The First Ten Weeks

The First Ten Weeks: #newbornproblems

I have written the ever popular birth story for each of my children. This is not one of them. Having given birth to my fourth almost twelve weeks ago, it is clear that a birth story is not happening. I have come up with this instead.

 

Week One: #feedingdiaperingburpingbutitsallgood

This could possibly be the most sparkly, dreamy week you’ll experience postpartum. Partly because that load you’ve been toting around on the inside has finally made his or her, (or holy hell their,) appearance. Labor sucks. Delivery hurts like a Mutha. But Sweet Jesus the last few days of pregnancy feel like a living hell.  

This first week also rocks because for part of it you and your little nugget will likely be in the hospital. Unless you’re a special kind of brave and delivered at home. Either way, those first few days are magical. You are treated like the Queen you know you are. People bring you food. You have a chaperone when walking to the potty, or anywhere really. Friends, family and even the occasional rock star nurse, will jump at the chance to change diapers, refill water, sweep floors, empty trash, fluff pillows and just generally pay you more attention than you can expect to see for the next several years. Or at least until you give birth again.

During week one even the middle of the night feeding/diapering/burping/feeding/burping/diapering dance seems euphoric, cause holy crap you just had a baby! Sadly during week one you may be fooled into thinking, “yeah I got this. I just might not lose my ever loving postpartum mind this time.”

 

Week Two: #fatbabyproblems

This week may be the week the onslaught of meals brought to your home drops off dramatically. This is unfortunate, given the fact that you’ll be ravenous. So much so that the cliché “he is so adorable I could eat him up” becomes horrifyingly possible. Fat babies are especially at risk during week two.

 

Week Three: #thereaintnovillageat2AM

Your baby is gorgeous and adorable. And people love him. And they will tell you every chance they get how gorgeous and adorable he is. And you will agree. Although, you will also know baby’s dirty little secret. This baby becomes a little less gorgeous and adorable at 2AM. So you say to the people…”isn’t he gorgeous and adorable? You should see him at 2AM.” And the people will chuckle and nod. And you’ll say…”no, seriously. Come over, I’ll be up. Bring coffee and donuts and bacon. And a roast chicken… you can hold the baby.” But no one will come. Long about week three your husband will likely tire of getting up and helping with feeding/burping/changing. You’re on your own at 2AM sister.

 

Week Four: #holyshititseverywhere

By this week you may be hitting your groove. Your baby is a miracle. Surviving thus far as a parent is a miracle. But this week baby may shake things up a bit. This week could be a game changer. Perhaps you’ve dropped a kid at summer camp, and promised the other kids you’d visit the library. And getting screaming baby out of car seat (see week six) you realize he’s pooped. A lot. No problem for this veteran Momma.

 

You rearrange bags and flip seats down. With a flick of your wrist the changing pad is laying on the front seat of the car and you get after that poopy diaper. Somehow all of your car doors end up open, and children numbers two and three are all up in your face, which is dangerously close to baby’s ass. And you hear it coming.

This will be the week; baby’s legs held high in the air, he produces a poop of astronomical proportions. Yes, you jump mostly out of the way, but you are startled. And your big kids are startled. And so you all scream. Like a lot. And the poop…holy lord the poop. It grazes your thigh, dribbling down your shorts and onto your leg. And because you were bent in half, your face all up in some cute baby ass, parts of it land on the inside of your rain coat, penetrating the mesh and gathering in an inside pocket. Which has your phone in it.

But it doesn’t stop there. This poop keeps going. It hits the open car door. And trickles into the speaker. And it keeps going. Onto the running boards; and you’d swear it could have shot clear across the parking lot had the air not been so freakishly thick and humid.

 It is an unbelievable spectacle. And there’s the screaming. And now the baby is crying because his astronomical poop scared the shit out of him. As did your screaming. And you are hotly reminded that this is a busy parking lot. And you’re attracting attention. And you all are still screaming. And doing a funny little dance.

Finally getting things in order you begin to feel as though this nightmare is over. Then you go into the library and your three year old recounts the drama in vivid detail. To Every. Single. Person.

Week Five: #bladdercontrolfail

Around week five you may be done with the physical recovery from giving birth. You may think you have regained control over your bladder this week. You may be nursing your baby at 3AM and have to sneeze. And you try to do so quietly and without jostling baby off the boob, but it’s convoluted. And you full on pee your pants. And you just don’t care, cause it’s 3AM.

 

Week Six: #jesustakethewheelforreal

This will be the week that you curse enrolling your older kids in any sort of Summer Camp/after school activity/sports-type program. You realize this because your baby hates to ride in the car and has the most horrifyingly hysterical shriek that he saves only for car rides. Shrieking baby helps you realize you never should have anticipated leaving the house ever again. Baby’s shrieks sound disturbingly like “you should have avoided Summer Camps and bought each of the kids $500 worth of iTunes gift cards and told them you’d see them after Labor Day”.

 

Week Seven: #nuffsaid

Two words: Boob Sweat

 

Week Eight: #wardrobemalfunction

Yup. You will forget to refasten your nursing tank. Many times. You may also hear the doorbell ring, and forget you’re not wearing pants. And even though it’s just a quick peek to see who dares ring the doorbell when there’s a goddamned newborn sleeping in the house, the neighborhood boys will see. And their eyes will burn.

 

Week Nine: #milkflowproblems

Family day trip week. And you’re going to make the most of it damnit. Bags are packed. And no lie, so are the ear plugs. Cause baby still hates the car. You head north and baby screams. You make pit stop after pit stop. Changing diapers, switching seats, and trying to nurse. Finally baby sleeps for the best 20 minutes of the day, but it’s a long ride. Nothing is going right, but you’re almost there. One last stop cause Momma’s gotsta pee and you’ve decided baby needs Tylenol. Customer heavy gas station-slash-sandwich shop-slash-convenience store score.

You can duck into the restroom unnoticed but when you bend over to sit on the potty it’s like the Hoover Dam lets go on your chest. In two places. And you stumble out of the gas station-slash-sandwich shop-slash-convenience store (cause remember slinking is for pumas, and you’re not that,) in horror. You spend the next two hours arms crossed tightly across your chest. You have another shirt to put on, but that gets wet too. So when you reach your destination you are thankful for your Ergo, and hastily put it on and shove baby into it and finally relax. Except baby only likes the carrier for 20 minutes. So then you walk around like an ass with an empty Ergo.

Week Ten: #itsallgood

His cheeks. His eyes. His thighs and toes. His breath. His perfectly round head, and extraordinarily small feet. His coos and smile. His giggle. Oh my, his giggle. His sad lip. His fat rolls…all of them.

 

The way he looks at you. The way his head smells. The way his brother and sisters love him more than anything. The way he feels when he sleeps on your shoulder, or curled into your arm at night.

He holds your finger. He grabs your hair. He buries his face in your neck.

He stares into your eyes and opens your heart every minute of every day. He was meant to be with you. He is perfect. This is all so perfect.



Baby Time

Since Labor Day I've felt as though I am living under a rock.

(Madison Boulder, Madison, New Hampshire)

Each time I start to creep out, I don't make it very far before scurrying back under. Since early September we've gone back to school, managed the holidays, and endured what seems like countless school vacations, snow days (and more snow days), half days and sick days.

Blizzard of February 2013

None of which would normally feel insurmountable. The difference is that I'm slogging through it all while pregnant with our fourth child. And yes, I’m thrilled…but I’m also exhausted.

 

Couple the exhaustion with the normal “help me through the day” things I’ve been forced to willingly given up: a full night’s sleep, several cups of coffee a day, a cold beer or glass of wine before heading to the (afternoon) bus stop, I can barely make it until the first kid's head hits the pillow. 

 Consequently, with this pregnancy, there are other things that have taken a back seat to simply getting through the day. This pregnancy has not involved day dreaming about my baby, or making lists or repeatedly washing and folding baby clothes. This pregnancy has been solely about putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward. I also no longer give a crap or feel guilty about my lack of exercise. The word cleaning isn’t in my vocabulary. Okay, the word cleaning has never been in my vocabulary. I no longer worry about how much screen time the kids get in a day. Laundry is not even on my radar screen. Recently Gills took her favorite shirt out of the dirty laundry pile and wore it for the second day in a row. I didn’t even attempt to reason with her or talk her out of it. I kinda sprayed her with perfume and sent her on her way.

Having three kids during this pregnancy has drained the life out of me, but also managed to sustain my excitement about our new addition. Their eyes grow wide when they feel him move, or listen to me tell them about how he has the hiccups. They imagine what he’s doing “in there” and love to hear the stories I tell them from when they were “in there” too. They cannot wait for the birth of their baby brother, and while I love experiencing this pregnancy alongside them, they have sensed my many weaknesses along the way.

My three year old understands with complete certainty that I cannot and will not chase after her. If she starts running, I’m all like “you’re on your own kid.” I have agreed to things like getting a lizard, just because I was too breathless to explain how if said lizard appeared in our house, I would have to bludgeon it to death with a meat tenderizer while they were at school. I’ve made promises about Disney vacations and above ground pools, just to expedite their departure from my bedside so I could resume napping. They’re listening to upbeat but inappropriate songs in the van so I don’t fall asleep at the wheel. And more than once in the past few weeks, dessert not only before dinner, but FOR dinner has become the norm.

I am counting down the days until I no longer pee, walk out of the bathroom, and have to go back in to pee again. I dream about cold, crisp adult beverages. Baby gear is beginning to be unpacked. The kids are ready and slowly I am coming to the realization that there will soon be another little person in our family. Yes, I am excited. Yes, I am in love. Yes, I am exhausted.

 

Learning Curve

I started blogging because I was afraid to do it. And I hate being afraid. I've also been told once or twice that I should write a book. But I don't have the patience for book-writing. I barely have time these days for book-reading...at least one without lots and lots of pictures. My blog allows me to vent, share, process, write and reach a very, very small audience...which is quite satisfying, and not all that scary.

 

Since I'm such a newbie, I learn a little bit about blogging every time I post an entry. More importantly, I learn a little bit about blogging every time I read someone else's fantastic blog (and believe me, there are some out there that can make me forget to feed my kids breakfast, lunch and dinner!)

 

After reading one such blog recently, I realized that maybe I shouldn't have used my kids real names when blogging about them. It never occurred to me to rename them in my posts. At this point, after living with them for all these years, I'm thinking it would be cruel of me to call them what I really think they should be named some days (those days being summer, winter and spring vacation days, half days, weekends and Monday holidays).

 

I can't decide which is more harmful, referring to them using their given names, or renaming them mid-blog when I'm bitching about them. Besides, would anyone really read a blog about kids named Infuriating, Annoying, or Downright Childish and Immature?

Seeking Gainful Employment

For the most part I love this time of year; where the excitement of back to school, new sneakers, schedules, routines and footie pajamas permeate my life. But this time of year also makes me kinda feel like I want to get a job. A real job. A paying job. A job that involves other adults who like their job. A job with vacation time, a 401K, and perks like company picnics, stock options and maybe even a company car. A company car that doesn't smell like feet and flatulence. A car that only seats two, and is not infested with fruit flies. 

 

I dream of a place of employment where, if someone comes to me with a complaint or hurt feelings; if they are in tears, frustrated, or upset, I simply direct them to HR. If they peel the paint off the walls or pick at a snag in the rug, I call maintenance and deduct the cost of repairs from their paycheck. A place where if someone pointed a Nerf gun or light saber at me I could get them fired. A place where group bathroom breaks are frowned upon. In fact, a place where I could take my bathroom break without having to explain to someone what I'm doing and why. That kind of place would be fantastic.

 

Then I think about all of the things I was born to do; the jobs that I would both enjoy and be good at: something that involved teaching, bus driving, event planning, disciplining naughty people, nursing (not the kind that involves a mammary gland or two), bartending, investigation, travel and tourism, or stand up comedy.

 

But I am those things already. And yeah, sometimes being everything for free is great...the best of all the jobs in the world. But a good amount of time it also completely and totally sucks the fun out of me.

 

A few days ago I sent my two older children off to school. There were no tears. In fact, this time of year also makes me feel like a cold, heartless, mother. I don't get upset or weepy when it's time for back to school. They get a quick kiss and a swift kick in the ass as they board the bus. I tell them #1 that I love them, #2 be kind to everyone, and #3 do a good job wiping so they don't smell all day. I don't really miss them when they're gone, and I kinda totally dread when the bus chugs around the corner to return them to my care.

See ya in 7 hours kiddos



I also sent my three year old off to preschool for a couple hours this week. Then I sat and enjoyed a 90 minute uninterrupted coffee break with an amazing friend. Undoubtedly there are perks to working from home and being my own boss (depending on who's version of "the boss" you buy into). And I'm sure many people think that as a stay at home mom, particularly one whose kids are all back to school in some way, I have it made. I should keep my mouth shut and enjoy my fantastic life.

 

But still...I have that longing. The longing to be out in the workplace with other adults. People who won't fight me for the toilet, use the company pet as a hand towel, or complain about absolutely every word that comes out of my mouth. People who will not chew on my car keys, pass me their boogers, or touch my stuff just to get my attention. People who understand that when I'm sitting in front of my computer, I am in fact doing something. People who will not care what we are having for dinner. People who will not, upon catching a peek at someone elses privates, start singing "I see your wiener, I see your butt." People who will not need to be reminded that their briefcase, purse or laptop bag does not ever belong on their head.

 So if anyone knows of any fantastic companies looking to hire, please just let me know. I just might throw my hat into the proverbial ring. I'm a fast learner, except for when it comes to financial transactions. I multi-task, and clearly work for cheap, but I would still prefer a check to direct deposit. I can give answers without understanding the question. I'm kinda funny, and can diffuse a tense or uncomfortable situation with my sharp wit. I'd also be the first to volunteer to run out for some Dunkin Donuts coffee should we all decide we want some. I have spent many an hour volunteering in my kids' school, so to say I can un-jam a copier or trace shapes onto construction paper in record time is an understatement.

 

Of course, I have only a few minor demands of my own. I'll need to be able to check personal emails, get on Facebook, balance my checkbook, make list after list after list of things I need to do, call my mom every morning at 8:30, text my husband, peruse Instagram, read my favorite blogs, reorganize the office furniture a lot, wear my pajamas and flip flops most days, only shower on M/W/F, and once every six weeks I'll need a half day so I can get my hair done. Cocktail hour often starts at 3:30 for me, so we'll need to figure out a flexible work schedule. Luckily my kids don't get sick a lot, so I doubt I'll need time off to care for them, but honestly...I have a headache most days of the week.