Dull Moments

A fellow blogger friend of mine does a super sweet blog segment called "what's working" each month. She includes cute pictures. I'm not that organized, but I love the idea - so here's our "what's working: March 2014". This one is dedicated to all my momma-to-be-friends. Gatorade . I got a stomach bug last week, and the only things that would stay down where Gatorade and Sprite. Guess what? Gatorade almost doubled what I can pump when I have to. That's a big win. Books. The Baby Whisperer, Baby Wise, Bringing up Bebe. These are my go-to's as I navigate being a new momma. Joe has been to our library many, many times in his young life. Buying in bulk . It's not easy getting out with an infant. I buy doubles of a lot of things: gas drops, diapers, etc. I buy snacks at Costco (I snack a lot while nursing). I know individual packs are wasteful, but they are so handy to stash around the house and in our diaper bag. The boppy . Joe l...

These two words are how we describe our 6 week old son: sweet joe. When I was feeling like I was on the verge of death while pregnant, a fellow HG survivor friend repeated this mantra to me: Tough pregnancy, easy baby. Not a chance in my never-a-dull-moment world,  I thought. Friends, I hate even to type this... we have the sweetest, easiest baby ever. We are very, very blessed. See this serene picture? I know, parents all over the US fight for this achievement, a passed out infant. What did I do? Swaddeled him up, stuck in his paci, turned on some music, turned on the ceiling fan, and hopped into the shower. Watching the fan amused Joe until he passed out. People ask me how Joe sleeps. "Like his father." I respond - like a rock. He's slept through the night a couple of times. People ask me if he sleeps in his own room yet. "He's never spent a night in ours. He prefers his crib." I say, and I am given looks of total shock. I finally moved the...

At Joe's doctor's appointment today, he finally  got past his birth weight. This was the first appointment we have gone to in which the doctor was thoroughly satisfied with Joe's growth. It's been a long three weeks. But today I felt such relief in hearing that weight, in knowing he's grown an inch and a half (btw, that should not be allowed. who is he trying to compete with? his Uncle Andrew?). It made all the hard work worth it. But it wasn't my work alone. Robert has stayed up late when he had early meetings, giving Joe his extra feedings. Robert held me when I cried, thinking I could not produce enough milk to feed my baby. My mom got up around the clock with me Joe's first few days, helping me feed him constantly, giving me a chance to pump. She also ran our errands, cleaned our house, and kept me going. A small group from church filled my house with snacks. I mean filled . I came home to a huge pile of every snack food you can imagine. Our ch...

The minute he was out, I felt better. Like a switch had been flipped when they laid his wet, goopy baby self on my chest after birth.  When they said, "7lbs, 13oz", I smiled, because I knew that I had earned every one of those numbers. It was a crazy moment, crossing that finish line. It had been my focal point for 40 weeks. Going in, I wasn't even sure how I was going to feel when the race ended. I had no idea what to expect. Relief? Joy? Hunger? Exhaustion? It seemed like a combination of all these things when it was over.  When they set Joseph on my chest, I knew that race had ended. I had run that race for miles and miles against all sorts of discomfort and disbelief that I could make it one more step. But each step had a purpose and value. So the best way I can describe it is this - though the race was longer and harder than I could have ever imagined, when I crossed that finish line, my legs were not tired at all.  Welcome, sweet baby Joe.  hypere...

i can still see it. i lost sight of it briefly yesterday, when i felt really sick and the ob told me he wants me to stay pregnant and i just cannot get over the fact that i'm still doing this. as with reminding me that i'm not going to die, robert kindly reminded me that pregnancy will not last forever. he assured  me that i will not be pregnant for the rest of my life, that one day i will not sleep with a bucket next to the bed. i went back to thinking about the harder parts of the race. then i remembered what the doctor told me - the baby is measuring is the 68th percentile. that's really, really good. you don't want a baby too small - trust the pediatrician's daughter on that one. that's fueling my sprint towards the finish line. i started feeling like death around week 5 of pregnancy, so that puts us at 35 weeks of feeling like i'm going to throw up, nausea, and actually throwing up. and that baby? he's measuring in the 68th percentile. i consi...

have you run a long race before? maybe not literally... but in some fashion? have you dragged yourself on and on, knowing there had to be an end, even when it didn't feel like it for hours/days/weeks/months/years? friends, i can see my finish line. with my due date just six days away , i can see a checkered line. i don't care about my time. i don't care about the people at the end or the medal or the water or anything. i don't care about the doctors, the hospital, the birth, the epidural (or lack there of), the idea of a good meal afterwards, or anything. in some ways, i'm not sure i care about the baby. i just want to stop running. as i threw up earlier this week, i could confidently tell myself that this journey will end. i could remember much, much harder parts of this race (like when i passed out while driving). i could hear the unhelpful comments from the sidelines ("you can't be that sick", "my sister threw up the first few week...

i really mean this to be funny. i'm not depressed or anything. just glad that baby boy is doing well, not coming too early, and that pregnancy eventually ends. it doesn't quite fit with "the sound of silence" 100%, but i did by best. this is what happens when you wake up feeling like death at 5am. also, robert assures me no one has ever died of nausea.  Hello, nausea, my old friend I see you've come for me again I can’t move, I can’t think I’m throwing up in the kitchen sink There was hope in my brain yet this Still remains This is death by nausea Hello, zofran, my old friend I see I’m taking you again I thought that at 38 weeks This would end, it would not peak I’m not going to work today Not no how  or way Yes, this is death by nausea I’m a fool, I should have known As long as this little baby grows I won’t be a functioning human being Sounds like motherhood is the same thing Baby, I promise to be your very best friend ...