business owner, AND a mother.” I knew that the “and a mother” part was weighty, in all likelihood more weighty than any of my previously donned roles, but I still thought that the central object – the “me” – would stay relatively the same. It would just have adjusted to its additional new role.
But I was wrong. Having a child changes the central object. You are no longer “Anna” who is a wife, a business partner, a goof ball, a dancer – whatever….. You are now some new incarnation of “Anna the Mother.” On many days you aren’t Anna at all, you are just “Emerson’s Mom.”
This has been a major topic of self reflection for me and a HUGE adjustment, and I would have to assume that I am not alone. In fact, I would be so bold as to hypothesize that much of the “baby blues” and postpartum depression that you hear about is at least partially due to women dealing with this exact transition and adjustment.
It is a wildly confusing process because it involves such an intensity and polarity of emotions. Total selflessness vs. complete selfishness. Overwhelming heart melting love vs. extreme overwhelming exhaustion and frustration. Wanting to be with your child 24/7 vs. wanting some time (make that ANY time) of uninterrupted alone-ness.
While the change is fairly immediate, the reconciliation of that change, at least in my case, is a process – an acceptance of the evolution or metamorphosis that parenthood necessitates. As my family moves past the three month mark, I feel like I am finally starting to wrap my brain and heart around this process, and in doing so, finding a path towards some sort of productive sanity. I am starting to realize that this new me doesn’t have to completely destroy the old me in order to be effective. Instead, I must find a way for the old me to evolve into something new and different. I am working my way towards a place where I can be this new “Anna the Mother” and still find room in the machine for some of the cogs that defined me in my old life (husband, work, dog lover, etc.).
This whole conversation is not to say that the first three months were not full of wonderful, amazing, life-changing moments – moments that brought tears of joy and amazement to my eyes, moments that felt cosmic in their significance to us as a family and to our place in the world. But the first three months were also months of brutal anarchy. Night was day. Up was down. Some days I could hardly find a coherent sentence, much less recognize myself as the same person I was before parenthood. And until it actually happened, I didn’t realize how unnerving that lack of recognition would be.
In the first few weeks, one of my friends wrote to me, “Don’t mean to scare you, but your life has changed. But by three months, your sun will shine, no matter what. But it is the longest three months–the most exhausting three months–boot camp has nothing on being a new mom.”
At the time, I read that with hope, but a streak of skepticism born of physical and emotional exhaustion. But we are officially past three months – and what do you know? The sun is shining.
Since a couple of weeks after Emerson was born, I have been writing her letters. They are more like journal entries really – written to her. I write whenever I have a chance. Sometimes a little every day. Sometimes every couple days. The entries chronicle all of the things that are going on with her, with us, with whatever really……..
It recently occurred to me that the the things that I write in her letters are often the exact same topics that would inspire me to write on my blog…..the point of view is just different. So, here I am, killing two birds with one stone. This has official become the lazy wo(man’s) blog. I am just going to cut and paste a couple of excerpts.
Written Friday April 17th, 2009
THE MILK COMA
This comment falls under the “Things I Love About Motherhood” category. Sometimes when you are nursing you get sleepy. Each phase of sleepy nursing should actually get its own subtitle, but in order to expedite the storytelling process, I will smush them all under one. First, your eyes slowly, ever so slowly, start to close. This is one of my favorite things about nursing you: watching your eyes go from all round and big – peering at me over my boob….and then the lids start to slowly droop…..it is so adorable it should be illegal. Next, you will sort of flop your top arm back behind your body. You sort of look like a drunk frat boy that fell asleep on the floor of the bathroom. It doesn’t look comfortable at all, but your body is totally relaxed, like a bean bag in the shape of a baby. Finally, if you have really fallen asleep, my nipple sort of just falls out of your mouth. It is too funny. Which brings us to the culmination of cuteness, the acme of adorable – the milk coma. You are all passed out and I pick you up to put you on my shoulder to burp you. You sort of grimace, groan, and stretch that baby back-arching stretch. Our faces are so close together that I have to strain my eyes sideways to really see you. You breathe your warm milky breath into my face. It is the best thing ever. Sometimes you stay asleep and sometimes it is a mini-coma and it only lasts for a few minutes, but it is some of my favorite time with you. It is so sweet that it makes me sad for everyone that doesn’t get to experience it on a daily basis.
p.s. It is 10:20 pm, and you are still sleeping. Hallelujah! Daddy is going to be so proud of us when he gets home.
Written Sunday April 19th, 2009:
HAPPY BABY
Over the past couple of weeks, it has been my great relief to discover that you are NOT the grumpiest baby that was every born. In fact, you smile quite often. Since you got the hang of the muscles in your cheeks, the smiles have been frequent and fabulous. You smile the most consistently for your Daddy. Whenever you see him, he gets a big one, often accompanied by your “silent laughing face,” the face where you look like you are laughing, but no sound comes out of your mouth. You have also been cooing and “talking” a lot, which is painfully adorable and reduces me to a big lump of baby talking mush.
Through the first couple of months, your father and I (okay, mostly me) were worried that you might never smile and that you would spend your entire life, starting from birth, being morose and unhappy. This would have been a difficult fate, but we would have loved and supported you anyway; although, it would have been very difficult to find black delinquent punk rocker baby clothes – they just don’t make them, and even if they do, they definitely don’t sell them in Fort Wayne, Indiana.
You may still become one of those pessimistic poetic preteens (How is that for alliteration? KAPOW! Or should I say PAPOW?) that will wander around wearing an oversized black sweatshirt hoodie and black eyeliner, whilst carrying a journal, and The Complete Anthology of Sylvia Plath. But since the wonderful emergence of your sunny adorable smile, it is not a 100% certainty and even if it does happen, at least it isn’t starting NOW. Thank you God. While I think that I can work my way up to handling your inevitable “angsty angry years,” I am grateful that I will have a good 12 or so years to work my way up to them. What is that story about boiling a frog? You have to put the frog in cold water and SLOWLY turn up the heat. Thanks for turning down the water a little bit. Mommy really appreciates it.
