Post Category → motherhood

little bits

family life:

This morning started with a bang. I awoke to a mountain of parmesan cheese spilled on my dining room floor, compliments of my mischievous Jameson. Before I even had time to think about a vacuum cleaner, the same little imp had managed to pour our entire Brita pitcher all over the floor. …at which point Daddy took him into the bathroom to discuss his disobedience when poor Ry discovered an absolutely awful diaper. Of course, dads are not terribly in the habit of dealing with such things, and so it managed to get much worse before it got better.

Okay. Right. What was I doing? Ah yes. The cheese.

Scratch that. William’s crying.

All before we’ve rubbed the sleep from our eyes.

Hey, you just gotta laugh.

Jameson:

Some things make me feel that, for sure, this kid is a boy. Lately he’s been doing little things that I just love. He’s not just a baby; he’s a little boy! Things like, for the first time, eating his toast and deciding that it looks like a gun, so bang bang! Or discovering that most of his pants have pockets — and we know how totally absolutely unmistakeably cool a boy with his hands in his pockets is! (Or at least, how cool he feels!) Or suddenly launching into this crazy flipping-kicking-falling-spinning routine that you realize you’re supposed to be really impressed by, because he’s showing you his moves. (The guns and the cool moves are totally just boy things, because the poor kid doesn’t watch anything “cooler” than Winnie the Pooh!) And then yesterday he found a pair of tall, thick socks in my closet and proceeded to put them on like gloves, pull them all the way up his arms, and then just wandered around the house touching everything (pretending something. I’m just not sure what.)

I love it!

He’s also hit his 2 year old stride in the last week and a half. If you know what I mean. Those episodes will be humorous in the future. That’s what I keep telling myself!

William:

Is so smooshy! But for growing so much, he sure is a messy eater. There’s milk everywhere when he nurses! He hasn’t spit up much, but I had to laugh today when I was holding him against me and burping him — and he suddenly spit up a ton, right down my shirt! At least his outfit is still clean!!

Okay. More later!

two weeks

It’s Tuesday, November 4th.

I don’t know who our next president will be, but I do know that our little William is two weeks old.

So far, he has slipped right into this little family’s life without any fuss. He has yet to keep me up at night, nurses day and night like a pro, and is pretty much happy during his few awake hours every day. Two words: wow and awesome.

And so he’s quietly grown into a 9lb8oz baby, already shedding so many of his newborn traits. There’s a little stab in my heart when I look at his face and realize he’s changed (again!) This time around, there’s less time for all-day cuddling; two boys need me now. But I knew it would be like that, different, more elusive. Rather than wish for a first baby experience all over again, I’m reveling in the multiple little hands and arms and cheeks and mouths to hold and kiss. How can I not feel filled to overflowing when I’ve a newborn in my arms, nursing, and a toddler’s arms wrapped around my neck, his head buried in my shoulder?

william’s HOMEbirth

Birthing at home: ahhhhh.

Honestly, once the ball started rolling, I was not really even aware of the “strangeness” of what we were doing. It was so completely easy and natural. It was wonderful. I honestly don’t know how I could ever go to a hospital again. Really. The thought makes me want to cry, and I swear it’s not just the hormones.

As labor progressed, not having the decision of when to go to the hospital looming over me was such a relief. There was no pressure at any point to feel like I had to know. It was all so fluid, so go-with-the-flow, just waiting for nature to take its course. Emotionally, being able to just settle back into my couch and not have another thought for what the next moment would, could, or should hold was amazing.

In early labor, when I could still crack jokes between contractions, and when Ryan could still dare to ask things like, “So, does it hurt?,” my mom quietly was lighting candles, making pretty arrangements in the bathroom, on the dresser in my bedroom, in the living room. I suppose you might not actually take note of such things when in the throes of childbirth, but I did. The first time I walked into the bathroom and saw the tea lights reflecting off of crystal, I was overwhelmed by how beautiful everything was. It was my home, the place I work so hard to make lovely. There were no dimmed hospital lights (with a spotlight ready for when the pushing began), no plastic beds and metal bedrails, no clammy tile floors that scream “Industrial!” Small things, yes, things that didn’t faze me last time around, yes — but still. If you could have one or the other?…

It was my home. Ronnie, the midwife, was clearly in charge of managing the birth — but it was my birth. I felt the whole time like I could tell her what I wanted, and that would be that. I could say, “No, I don’t want to be checked, I want to wait until I can’t stand it,” and that was fine. That’s what we did. Granted, it was my second time around, so I was a little less of a rookie, but I felt so much more confident during the second stage of labor than I did with Jameson. Again, just no pressure. Awesome.

When things got intense, guess what? No one was there to strap monitors on me, insist that I change my clothes (what are they thinking???), or ask me to sign paperwork. Need I say more?

And when it was time to push, the midwife suggested what she considers the ideal position for such things, a position that would be impossible at the hospital where Jameson was born. And I have to say, it would seem that she was right. For such an uncomfortable moment in a mother’s life, it was the most comfortable I can imagine. :)

But best, best, best of all was that when little William was at last delivered and set into my arms, and we were helped onto my bed and made comfortable in a nest of my pillows, I was home. That was that!

The care that Ronnie gave me after the birth was stellar. Obviously I can’t vouch for this as an across-the-board homebirth feature, but having one person spend hours with me during lengthy, chatty prenatal visits also attend my birth, doing her best to help me succeed at what she knew my goals were AND care for me for the next hours of recovery was just grand. When Jameson was born, I had very sweet and kind nurses, but, well, I was just another patient who they had to get through their mandated procedures. That meant getting up when their chart said I should, whether or not I almost passed out from sudden loss of blood. (NOT PLEASANT memories.) Ronnie and her assistant were amazingly sensitive to my needs and ready to get as creative as possible in order for me to be comfortable. When they slipped out my front door 7 hours after William was born, I was showered and refreshed and fast asleep on clean sheets in my bed. ahhhh.

William would also like to say that his arrival into this strange, new world was as easy as he could possibly imagine. There were no goopy eye drops, no bizarre hearing tests involving electronic sensors taped to his head, and NO heel pricks that would simply be ruled invalid, anyway. In fact, William probably would say that The World is all peaches and cream, except that he was circumcised this morning. That sort of blew that idyllic illusion. Poor boy.

So, off the top of my head, those are my homebirth thoughts. Do you have any questions, things you wonder, musings to add?

nesting and nesting and nesting and nes…

Tonight I excitedly threw a load of brand new kissaluvs into the wash. A few more cycles, and they’ll be fluffed up and ready to go. They’re tiny and soft and squishy… and I can’t wait to put their softness on my new baby!

This morning, getting ready for church required tidying the entire house, wiping down the bathroom, starting laundry, you name it. I was suddenly frantic about the cluttered state of things. I mean, what if I go into labor? What if I go into labor and the bathroom looks like this? What if I go into labor, the bathroom looks like this, and my mother isn’t here yet???? The afternoon’s activities were motivated by similar thoughts.

Today’s grocery shopping included a lot of “what would be good to have in the house… in case?” You know. In case I go into labor. In case I go into labor and my mother isn’t here.

I don’t remember having any days like this when I was expecting Jameson. Is it because I wasn’t having a homebirth? Because my mom and sisters lived within yelling distance of our apartment? Because I just didn’t know better? Not sure. At any rate, I’m wondering how I can stay ready enough to allay these fears of throwing up in a dirty bathroom (worst, worst, worst thing imaginable!), but not be worked into a constant state of waiting. I do not want to live in some clean-the-house holding pattern for the new few weeks.

But you never know. I just may.

Of course, I could occupy myself by working on boy names. Because we don’t really have one. Ugh.

The continuing request for input: What’s your advice on going from one to two? (Kids, that is. Not jeans size. Ha!!)

me and my buddy

On Wednesday evening, our midwife came for the home visit. This was when she explained to us what was in the birth kit that I had dutifully ordered, took a tour of our home (including closets with extra towels and such — how often do yo include those in your tours?), and talked with us about how we envision this birth happening. It was so fun to have her here, and suddenly this coming baby is so much more of a reality.

That night I dreamed I went into labor and delivered the baby with only two pushes. Obviously I’ve got pushing on the brain.

So my days of late alternate between huge nesting urges, exhausted and hormonal do-nothing days, and days of wanting to just be with Jameson. More and more I’m realizing our time together, just the two of us, is coming to an end. He’s been my little buddy for over two years (I still can’t believe that!), and I have loved every moment of it. Of course, I’m looking forward to another little love joining the family, but, well, that’s all still very future and hypothetical in some ways. What’s very real to me right now is that I love taking walks with Jameson’s little hand in mine. I love sharing special lunches, just him and me, talking about trains and birds and squirrels and bikes and whatever he happens to see. I love pretending his little games, and being his playmate of choice (when Daddy’s not around, that is.)

I bet if I were to ask my mom about the days when it was just her and me, she’d find the recollection a bit fuzzy. And so I guess I’m just feeling the urge to crystallize, as much as possible, these special memories.

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All that said, the saddest part of having Jameson was when we brought him home from the hospital, and there was no one there to care. Shameful! Every baby should be welcomed by hurrahs and kisses from siblings, and I can’t wait to introduce this baby to a brother who already loves them.

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One more thing: I’ve been meaning to send this question out into the blogosphere and hear what you have to say. Any tips as I transition from one to two?

mothers, daughters, and homebirths!

When I tell people I’m having a homebirth, one of the most common reaction is, “You’re so brave!”

(When we told one of Ryan’s co-workers, a young single man, his eyes bugged out of his head and he asked incredulously, “Can you do that?” I smiled. As though a hospital room somehow is a necessary part of a woman giving birth!)

Brave? Perhaps. Crazy, maybe. I’ll let you know when it’s all said and done.

But the idea of having a homebirth is hardly daunting to me, thanks again to my mother, who had three.

These are the impressions I was left with after being a part of those three births:

When Jamie was born, I was only 5. I watched, but don’t remember a thing except that he was big, a bit purple, and had only two little specks of blood on his shoulder. I also remember that Mom got a beautiful new nightgown and matching robe, which she put on after he was born, and that she got to eat New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream in the dining room, where we all gathered to celebrate his birth. (She’d not been allowed sugar during that pregnancy, so when the grocery run was made, ice cream was on the menu!) It was the first time I’d ever tried Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Homebirths were all right with me!

With Louissa, I was 7 — old enough to be much more aware. I half watched, half hid behind Mrs. Tallo, who was there for the show as well. She assured my sisters and I that Mom wasn’t angry, just uncomfortable. She had to say that, because Mom was yelling at the friend who was trying to coach her through pushing. I still remember seeing Mom grit her teeth, get in Lauren’s face and growl, “I am pushing!!!” Louissa was born the day before my birthday, and I thought that was as special as it got. That evening, after everyone was in bed, I snuck downstairs to my parents’ bedroom. I climbed into bed between them and held my brand spankin’ new baby sister. Her eyes were dark, and she stared right at me. Another homebirth homerun.

Julia came along when I was 10. She was, unfortunately, born very early in the morning, and came a bit faster than my parents anticipated. The entire birthing team was assembled to help, and all of the siblings were woken to watch, but my mom ended up having her in the bathroom, which was only big enough for my dad. The rest of us had to be content with the nosebleed seats, trying to peak in the door around everyone else who was peaking in. Julia was round and chubby, and Mrs. Colbert called her Butterball until she had a real name. Mrs. Colbert also was in charge of cleaning her up and dressing her, because Mom and Dad had rushed to the hospital when Mom wouldn’t stop bleeding. That episode, unfortunately, put an end to homebirths for my mom. Still, for the next two babies, she made it a point to stay at home as long as possible, and to get back home sooner than possible. I say sooner, because it took me 24 hours to get those nurses MOVING after Jameson was born, but Mom was always in her own bed within several hours of delivery. I suspect that she must have been doing softshoe on the hospital beds or something in order to convince them to let her out.

At any rate, homebirths to me don’t necessarily mean “brave” or “crazy”. What comes to mind, rather, is “relaxed,” “comfortable,” and “celebratory.” It’s birth the way you see it in the old movies, when Mama and baby are wrapped snugly in their own bed, and the rest of the family showers them with love and jubilation.

And the part before that? The actual pushing? Well, that’s pretty much not a cakewalk no matter where you do it, and I’d rather be doing it in my own bedroom, thankyouverymuch.