Love Song at One Year

She burst into our lives precipitously, without waiting for the doctor. I guess I should have known then that she waits for no one. Her determination and fearlessness amaze and terrify me daily.

She has, from the moment of her entry into the world, been her own person. She does things in her own time, whether fast or slow. I don't remember her as an infant much, though I know she didn't crawl until almost 6 months. Somehow in my memory she is always the active force of nature that she has become. I look at pictures of her early days and I don't remember her being that small or that helpless.

She has my features, or so I'm told. Why can't I see myself in her like other people can? I want to see myself in her personality too, not just in her physical features. I admire her persistence, her insistence on getting what she wants. I wish I could be more like that.

This might make her sound difficult, but she's not. She's a sunny, happy girl. She gets this look on her face when she's interested in something that delights my heart; she looks with naked curiosity at whatever catches her eye, and a certainty that she will investigate. Baby isn't the right word for her, anymore, even though she's not quite walking (unassisted) yet. She's a bright light, the sunshine of my day.

March 6, 2009, 7:10 p.m. I can't believe it's been a whole year. It's gone so fast! Happy birthday, my dearest Phoebe.

So...Pumping

To the staggering news that Phoebe is almost an entire year old, I also add that I continue to nurse her. I am so proud of that! I struggled with Caetlin, for a variety of reasons, and I was hopeful of it being easier this time.

Caetlin essentially stopped nursing from me when I went back to work when she was 12 weeks old; I pumped for another three months or so, but I nearly made myself crazy in the process. I couldn't seem to make enough milk pumping, no matter how often I pumped, no matter what I ate or drank, no matter what I tried. I at some points was pumping something crazy like 8 times a day. During a work day. In a place where I had to leave my office to go to a different office to pump (because I had a glass door that didn't lock or even latch). Can we say completely unproductive, of either work or milk?

And I agonized over stopping. I really thought I was a bad mom for considering it, for hating pumping so much, for falling short of my goal of 12 months. Even though I was only making maybe 40% of her daily nutritional needs of milk (the rest was formula), I felt like I would be depriving her of something significant by stopping, something she needed that only I could provide. I'm sure there was more than a little insecurity there over having gone back to work, over not feeling like I was around her enough to truly parent her. And too- I think most new moms (maybe new dads too, though I can only speak for the female half) go crazy for awhile. Like, certifiable. Worrying over the smallest things that mean, in the grand scheme of things, absolutely nothing. There is a sense of perspective that comes with time, that perfectly well-adjusted adults might have in every other aspect of their lives, that goes out the window when faced with one's first child. And I think that perspective only comes back gradually. I am sure that I still don't have the sense of proportion that I need regarding Caetlin, but I'm better about it than I used to be. And I'm miles more relaxed with Phoebe.

When Caetlin was 6 months old, she had her first seizure. I randomly had her in daycare that day, instead of with her nanny, and happened to actually be there when it happened. It was the most frightening thing I've ever seen- this tiny baby convulsing, with blue lips and staring eyes. She turned out to have pneumonia and a penchant for seizures when she has a fever. For weeks, I had been pissing and moaning in my journal about pumping and breastfeeding and how can I be a good mom if I stop and how is this impacting my work and I want to do right by the baby and on and on and oh my God STOP THE NAVEL GAZING. The seizure and the hours in the ER gave me a good healthy dose of that perspective I had been missing, and I quit pumping that very day.

So, with all that background, I will say that I was determined to try a little more intelligently with Phoebe. I would give it a good shot, spend a little time getting established at the beginning, and if it didn't work, it didn't work. Luckily, it did work, and here we are, nearly a year later.

And I am SO OVER pumping.

I nurse Phoebe first thing in the morning and right before I go to bed every evening. Otherwise, I pump, because she's so distractable and I prefer not to have her leaving my boobs hanging out in public when she decides to crawl away from me mid-feed. I pump on the weekends, for this reason, not just during the week when I'm at work. I'm down to pumping twice a day, which is a recent development, down from three times a day. And I'm so over it. So, so tired of the pump parts and making sure they are washed when I need them. Of lugging the bag around. It's not heavy, but then again, it kind of is, weighing me down with more than just its mass. I'm sick of the lost productivity, how it seems like every time I really start to focus on something at work, I realize it's time to pump. And while I love all the time I spend with my beloved internet, some days I really do need to get work done. I'm tired of the bottles, the fretting over supply, the physical challenge of getting half naked twice a day, in my office during the week and where ever I happen to be during the weekend (yes, I have pumped in the car, and no, I'm pretty sure no one noticed).

Most of all, I'm ready to have my body back. Once Phoebe turns a year and can have cow's milk, I'll keep nursing her in the mornings and evenings as long as we both can and want to, but the pumping will stop immediately, as well as the feeling that I don't quite have ownership of my breasts. They've been hers for almost a year, will have been hers for over a year at that point, and while that's a sacrifice I'm thrilled to have made for her, it's one I'm ready to let go.

I've been bitching about it to my girlfriends for a couple weeks, mostly to let off steam, and one of my friends is incredulous that I even bother to stick with it when it annoys me so much. The main thing about it now is that I set a goal. It makes zero sense to me to stop when I am five weeks short of the goal I set myself. I'm pretty sure- not 100%, but pretty sure- that I don't care about the whole good-mommy bad-mommy thing this time. I've made it far enough that I know I've done right by Phoebe, and I'd like to hope that if it hadn't gone so smoothly, I would have seen that not nursing her wouldn't have been not doing right by her in any case. But it would just kill me to have set a 12 month goal for myself and to quit with 5 weeks to go. I know myself well enough. I will regret it, no matter how much of a pain in the ass I find it right now.

Plus, my inner miser can't bear to have to buy a can or two of formula. That stuff is expensive! We've saved thousands of dollars feeding Phoebe over what we spent on formula for Caetlin.

So, here I am. 35 more days. Nothing in the grand scheme of things.

I remain so over it, as noted. The day I leave the house without the pump is the first day of my freedom. But, for the next 5 weeks, if you need me and can't find me, I'm probably the one behind a closed office door doing unspeakably weird things to my boobs (and not enjoying it, heh. I can't speak for what my colleagues might be doing). It's only 5 more weeks after all.

The First Week Back

It felt strange to walk in after all these weeks, and see that everything was how I left it.

My big desk calendar was still on February. My cartoon-a-day calendar was on March 3. The chill of those days was long forgotten as I could feel the summer morning sun through the window, already hot. My last two-liter of Publix diet ginger ale, the soda that I was obsessed with in the last days, sits half drunk and probably mostly flat where I left it, and the large plastic green cup I used to sip it from still next to it on my rubber coaster. My pens still in the same place, unused legal pads stacked neatly on one corner of my desk.

I have been back since I had Phoebe, of course. I was in to visit Bruce, and take advantage of the printer (mine is kaput at home right now). I checked my mail and worked with Bruce and his secretary to submit our applications for admission to the Georgia bar. It's not as though I haven't darkened the door here in 4 months.

And yet it all felt strange, like an item of clothing that has shrunk in the wash and no longer fits quite right. It was different, for sure. The same- my same stuff, arranged in my same way- but I had grown out of it, or beyond it, or just different and away from it.

And there was the new stuff too- the new black bag that at a passing glance could look like a large tote bag, and its accompanying square-ish cooler bag. You wouldn't know what those were for. You'd think it was a tote for books, or files, or even a large handbag. You'd think the cooler bag was a lunch. Instead, I lock the door three times a day and bottle up motherhood, using the horribly undignified machinery from the black-bag-that-is-not-a-tote. I pack it in little bottles and ice them in the cooler bag and hope they are enough for tomorrow and worry when it seems like less than yesterday, less than this morning, less than.

Bruce doesn't call often when he has the kids. I assume they are busy; I assume they are having fun. I surf the internet. I check Facebook, annoyed when there are no new status updates from the previous ten minutes when I checked it last. I surf through my favorite blogs, news sites, parenting sites. I get sleepy and think how ridiculous I must look to anyone walking by, my eyes closed, face dipping forward when microsleep overtakes me. If any of my plants had been bodysnatchers, I would have been a goner.

I count down till lunch. Then I count down until I can leave. I don't talk to anyone unless I get up to make yet another unwanted cup of coffee. It helps me get out of my office, anyway.

Economic conditions mean that I have very little to do, and likely won’t have much for awhile. I set myself tasks to do every day, which I sometimes finish. Mostly these are personal tasks, like making Caetlin’s doctor’s appointment or calling the bank about a disputed charge on my debit card. Sometimes there is a tiny smidge of work, that I usually procrastinate. When I only have one thing to do, it’s hard, for me anyway, to make myself do that one thing, even though my conscience would be clear about all the web surfing if I just went ahead and did it.

Phoebe seems completely fine with me being gone most of the time. It turns out she is a very flexible baby, able to roll with just about anything, boob, bottle, mom, dad, nanny. In some ways that makes it easier, and in some ways that makes it harder. I wish she would seem to need me a little more, but I am glad for Bruce and the nanny that she is still happy. I miss her face, her ready smiles, her faux-hawk hair. Her little voice cooing and squealing at me. I drink in when Bruce tells me about something new she has done that day, like starting to enjoy playing in her Exersaucer or getting up on hands and knees like she's almost ready to crawl. But I also hate it, hate missing it, feel like a fraud for not being there.

It would be better if I had something to do. What's that old saying? "Idle hands are the devil's workshop?" For me, they are depression and inadequacy's workshop. I am not conflicted about being at work. If I had a choice before, when I went back to work with Caetlin, I most assuredly do not now. Plus I have made my peace with the fact that I like to work and don't really want to stay home with the kids, unless Bruce could do it too and we could have lots of help. (I need us to be independently wealthy, apparently.) I'm not in the same place at all that had me gaining 20 pounds because I was so unhappy about leaving my kid when I went back after Caetlin. Three years have taught me that my kids will be smart, happy and healthy even as I go off to work every day. That helps a lot.

So I go, and I sit behind my desk and surf the internet, visiting the same sites over and over, feeling like my behind is growing into my chair. I smile at people in the hall, and field well-meaning inquiries about the baby. I collect my paycheck.

Here's hoping things pick up soon, for the sake of my hours (because the pressure to work hasn't abated and in fact has grown stronger since Bruce's layoff), but mostly for my sake. Because I need something to help me grow back into this role of a working mom. Emphasis on the working.

Tomorrow Is the Day

So...I go back to work tomorrow. I wish I had another month. Or 6. Or 12. It's been especially nice that Bruce has been home with us lately, though unfortunately it was a result of his being laid off.

Phoebe and I are not really separate beings at this point. I mean, of course I see and understand that we are two people, but she doesn't get that yet. And I haven't worked at all to emphasize it. Anytime she cries and I can't soothe her any other way, she gets the breast. My body is hers; I'm sure she sees me as a large extension of herself. I am her hands, her feet, her eyes, her food. I have had to do everything, be everything for her. This was true for Caetlin as well, but less so, in part because I went back to work when she was so much younger than Phoebe, and in part because Phoebe is so much more enamored of me. Caetlin loved me, but Phoebe loooooves me. I calm her more easily than Bruce when she cries (and not just with my boobs!), and she just generally usually seems happier with me.

So, tomorrow will be traumatic for her. And for me. It's not that I think she won't be cared for- she totally will. She'll be with our nanny and Bruce, and she'll be perfectly fine. But she'll miss me. And I will miss her. Every time I am away from her for any period of time, I miss her, like she's a fifth appendage. Even though sometimes I resent being so tied to her, and her to me, when I'm untethered from her I also feel unmoored. I worry for her. I worry that she won't understand that Mommy is coming back, and will only know that she wants me and I'm not there.

And then there is the breastfeeding and pumping thing. I am so nervous that she won't continue to nurse. That is what Caetlin did when I went back to work, and though the circumstances are somewhat different here (Caetlin never nursed without a nipple shield and therefore a bottle was much easier for her, plus she was never an avid nurser like Phoebe anyway), I worry. I want to nurse in the mornings and evenings and pump during the day, rather than pumping everything. Down that road lies madness, as I well know; I pumped for 3 more months with Caetlin after she stopped nursing. Despite my frantic efforts, I never pumped enough for Caetlin to have only breast milk, so after my store of frozen milk went away, I was only able to pump about 40% of the milk she needed as she grew. And to eke out that 40%, I was pumping up to 8 times a day, wrecking my productivity and my emotional state.

My big concern about Phoebe is that she has grown so aware, so interested in the world around her, that she will prefer the bottle because it will be easier to look around while she eats. I know I just need to relax and accept what comes, but it feels like such a personal rejection when the babe refuses to nurse. Such a referendum on my mothering. Or on my decision to keep working (not like I have a choice now, but I have had in the past). At times like those, the internet criticisms of "Why did you have kids if you aren't going to raise them yourself?" haunt me the most.

Anyway, going back is not just about these big things, of worrying that I won't be able to continue nursing Phoebe and fearing the pain of separation from her. It's the small things too- having to get up with an alarm in the morning, instead of waking up with the kids. Not being able to wear my comfortable, machine washable clothing, and generally putting less effort into my appearance (I'm always clean, but I don't remember the last time I put on full makeup, and I stress far less about a spot on my shirt). Having to plan my days more carefully, thinking about kids' mealtimes and pumping and getting to the gym and what deadlines will I have at work, when the past four-plus months have just been one unbroken, underscheduled stretch.

And then there is the frustration of work, of trying to scratch out a place for myself in a department that is indifferent to my efforts. The worry about Bruce, and whether and when and where he will find something. Tomorrow will be the first day in over 4 years that Bruce and I have not worked together (barring my maternity leave with Caetlin, when one of us is sick, etc.). And there is the added pressure of being the breadwinner. Though Bruce is continuing to receive a paycheck, that will run out faster than I can even think about it. It makes me scared for my job, scared for us, even though the numbers crunch just fine on only my salary. I don't like the pressure of carrying the family, not in this economy, in my line of work.

Anyway, I can't stop tomorrow from coming, and it will bring what it will bring. I know from experience that Phoebe will be just fine in the long run. I went back to work much sooner with Caetlin than I have with Phoebe (and can I say just how incomprehensibly short 12 weeks seemed with Phoebe, to the point that I have no idea how I went back when Caetlin was so incredibly young? My hat is off to anyone who can or must go back to work any sooner than that, as I know many women are required to do), and she's a perfectly fine and happy and well-adjusted almost-three-year-old. And she was a perfectly fine and happy and well-adjusted baby after I went back. We will all get used to our new normal, probably pretty quickly. If I keep things in perspective, I know it is not the end of the world, not the end of our relationship, not a sign of poor parenting. It's just...different. Different is not bad. Just different.

So off we go into the great unknown. How will we cope with the changes? I hope better than I did when I went back to work when Caetlin was a baby. At least this time there is not a convenient chocolate-filled holiday nearby, so I hopefully won't put on 20 pounds as a result of being so depressed about going back. That time it was a poorly timed trip to Target- a few weeks before I went back to work, I bought a huge amount of half priced candy that consoled me through the first couple months back at work. Consoled me right into larger sized clothing, too. I didn't lose that weight until about a year ago. Let's hope I can avoid that this time!

In other news, we have spent the last two weeks at the beach, and had a fantastic time. Caetlin, especially, had a wonderful time in the pool and the ocean (Gulf of Mexico, really). She started the vacation in my grandmother's pool with floaties on both arms and a pink inflatable ring around her middle, and she had to be coaxed away from the steps into Bruce's arms. By the end of the two weeks, she was going completely underwater while holding her breath, without her ring (her floaties had been long since discarded). Seeing her gain so much confidence in the water has been really great. I think if we had been there another week, she would have been swimming, as often as she was in the pool. The kid was more or less in her swimsuit from morning until night; we had to pry her out of it. And she's been pretending to be swimming all day today, and asking to go to the pool as well. Bruce and I are both fans of the water (something I remembered about myself when I spent so much time in the pool with Caetlin), so it's no surprise that Caetlin loved swimming so much. I can't wait to get her some lessons so she can really get moving.

Also, Phoebe had rice cereal for the first time today, and loved it. She sucked down spoonful after spoonful and consumed in the neighborhood of a quarter of a cup. She quickly got into the groove of opening her mouth for the spoon. Though she sucked on the spoon, which made a big mess, she clearly loved the whole eating experience. She even started crying and fussing between spoonfuls, because I wasn't pouring it into her fast enough. It was hilarious and awesome and so much fun. When we were done, her little belly was all pooched out and full, and she was basically ready to pass out. After a bath and a short nursing session, she crashed hard (this was after a 2 and a half hour nap this afternoon, which might be the longest nap she's ever taken- girl is sleep deprived and then some from our vacation). I'll look forward to giving it to her again tomorrow. It's something to look forward to about tomorrow anyway.

Reality Comes Crashing In

I go back to work in less than two weeks. That's scary to contemplate. We're at the beach right now, and will be until the Saturday before I go back, so this is my maternity leave swan song. And because we're on vacation, I haven't got the time to really think about going back, to really imagine myself at work all day, pumping a few times, and not seeing Phoebe except in the mornings and evenings. At least, it's easy to avoid that reality, though it is getting harder and harder to ignore.

I thought I was ready to go back. I had a great time at the conference that was held at the end of May, and I really was happy to be back in that professional world for a few days. But now that it's not just a short break from my leave, now that my four and a half months has evaporated like dew on the grass in the hot summer sun, I'm panicking. I thought I would be ready. I've been telling everyone that I am ready. But I'm not ready.

I am more ready to go back than I was with Caetlin, that's for sure. I went back after just 12 weeks, and I couldn't imagine going back at that point with Phoebe. More time is certainly better time.

But she's going to miss me so much. And then she won't. Which is worse?

Maybe not thinking about it is the better way to go. Maybe just confronting it when it's time to set the alarm clock and put on heels and pack the pump is less painful. I really don't know. I'm trying to enjoy the beach while I'm here. We're having a great time. Caetlin loves the pool. Phoebe likes it okay too. We're here with a bunch of my extended family, which is nice. They all love the girls. There is nothing to be sad about when we're here in this tropical paradise.

Yet it is lurking, growing more prominent in my psyche. I'm dealing with some administrative crap already, that needs to be done by the time I go back, so it's sort of more in the forefront than I wish it were. And it's looming large anyway. I can't deny that less than two weeks is not a lot of time.

I thought I was ready. I'm so not.

Milestone: Rolling Over

So today, Phoebe rolled over for the first time.

We both missed it.

I was in my room, getting dressed after a shower. Bruce was in the kitchen getting something to eat. He had put Phoebe on the floor on her back in her play gym. When he came back into the living room- so I'm told- she was on her tummy.

I wasn't surprised when he told me, because it has seemed to me like she was working herself up to roll for awhile now. I don't call her my "Get Up and Go Girl" for no reason, after all- she is going to be much happier when she can move around by herself. She's way more motivated to move than Caetlin ever was. Caetlin rolled over like once when she was two months old and then didn't do it again until 4 going on 5 months.

Phoebe hasn't done it again, yet, though I am sure she will soon. Still, I am sorry to have missed it. I think those kinds of milestones become less important with baby #2, so long as it's clear there is no delay, which there isn't in this case. But it's step one toward a mobile Phoebe, who will be a happier Phoebe.

News and Notes

A scattering of random facts and anecdotes from the No Math house:

- My thrush appears to have cleared up, thank goodness. I'm still on medication for it, as is Phoebe, but it's kind of how you take antibiotics long after you stop being sick- it's still working even though the symptoms are all gone. And frankly the symptoms were what I really cared about. That shit hurt. NOT recommended.

- Phoebe turns two whole months old tomorrow. How is that possible?? And she's started outgrowing some of her 0-3 month clothes. Scary. She otherwise remains the smiling-est baby on the planet. I will have to try to take some pictures so you can see the gorgeousness that is her smile. She's also sleeping really well at night. Last night she slept for 5 hours, had a feeding, and then slept another 5 hours. We're starting to lose that haggard look that comes from too many interruptions in sleep for too many nights in a row.

-We all seem to be healthy around here for right now; everyone please say a little prayer that we can stay that way for awhile. I love all my care providers, but I am really ready to not see the inside of a hospital for as long as possible.

- Caetlin has decided that she loves pretty dresses, and it's been mostly warm enough to let her wear them. It is with some small embarrassment that I admit that I think she has basically every style of dress that my local Target sells for toddlers. What?? I'm trying to make sure she has enough to rotate through the week. Really! Anyway, it's awesome to see her twirl around in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom. She looks at herself, dances around a bit, looks at herself again, and tells me, "It's a pretty dress, Mommy!" I love making her that happy with something so simple as a dress.

- Caetlin has also exploded musically lately, and will often sing herself to sleep. Favorites include "Itsy Bitsy Spider," and "Pop Goes the Weasel" (which is "Hop Goes the Weasel" if she's not paying attention), "London Bridge is Falling Down", "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean" and the always-popular ABCs song. It also leads to some interesting displays of personality. Her nanny told us about one day last week when Caetlin was singing Itsy Bitsy Spider and her ABCs at the park, and getting all the "Awww"s and smiles from the assembled grownups. Her little friend Mary, who turned three in January, chimed in as well, and started getting her share of attention. Caetlin apparently decided she was not going to be shown up, and launched into an operatic "Baa Baa, Black Sheep," which Mary didn't know. Caetlin's nanny said Caetlin was clearly all, "Top that, amateur."

- We have started a hard core push on potty training. She's pretty good on pee, though we have to make her go when she's in the middle of something. The poop, however, is a different story. She has pooped in the potty in the past, but for whatever reason, refuses to try these days. We'll be putting her in underwear soon, so she can feel the mess she's making when she goes in her pants, pee or poop. It's going to be a long summer, I think, filled with bodily fluids. Y-A-Y.

- Speaking of summer, we joined the Atlanta Metro YMCA this week, and got Caetlin signed up for parent-tot swim classes that start at the end of this month. I am hoping to spend a few days at the beach with the girls this summer, and I want Caetlin to be at least comfortable if her head should go under or something like that. Plus as much as she loves the water, she needs to learn how to swim, pronto. I'm excited about taking her to the classes; I think it will be fun time for us together.

- Bruce and I both took advantage of the wellness programs at the Y as well, starting a 6-month series with a wellness coordinator who set us up on the weight machines and showed us how to use the FitLinxx system. I walked on the treadmill for the first time today. It's Day 1 in my quest to lose weight, firm up, and make my heart healthier. My diet is better than it has been in a long time, and I feel like it's a diet I can maintain, so the next thing is to add in the exercise while I have the time to get hooked on it. Wish me luck.

- On the work front, Tokyo appears to be officially dead, so that's a decision we at least don't have to face. We have informed the nanny that Bruce could be laid off at any time, and things don't look great for him, and she should probably search for another job, given the economic climate. I think she doesn't want to hear it, and has stuck her head in the sand and refused to look for anything else, but that is not a decision we can make for her. I think we have acted in good conscience in this situation. We have given her all the information we can, and she can choose to act- or not- on that info.

- Completely as a lark, Bruce and I have both registered for the Foreign Service Officer Test to be given in June. It's a lark because the odds of either of us becoming foreign service officers are pretty small, and the process takes a really long time, at least a year. I'm actually enjoying the process of studying for it- test taking is something that I am good at, and I'm enjoying feeling mental muscles stretching out that I haven't used in awhile. It would be a huge deal if one or both of us made it, but I'm not even thinking that way at this point. It's much more about the fun of taking the test and seeing how I do. I've needed an intellectual goal for awhile now, since I'm on leave now and before I left work there wasn't much for me to do anyway.

- Finally, Caetlin was super adorable when she came in from the park this afternoon. I had just finished feeding Phoebe, who was asleep in my arms in the same position she had nursed in. Caetlin picked up Cheer Bear (I think I have written about Cheer Bear before, how she's completely annoying but Caetlin loves her so I love her) and said, "I'm feeding Cheer Bear, Mommy," and held the little pink bear's face to her chest. She sat like that as long as Phoebe stayed in my arms in that position, occasionally telling me how she was feeding Cheer Bear. It was adorable to watch her "nurse" her bear.

So, that's about all there is from here. Life rolls on, more or less uneventfully these days. We like uneventful. Uneventful is good.

Make It Stop

I think I have developed thrush on my nipples. Thrush is a yeast infection, the same kind of yeast infection that the boys snicker about, only on my nipples instead of in my lady parts. Yeast is a naturally occurring organism; everyone has some amount of it in his or her system, men and women. A yeast infection, or thrush, occurs when the yeast gets out of balance and too much is able to grow. The yeast loves the sugars in milk, so nursing moms are often susceptible. Particularly nursing moms who have recently completed a course of antibiotics. Which I have.

Where a yeast infection as people are familiar with it is more annoying than anything- itchy, mostly- thrush on my nipples and in my milk ducts is turning out to be extremely painful. I have actually stopped nursing Phoebe again so I can take some prescription painkillers for a day or two, until the medication starts to work and I can stand her to nurse from me. On Monday I will have to get treatment for Phoebe as well, since the likelihood is that she has thrush in her mouth that is not yet developed, but will be painful for her if it progresses.

So I'm pumping- as much as I can stand to, anyway- and dumping again. Yippee. Did I mention this is extremely painful? As in, extremely painful?

I hope this clears up soon. Jeez. I wish we could catch a break!

Phoebe at 1 Month- The Stats

We went to the pediatrician today for Phoebe's one month checkup (for those of you keeping score, she turned 1 month old yesterday). Here are her vitals:

Weight- 10 pounds, 7 ounces, a growth of 2 pounds, 10 ounces since birth (and over three pounds since her post-birth weight loss). This is right at the 90th percentile for baby girls, per the CDC's growth charts.

Length- 22 inches, a growth of 1.5 inches since birth. This is also at the 90th percentile.

Head circumference- 14.5 centimeters, which is at the 50th percentile. She has her daddy's small head, apparently.

So, she's growing great. The doctor was also impressed with her alertness, and seemed pleased when we mentioned she was starting to smile a bit- mostly around the eyes, but also with her mouth, in her sleep sometimes. She looks perfect, and is healthy as can be. We still had some concerns regarding the amount she spits up, as I mentioned before, but the diagnosis is still overfeeding. Not on my part, on her part. She just doesn't quite get when to stop sometimes. The doctor basically said if it happens every time she eats or starts to really bother her, then we might have an issue, but otherwise, keep feeding on demand and not worry about the spit up.

I also discussed the vaccination schedule with the pediatrician. Because Caetlin has such a history of febrile seizures, at least two of which have occurred on the same day as her shots, I wanted to space the shots out a tiny bit, just so as to not stress Phoebe's system in the event she is prone to seizures as well. At least once with Caetlin, she had an undiagnosed infection the day of her shots that contributed to the fever, but the fact remains that her fever may have been driven up by the shots. The doctor agreed with me that there was ample evidence to space out the shots a bit, so we're going to be doing two at a time, rather than a whole bunch at a time. It means a few more visits, but I'm okay with that, if it reduces the chance of Phoebe having a seizure from a vaccination-induced fever. Maybe it won't; maybe the shots have not had anything to do with Caetlin's fevers and subsequent seizures. But it's worth the extra time. I'm a big proponent of vaccines and will not be the parent that skips them or fails to bring the baby in for the extra visits.

All in all, a good visit. Phoebe is growing like crazy!

Three Funny Stories

Okay, enough with the depressing for a minute. I have three different, funny, true stories from my life the past few days.

1. The Footwear Incident
Friday, I met Bruce and a good friend with whom I work for lunch. It was nice to get out of the house and see my friend, with whom I had lunched pretty regularly before I went on leave. She drove Bruce to the restaurant and I met them there, but I ended up driving Bruce back to the office afterward, just for a few more minutes with my hubby.

In the car, Bruce looked at me and said, "Did you know that when I left the house this morning, I was wearing a hiking boot on one foot and a dress shoe on the other??"

When I caught my breath from laughing, I looked down and saw that he had put on white sneakers that had been in the car. With black pants and a polo shirt. It made me laugh all over again. At least they matched, I guess. Each other, anyway. After I stopped laughing again I had to assure him that I had most definitely not been aware when he left that morning of his, um, shoe situation.

2. The Full Moon
I have mentioned over on Facebook that Caetlin is going through a phase where she's taking off her clothes and diaper in her crib. Partly it is a potty training thing- we're deep into it now, with her regularly going on the potty, if not terribly reliably. And part of it is a sleep-delay tactic. She's giving us and her nanny fits, requiring three sheets changes per nap, and covering all her sleeping accouterments- Elmo, Flat Bear, her two blankies, her pillows, and her covers, plus whatever other stuffed animal may be sleeping with her at the time- in the waste product of the day. This is an awesome stage, I must confess.

So last night, we put her down, and while we normally watch her on the video monitor to make sure she's not taking her clothes off, the monitor battery was dead, and neither of us felt like getting the charger for it. We didn't hear much from her room anyway, and we knew she was really tired, so we assumed she fell asleep pretty quickly and left it at that, attending to the details of feeding Phoebe, feeding ourselves, watching TV, relaxing from the day, etc.

A couple of hours later, we're trooping back to the bedroom to try and get some sleep, where we finally plugged in the monitor. I turned it on and peered at the picture, checking on Caetlin. What confronted me was startling and hilarious: my daughter's bare bottom, a full moon, glowing into the night vision camera. She had passed out face down, completely naked, a result of taking off her one piece pajamas in order to take her diaper off.

We went in and changed her and changed her sheets, which were sopping wet. Caetlin had to have been cold- we keep it cool in the house and I have no idea how she was sleeping so deeply on cold wet bedding, naked. She went back to sleep immediately, and I was left to continue chuckling over the picture of her bare ass that greeted me when I turned the monitor on.

3. The Church Do-Si-Do
I took both the girls to church with me this morning, to give Bruce some kid-free time and for me to get holy. I had intended to put Caetlin into the nursery, but I was running late and I wasn't sure where the nursery was, as we've never taken her there, and so I just took her with me. How bad could it be? I thought.

(Aside: never, as a parent, think, "How bad can it be?" and then continue to do whatever you're thinking about. If you think, "How bad can it be?" the answer is, invariably, much, much worse than what you're prepared for. Just stop if you think those 5 little words. Really. Not worth it, ever.)

I wasn't dumb enough to try to take both girls to the cathedral Mass, so we instead went to the Mass held in the parish hall, which has a higher than average proportion of children and is easier to get in and out of. I had Phoebe in a sling at my hip, and Caetlin motored under her own power. Everything was great at first. Caetlin was glad to be hanging out with me, no matter how many times I asked her to use her whisper voice, and she was really, really good, staying confined to our little two-chair area, playing with things she found in the diaper bag, etc.

Then the homily ran long. I knew we were in for it when I looked at my watch, and 50 minutes had gone by, and we were only at the beginning of the Eucharist. Of course I hadn't been able to pay much attention to the homily because of wrangling Caetlin, but I figured I could still take Communion, which has always been central to me. Caetlin had started to melt down a little, starting when I took my lipstick from her that she found in my purse. I had let her play with it for a long time, actually, since she wasn't hurting anything, and it would cause more of a scene to take it from her, but when I realized she was getting it all in her hair (at least it was a good color for her), I just grabbed it. That, predictably, didn't go over well.

Then they called our row with no advance warning, sending us up the center aisle instead of down the side as expected. I had to usher Caetlin, who was feeling contrary, out and into the procession. She decided that she wasn't going to go, and laid flat down on the floor.

I tried to get out of the way of those behind me, Phoebe swinging loose in her sling from my hip as I bent over Caetlin with murder in my eyes (not very Godly, I admit). I ultimately had to pick Caetlin up and carry her to the priest so I could receive Communion. I had 9.5 pounds of Phoebe on my right hip, 30 pounds of Caetlin on my left hip, and I was on a mission; I was going to take Communion if it killed us all. Caetlin smacked me all the way up the aisle, too, on my arm and on my face, over and over and over. I marched grimly on.

I reached the priest, finally, and he blessed Caetlin and gave me my piece of the host. I tried to direct his attention to my hip, where Phoebe slept in the sling, pulling the sling open with my non-Caetlin-holding hand, trying to mumble around my mouthful of dry host, "Can you bless her please?" Meanwhile, Caetlin's hands are reaching out for the piece of host that the clueless priest is holding out, and he was about to hand it to her, and I realized at that minute that Phoebe wasn't getting blessed today. I whisked Caetlin away, her grasping fingers closing on empty air instead of the proffered piece of bread, seeing the bewilderment and confusion in the priest's eyes at just how weird that little interlude was.

I reached our seats with something like gratitude smothered in murderous rage at my brat daughter. I picked up our things and took us out, before the end of the service, needing to get out, feeling as though everyone had witnessed my strange little Communion shuffle (of course, they hadn't). What had I been thinking, taking both kids and not insisting that Caetlin go to the nursery? How bad could it be? Worse than I imagined. At least Caetlin didn't start screaming. That would have been much worse. She did, however, decide to lie flat again in the middle of the hallway outside. I saw a nice man stoop to try and help me, before he realized that no, she wasn't hurt, just being obnoxious. He backed away like she had the plague. I couldn't really blame him. I wanted to do the same thing, myself.

Professional Phoebe and Caetlin Pics

We took Phoebe and Caetlin to a wonderful photographer today, Paul Wendl in Alpharetta. The session was mostly to focus on Phoebe, but he took a few of the whole family, a few of Caetlin and Phoebe together, and a few of Caetlin by herself. He has published a few of the many wonderful pictures on his blog. Go here to see what I believe to be some unretouched shots from today's session.

A Couple of Notes

Something I meant to mention awhile ago: a week after Phoebe was born, Bruce ended up in the emergency room with excruciating abdominal pain. After a number of tests that ruled out the big things like cancer and a heart attack, the emergency room sent him home with a referral to a GI specialist and prescriptions for Vicodin and Nexium, which more or less controlled the pain. While the pain faded after a couple of days, and we were pretty convinced that he had just had a really bad case of food poisoning, he had an ultrasound of his gall bladder done last Friday. The results came back yesterday: gall stones. His GI doctor is recommending removal. He's having a surgical consult to investigate his options, as the potential side effects of removal worry him greatly.

We took Phoebe to the doctor this morning. She worried us with several episodes of vomiting, which my crack internet searching revealed might be a symptom of pyloric stenosis. The nurse at the pediatrician's office wanted to see her for at least a weight check; if she had pyloric stenosis, she wouldn't be gaining weight appropriately. Our concerns were quickly alleviated at the doctor's office, as the scale showed she weighed 9 pounds even. She's gained 22 ounces in 13 days. As my friend Kelley says, I am a milk machine! The doctor looked her over, and she looks perfectly healthy, so the diagnosis is overfeeding. She isn't terribly good at telling me when she's finished, and I have so much milk that she overeats and then occasionally vomits it back up. The doctor is of the opinion that she will learn when to stop, plus the sphincter at the top of her stomach will also get stronger soon, so we should see a decrease in vomit soon. Thank goodness. I don't know if I could take it if another family member needed surgery.

Finally, we may be moving in the very near future. Our lease is up at the end of this month, and we recently saw another house for rent that we both liked very much. The new house is in the same neighborhood, and is essentially the same price, but is much bigger. We haven't entirely decided whether to take it or not, but we are leaning that way. It's really a perfect house for us, head and shoulders above our current place. Our main calculus is whether we should look for something cheaper, or try to negotiate a lower rent on our current house. The main drawback of this house is that it is the same price as our current rent, so we aren't exactly cutting costs, which would seem to be important at this time. Anyway, more details as decisions get made.

Sorry for the headline-news feeling of the last couple of posts. That's kind of the way life is for me right now.

Phoebe at 18 Days

She sleeps.

And begins to wake.

News

Some few pieces of news from the No Math household:

1. Caetlin has become ever more adept at using the potty! She has both urinated and pooped on the potty in recent days, some days more than once. We've been inadvertently helped by a really bad case of diaper rash, caused by the antibiotic that is treating her ear infection. (Yeah, she had an ear infection, diagnosed about a week ago. We can't seem to keep the child healthy.) Anyway, she's had a really terrible time with the diaper rash, and it has made her reluctant to urinate in her diaper, because it stings on the rash. So she holds it and goes in the potty. Voila! Toilet training through pain! I should write a book.*

It's been interesting to see Caetlin's response to the diaper rash. She's had it this bad before- the girl has a sensitive bottom. But she has never put up this much of a fight about changing her diaper before, where she wriggles and screams before anyone even touches her. Beyond being heartbreaking, it is also evidence, I think, that she is anticipating the pain, meaning she is starting to think about the future. With previous diaper rash incidents, the pain was immediate and then she forgot about it. This time she remembers that it hurts and anticipates that pain when it's time for a change. Very interesting to me.

2. Caetlin can also read a couple of words. This isn't actually new, so I might have posted about it before, but she can read her name and a couple of other words. They are sight words; she isn't quite ready for phonics and sounding words out yet, mostly because I don't think she grasps the concept of being able to read by herself. When she gets that and wants to read, it will be a snap to teach her, I think. She knows all her letters and the sounds that many of them make already. Anyway, Bruce was skeptical when I called it "reading" that she can recognize her name and a couple other words, but as I pointed out to him, reading is nothing but pattern recognition, and she recognizes and puts meaning to the pattern that is "Caetlin." Just because she can't sound words out doesn't mean she isn't reading these two or three sight words. I think it's pretty cool, regardless. And I'm reasonably confident that she'll be reading before 4.

3. Japan news- things appear to have stalled on the part of the client company. We do not think the position is dead in the water yet; as soon as the firm becomes convinced of that, we think Bruce will be laid off, which hasn't happened yet. However, as the economy continues to go south, both here and in Japan, the prospects for Bruce remaining employed, whether here or there, are looking grimmer every day. I just try to take things one day at a time and not focus on the insecurity. I especially try not to worry about my own job and try to have faith that I add enough value and that the firm wouldn't be so cruel as to lay us both off. I'm also hopeful that maybe when I return from leave, things will have picked up a bit. Fingers crossed.

4. Phoebe's hair is falling out. It remains to be seen whether it all falls out or just some of it. We're having pictures made tomorrow, so we can at least memorialize her birth hair, in the event that she turns into a bald baby. She is otherwise fine, growing like crazy and still an easygoing girl.

That's about all the news fit to print around here. Other than job and economic worries, we are all fine. Bruce and I are a little tired, but otherwise all is well.

I hope to have more pictures of Phoebe soon.

*I hope I don't have to clarify this, but making light of my daughter's painful diaper rash and the unintended (good) consequences thereof don't mean I'm glad for it. I fervently wish it had never happened, as I can't stand to see my big girl in so much pain. But sometimes one needs to find the funny where one can, you know?

Settling In

I have to say that so far, managing two kids has not been as challenging as I thought it would be. *Frantically knocks all wood in immediate vicinity* Seriously, though, I am kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop with Phoebe. She is so far a tremendously easygoing baby. She sometimes cries when we change her diaper, and she cries when she's hungry. Very occasionally, like once in 11 days, she's cried for a minute or two because she had gas. If I can get to her before she's melting down with hunger (not too hard at this point), she might cry once per day. So far, there have been none of the random newborn freakouts. Caetlin was an easy child, but nothing like this. I'm sure the fact that my anxiety level is way, way down helps a lot.

Anyway, we'll keep our fingers crossed that Phoebe maintains this even temperament as she grows. And now, some random observations from chez No Math:

- As I mentioned, our anxiety level is way down regarding care and feeding of a newborn. I have none of the worry that we won't be able to keep Phoebe alive, like I did with Caetlin. That makes spending time with her and the rest of the family far more fun and less scary than I ever imagined it could be.

- As a corollary to the lowered anxiety, I don't have Mom Ears tuned quite as sensitively as they were with Caetlin, which is actually a good thing. Phoebe sleeps kind of loudly, making all kinds of grunts, snores, and squeaks in the night. I manage to sleep through most of that. With Caetlin, I woke up with every little noise. Now, I'm getting more sleep than I had hoped for.

- Nursing is going so much better than I ever expected, thanks to some timely intervention by a lactation consultant that I was smart enough to go see the day after we left the hospital. I was quite sore, and she helped me learn how to get Phoebe latched on well, so as to not hurt nearly as much. The initial first days caused a bit of soreness that is mostly healed now, which is a good thing because Phoebe is a nursing fool. She cluster feeds during most days, so by the end of the day I'm a little sore again, but it also means she sleeps for decent stretches at night- 5 or 6 hours- and I recover then. I nursed Caetlin, but I used nipple shields with her and she and I never learned to latch on correctly. I am convinced that is part of why Caetlin stopped nursing when I went back to work. I am hopeful that will not happen with Phoebe.

- Because of her voracious appetite, Phoebe is visibly growing. She's also pooing about every 30 seconds or so, often mid-diaper change. Awesome. Thankfully, breastmilk poop doesn't smell bad, a fact that I am grateful for when it comes bubbling out of her as I'm trying to clean her tiny bottom.

- Caetlin is apparently enchanted with "Baby Phoebe." She loves looking at her, and touching her occasionally. She talks about her all the time. She's also clearly thrilled that I am up and about and interacting with her more. She's a joy to be around (beyond being a typical 2.5 year old pain in the booty).

- Caetlin started just today calling me Mom and Bruce Dad. Where did she get this? I have no idea. Not from us; we've always referred to ourselves as Mommy and Daddy. She hasn't dropped Mommy and Daddy, but Mom and Dad have started to work their way in, and it makes her sound older than she is.

- I had my first post-partum alcoholic beverage tonight, a beer, and it tasted like nectar of the gods. So incredibly yummy.

- I feel wonderful. Really, really good. I have mentioned this before, but it bears repeating, because I just feel that good. I am happy that I can hang out with Caetlin without worrying about her hurting me, or that I'm doing too much. I am happy that I am sleeping better. I am happy that I can eat a turkey sandwich without worrying about listeria, that I can drink that aforementioned beer, that I can imagine going out to a restaurant and having a great glass of wine that completely complements the meal. I no longer have heartburn. I don't hurt from giving birth, haven't had a single pain pill. And there's this other thing. I'm a little embarrassed to say this, because I am so happy about it, but it's so atypical and I had nothing to do with it, but I still remain really happy about it.

Okay, I'll whisper it:

I'm back into non-maternity clothes. And I'm only 9 pounds off my pre-pregnant weight.

I don't mean to throw that into anyone's face. Again, I had nothing to do with it. I'm just lucky this time. And I'm so happy about it, no looking a gift horse in the mouth for me. It helps me feel better all over to feel like I look good physically.

Anyway, that's what's happening around here these days. It's your average brand new baby, second child, toddler parenting situation, and we're happy. I'm happy. Things are good.

Isn't She Lovely, Made of Love

Early Friday morning, March 6, seems like so long ago.

Bruce and I woke a little late, showered, finished packing the bag and headed off for a light breakfast. We were both moving slowly, worn out and exhausted in the early morning sun. We got to the hospital a little late, but they checked us in right away and set me up in a labor and delivery room. The monitors were set, the IV was inserted, the Pitocin was started, and all we had to do was wait.

The contractions started coming regularly some time after the Pitocin was begun. It took some fairly high dose to get them regular, but once they started regularly, we were on our way. My wonderful friend Kelley came in at some point in the mid-afternoon; she had driven all the way up from her home in south Georgia to be with me for the weekend. She's my oldest friend, and is in school with ambitions to be a labor and delivery or nursery nurse, so besides being greatly supportive for me, it was a matter of professional interest for her. I was thrilled to have her there. Anyway, it took a number of hours before the contractions started to be painful; I watched TV on the computer with Bruce and chatted with Kelley while I waited for things to happen. The nurses kept offering me pain medication, but it honestly didn't hurt any more than the Braxton-Hicks contractions I'd been having for the last two months. The doctor came in and broke my water around midday. That was an experience; since he was having trouble snagging the bag with the hook, it felt like he was rooting around somewhere near my sternum for an extended period of time.

The contractions got painful, but bearable, sometime after my water was broken. I hung in there as long as I possibly could, but asked for IV pain medicine around 4 p.m. I was only 3-4 centimeters dilated at that point, and I really wanted to wait until 5 centimeters before I asked for the epidural. I remain convinced that the epidural slowed my labor with Caetlin, and I was determined to hang in there as long as possible to prevent that from happening here. The IV pain medicine took the edge off for another hour or so, and I breathed through another handful of stronger contractions and then asked for the anesthesiologist.

The nurse sprang into action, apparently having been waiting for something to do for me. She ushered my wonderful friend Kelley out of the room, turned up my IV fluids, and started setting up for the epidural. The doctor came in and performed the procedure; it went pretty well, as these things go. I was laid back down on the bed and watched for side effects and complications. Unfortunately, I was laid down flat, and became really uncomfortable. Then the nurse indicated that they were having a hard time tracking Phoebe's heart rate because mine was so high, they couldn't tell whether they were monitoring hers or mine. Tachycardia is not a common side effect of an epidural, and soon I had several nurses, the anesthesiologist and my doctor in the room trying to determine what, if anything, was wrong with me. The nurses were having trouble placing the internal scalp monitor on Phoebe's head and getting it to read consistently. I was uncomfortable, and a little scared, although I understood at that point that nothing was wrong with Phoebe. I honestly thought, not that I am suggesting I know more medicine than the personnel in the room, but I truly believed that if they had let me sit up or turn on my side to get more comfortable, and then left me alone for 10 minutes, I could relax and my heart rate would go down. That didn't happen, of course.

I tried relaxing as much as I could, given the frantic atmosphere in the room. I will say that from the two doctors, I got a vibe that they were more interested in understanding what was happening as a matter of professional curiosity, rather than that this was something to get worked up over. The nurses gave the vibe of an emergency, which was somewhat disconcerting. An EKG was performed, which was normal. My heart began to slow a bit. Then they lost Phoebe's monitor, and my nurse called for backup, "I need some help here!" The other nurse came in at a sprint, and my heart rate went way back up again. The anesthesiologist happened to be standing near me right then, and asked me how I was feeling. I noted that I had been starting to relax until all of this started, waving my hands around vaguely at the nurses.

I need to digress briefly here to say that my nurse, Claire, was lovely all day. Her backup, Heather, was, ah, lacking in the bedside manner department. Heather was the nurse who came in at a sprint when Claire called for help in monitoring Phoebe. When I made the comment to the anesthesiologist about all the activity in the room having made my heart rate go back up, Heather heard me and said, "Oh, sometimes we just move a little fast, that's all."

Now, I am not stupid. I realize Heather had not been caring for me all day, and maybe could be forgiven for not realizing that I am not stupid, but I did not appreciate being patronized at that particular moment. I could easily perceive that she and Claire, at least, thought there was something wrong that required quick action, and even though I tried to take my cue from the doctors that nothing was wrong, my increasing heartbeat betrayed me.

Finally, though, they got Phoebe monitored well, and the ping pong of her heartbeat, strong and steady, filled the room. They all left me, Kelley came back in, and I was able to get comfortable and really relax.

Except I wasn't. The epidural was wonderful, in that I remained able to wiggle my toes and move my legs and retain some sensation in my lower body. When I had Caetlin, I was completely numb from the waist down, until I laid on one side and the medication drained out of the other. I was actually grateful for that, even though it meant some of the pain was back, because at least I could feel something. Here was a much nicer experience, where I had a good amount of feeling, and even a little pain with the contractions, but it was completely bearable. Anyway, by the time everything calmed down, I had started to feel really uncomfortable pressure, like I needed a toilet immediately. I mentioned this to Claire, and she said, that's great, you're close to being able to push, I bet. Call me when it feels constant, not just pressure with the contraction.

I waited. I chatted with Kelley and Bruce, and I waited, and I grew more uncomfortable. I probably waited longer than strictly necessary, because when I called for the nurse, the doctor came in and checked me and said, "You're completely dilated. Looks like it's time to push." He left the room, promising to be back for delivery, and the nurse (a different nurse, as the shift had changed) and Bruce helped me hold my legs to push. I pushed through one contraction- and it felt so wonderful to give in to the urge to try and relieve that pressure!- and then another, and maybe one more, and then I felt the pain that meant that Phoebe's head was crowning. The nurse had realized that I was not going to be pushing for very long, and had already paged the doctor, mere moments after he left the room, but he hadn't shown back up yet. The nurse told me to breathe through the contraction, to try and wait for the doctor to arrive, and that may have been the hardest thing I've ever done. I did it through a second contraction, and marveled between the pains that the doctor hadn't shown up yet. I could feel the urgency, the immediacy of birth, and not pushing took superhuman effort. (Kelley later told me that at that point, maybe an inch or so of Phoebe's head was already out, meaning I wasn't going to be able to hold her back for long.)

When the third contraction came, I tried to breathe again as it ramped up, and I whimpered, "It hurts," to no one in particular, and the nurse said, "Just do what you have to do, sweetie." With the largest relief I can ever remember feeling, and gratefulness, I gave one long, hard push, and felt Phoebe's head pop out- like a champagne cork, like I remember Caetlin's doing as well. I gave a long groan, a product of the release of that awful pressure more than of pain, and the rest of Phoebe's body slithered out with no extra effort from me. She was born on the bed between my legs, delivered by the nurse.

I heard her cry immediately, and looked down and there she wriggled, covered in blood and goop. They wiped her off a little and handed her to me, and I tried to put her to breast but she was too angry at the disruption of her warm, dark home, at having been thrust into this cold, bright place. She cried non-stop for the first 20 minutes of her life, only stopping after she had been wrapped up, clean and warm and brought back to me. So I held her and looked at her in wonder, she with her mouth screaming open, and watched Bruce cut her umbilical cord, and saw her large amounts of dark hair (the old wives' tale about heartburn was right in this case). She was clearly perfect, healthy and strong.

The doctor finally came in at some point during all this, having never received his page. He apologized so profusely; I felt worse for him than for myself for his having missed Phoebe's big entrance. He found out later the cell service had a nearby tower that was down, so pages didn't come through. He was appalled and clearly very upset, but the hard work was upon him anyway. The delivery was easy; getting me together afterward was a little more challenging. I apparently bled pretty freely, and lost more blood than was strictly good for me. I didn't need a transfusion, thankfully, but I did stay hooked up to the IV for another day, so I could continue to receive Pitocin to help my uterus contract sufficiently to stop the bleeding. He also stitched me up- I had two really small tears, minor skid marks, really, that required a couple of stitches each. When all was finished, I was horribly woozy from blood loss, and when the nurse brought me apple juice, it was the best thing I ever tasted, raising my blood sugar to a level where I could think clearly. After I was moved to my post-partum room, I was able to order food, which also helped.

Phoebe started nursing at some point after all the ministrations were done, and she suckled for an hour without stopping. I took that as a good sign that our breastfeeding journey might go well together. They took her off to the nursery for her various tests and examinations, and wheeled me down the hall to my room, where I was unable to sleep because of hormones and adrenaline (I remember that from Caetlin too, only because she was born in the morning, that energy was expended during the day. This time I just lay awake looking at the ceiling and trying to get comfortable).

The rest is denoument. My IV came out Saturday afternoon, as my bleeding was well under control and my uterus was in great shape. I was up and walking around within a few hours of Phoebe's birth, and I was in very little pain. Kelley stayed with me most of the day on Saturday, so Bruce could be with Caetlin and his folks, and then I was discharged on Sunday (Caetlin was suffering from a little cold, so we didn't bring her to visit me in the hospital). I filled the pain medication prescriptions I was given, but I haven't taken any of the pills- haven't needed so much as an Advil. My blood pressure trended down while I was in the hospital, and though I haven't checked it since I've been home, I feel so much better, I have to believe it's lower. I feel so incredibly good- even though I am dealing with the whiplash psychological strangeness of being Not Pregnant instead of Pregnant, I am just so happy to feel physically well. No more heartburn, I'm sleeping better (not quantity, but definitely quality), no more being stuck in bed.

When they discharged us from the hospital, I felt the sun and warm breeze on my face as I climbed into the car. I looked with wonder up at the beautiful blue sky. Phoebe slept peacefully in the car seat. I blinked, having not been outside in two days, having been pregnant the last time I breathed fresh air, now having a new life in my care. It was only two days, but- in all respects, in every way- it was a lifetime.

New Moon

Happy Birthday, La Segunda!

It is my awed and overjoyed pleasure to announce the birth of one Phoebe Elizabeth, formerly known as La Segunda, this evening, March 6, at 7:10 p.m. She weighs 7 pounds, 13 ounces, is approximately 20.5 inches long, has a ton of dark hair and is already a champion nurser. I will post pics as soon as I can.

Yes, it is late. No, I can't sleep. I blame an under-air conditioned room, hormones, an uncomfortable sinus stuffiness, etc. The baby will be here to eat in another 10 minutes anyway, so I figured I would take the opportunity to make the announcement here, even though I don't have pics downloaded yet.

Anyway, I hereby retire the "La Segunda" tags, and use a new one for the very first time: "Phoebe." Sorry for my ramblings but I thought you might like to know that she's here and we're both fine. Pictures and a comprehensive birth story will follow later.

Happy birthday, Miss Phoebe!