the first month.

While the little one sleeps on my chest and gets many many top-o'-the-head kisses...

Evan's first month has been a blur. I can't believe that as of tomorrow-- he's been with us for 5 weeks. 5 weeks. I remember how slowly the weeks seemed to go when I was pregnant and waiting for his arrival... but now-- they just fly. I look down and every day he's a bit bigger, a bit different than he was the day before. There is no real routine to our days, no hurry or scurry-- just what Ev wants when he wants it. Food? OK. Naptime? Fabulous. Read a story in the boppy nest? Lovely. Hang out in the bouncy seat? Ev's favorite time of the day, I think. Take a walk with the dog? Definitely (although I think my OB would object to the use of the waist leash at 4 weeks post c-section....). Do nothing and just gaze at his beautiful little face? A million times a day.

We got our days and nights figured out by the time he was about two weeks old. We still get up two or three times a night to eat-- he's a growing boy, you know. As exhausted as I am-- I must confess that I love those nighttime feedings. We listen to music on the pod speakers (any suggestions? We have the Dixie Chicks "Lullaby" and "Godspeed"... some Ben Folds and Jack Johnson... and that Ingrid Michelson song that makes me cry every time it comes on-- Highway... but we're always looking for more), we rock in the semi-darkness, and I talk and sing (and he doesn't complain!) to him. I get to watch his falling asleep faces as he practices his smiles and giggles and frowns as his eyes close. And typically we then fall asleep for some of the best sleep we get all night. Oopsies.

The Ev-ster loves to sleep on our chests and in our arms all curled up in a warm little lovebug ball, but gets completely restless the minute he's in his own little cosleeper bed. And by restless I mean arms flailing, legs kicking, and the talking begins-- he jabbers on and on and on and on, and LOUDLY-- to the point that Max will get up and leave the room because he is so noisy-- all while still asleep. There are nights when both Mike and I just lay there and laugh (or want to cry just a wee tiny bit) because Ev is going on and on and on and on, grunting and sighing and chatting, and neither of us can sleep because of it. He's a character, this one. I confess that I don't necessarily mind the talking-- when he's talking, I'm not completely neurotic and watching his chest rise and fall. Yes. I sleep with my glasses on these days just so I can watch that happen. (crazy much? No, I just practice a lot.)

He's starting to smile at us these days, and I think I would stand on my head and dance the Macarena to get those out of him. Love baby smiles. He giggled out loud last week when I read him Fox in Socks-- seriously, have you read that book lately? My mouth hurt when I was done. We read "Is Your Mama a Llama" and "Brown Bear" just about daily. He loves his mobile more and more these days and is figuring out that when he kicks the monkey and the bird on his bouncy seat, he can make all sorts of lights and music happen. I adore watching him learn even these little things-- everything is just so amazing and new these days. He hates his bathtub, but loves a sponge bath. He still wails when he's hungry and I'm not getting the pillow/nipple/burp cloth ready fast enough. He LOVES to be awake from 9-11 pm with his dad. He holds my fingers while he nurses... he is just so much more than I ever could've imagined.

I've lost all sense of time and date and need-to-do-ness. I know those things will all come back, but right now, we're just sort of drifting together as he grows. Our pediatrician said not to take him out to crowded places until flu season is over, and I've sort of taken that as license to just nest with my boy. We're just sort of cherishing this time and figuring it all out as we go. I tell Ev often that I am sure I'm screwing some things up, but that I promise I'll learn. He seems OK with that, and I think he knows that I simply adore him.

... and this concludes my blog catch up for a bit. I still need to work on the other things, but now I've gotten down things I don't want to forget-- and hopefully not bored you all in the process, lovies.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxox.

pics between posts, take 2

Ahhhhh... I love this picture. He was so proud of himself for grabbing his burp cloth and held on to it for dear life.

So we're working on the BFF thing. Ignore me in this picture, please. This is how we sit a lot of the time... me with the wee one, and Max wanting to be nearby, but really preferring to ignore the Ev-ster.
Just to prove that I can be in a picture. I might hate it, but I'm in it!

... the pictures I'm partial to these days. My back, my cute baby's face. He was sorta done with Easter picture day at this point.

No doubt who the E resembles, eh? Love this picture. Love these two.

And finally... happy one day after Easter from our house to yours. We weren't quite sure how to get a picture of Ev with his Easter basket as, you know, he's not sitting up or anything like that. This was Mikey's solution.

xoxoxoxxo.

the breastfeeding saga

Warning: boobie talk ahead. Feel free to skip this one and go down to the birth story if you don't want to hear about nursing woes. I'm just sharing this because it was so so so hard.

Next post: Ev's first month... tomorrow. I'm sleepy. :)

Background: I decided when we got pregnant that it was important to me-- personally-- to breastfeed. I knew I was going back to work, and I really wanted that connection to Ev when I got home-- I know that's selfish, but it's true. I heard many, many, many a story about how hard breastfeeding can be, so I did (excessively much) lots of research, got myself some softshells and wore them religiously to train the nips (oh yes, I just said train. Hopefully better than I trained my dog), and made Mike promise to help me through this.

After the c-section, I was a bit concerned-- I'd heard that it can be even more difficult to get breastfeeding started after a c-section than after natural childbirth. So when I got to my recovery room, I immediately asked to see a lactation consultant and for a breastpump. I was informed that the LC would come the next day, and that they'd try to find me a breastpump. The first day everyone kept telling me that it was totally normal for Ev not to want to eat, and that it wasn't overly important that he successfully nurse. We tried a few times to get him on the boob early on Tuesday, but he wasn't particularly interested. Later that day, when we'd try-- Ev would WAIL. Not a little cry, like, hmm, this is hard... but a SOB-- like, I am STARVING and my mom is torturing me and WHAT is this THING she is trying to shove in my mouth. So by the end of the night, he'd get near the boob, SCREAM, and then I'd immediately burst into tears, as well. The nurses, bless their hearts (I am so Southern now), would try to wad up my breast and shove it into Ev's mouth as he screamed, which only in turn made him cry harder and made both of us miserable. The nurses would help for a second and then leave, with Mike bewildered, Ev hysterical, and me informing him it would never, ever, ever work.

Wednesday... and I was dreading the breastfeeding. That whole morning was awful. We had a nurse I did NOT like, Ev was so so so hungry, and the breastfeeding just wouldn't happen. More wailing by E, more crying from me, and my whole room was so tense, I almost didn't want to see the LC-- I had visions of being informed that I was a failure in my head from horror stories from friends. But instead-- in walked the sweetest, most professional nurse I could have even imagined. We talked about what was going on, and she told me she'd do everything she could to make breastfeeding work-- but that it was really important to get some food into E because he honestly was just plain old hungry at this point. She had me try a supplementer, which helped a bit, but Ev still couldn't get a good latch on my breast. She rubbed my arms as I cried, and told me it was OK, we could make this work. She got Mike a bottle and some formula-- and immediately found me a breastpump and reamed out the nurses for NOT making more of an effort to find one. When she left, suddenly things seemed do-able.

... except for the fact that I still couldn't get Ev to latch on without her, and even when she was there, he struggled and seemed miserable-- which in turn made me miserable-- which I'm sure in turn, made Mike miserable. Poor Mikey-- I was a huge ball of hormones that week. He's a good man. Thursday, she came again-- and I swear it was just like the heavens would open and angels would sing when she would walk into the room. This time, she brought something called a nipple shield. If you would've told me when I was "planning" (<--- there's that word again.....) on breastfeeding that I would require something called a nipple shield that essentially was sticking a bottle nipple on my own-- I never would've believed you. Lo and behold, Ev didn't mind that one bit-- but I still really had nothing coming out and he was a big boy-- he needed some real food. So we kept supplementing with the bottle that day and trying to get him on the boob when we could.

... and then Friday-- the miracle known as my milk coming in happened. And we were released from the hospital. And we got home, sat down on the couch, put on the nipple shield-- and Ev ate. And ate. And ate. And this time, I cried out of happiness. I pumped and Mike fed him with the bottle a few more times, but by the start of the next week, he was on breastmilk full time, and back to 7 lbs, 15 oz.

... We never weaned him from the nipple shield, and I know that I'm putting my supply at risk because of it. I also know that in the purest sense, I'm not nursing him. But had I had a different LC, I probably never would've gotten to this point and would've given up before we even got home. But I had no idea just how hard the process was going to be-- not in terms of physical pain, but in terms of just wanting to feed my baby, wanting what was best for him and not being able to provide it. I think my whole experience that week in the hospital was about being open to the fact that childbirth, nursing, all those things have nothing to do with what we want or what we had planned, and everything to do with what is best for our child-- and those decisions can change in an instant or over time, and that is OK. After dealing with nurses who looked down at me for giving Ev formula when his hunger was breaking my heart, it just reinforced the fact to me that you can never judge someone else's choices-- all mamas are just doing what is right for them and for their babies. And that, therefore, is right.

Phew.
Enough talky.
More time with the baby.
I know I still owe emails, thank you notes, phone calls, and many other things. I promise that I'm working on it. I am in the whole new sleepy, milky, dreamy, wonderful world and I find it hard to surface sometimes.
Mucho love.
xoxoxoxoxo.

pics between posts

Oh how I love these two. And how Mike loves being a dad.

Newborn smile. Melt my heart.

It's so hard to be the baby... Especially when you really like eating and don't necessarily love sleeping as much (well, in YOUR little cosleeper bed. Mama's bed is OK by you).

They're BFF. Really. They just don't know it yet.

So big, so fast. I still can't believe it.

the birth story.

OK, so one month later, the details are a little hazy, but I know I've promised this story for-- ummmmm-- over a month now. I'm dividing these posts up so peeps can skip what they don't want to read. And to make my life easier. Next installment: the breastfeeding saga (oh, the drama). But pics between, promise.

Sunday night (February 17-- ohhh so long ago now), I took a nice, long, warm bath. Read my "Easy Labor" book for some more encouragement. Talked to the E-man quite a bit about whenever he was ready to come out, we'd love to meet him. Went to bed around ten, and shocked myself by not having to immediately get back up to pee.

Around 4:30 Monday morning I suddenly had the strangest sensation that something was amiss. I realized that I had to sit up and get to the bathroom-- this was the infamous water breaking I'd heard so much about. Poor Maxxy was sweetly curled up asleep next to me as I tried to maneuver my 55 extra pounds urgently up and out of the bed-- it didn't happen, and Max ended up having his little furry head covered in... amniotic fluid. He just looked at me horrified-- like, mom, why are you peeing on me?!? And then exhaustedly tried to clean himself off. For some reason, I didn't fathom how MUCH fluid there would be. As I'm slip-sliding along the bathroom floor, I'm yelling at Mike that my water broke and I need a towel. Or 15. Or 20. We call my OB's office, and he tells us that they are slammed at the hospital, so if I'm not contracting too badly to try to wait until 6:30 to come in. Oh yes. And to eat something "light"-- this would come back to haunt me later.............

So I tell Mike to go back to bed. I eat some Frosted Flakes and a banana, towel off Maxxy's head, and send some emails. We get in the car, and realize that we still have to find a way to get Max to the kennel, and to pick up Mike's car from the shop-- I'd managed to break the window the day before. This was not the Monday we'd had planned. We get to the hospital, and we wait. And wait. And wait. So I send Mike to take Max. And I wait. And wait. And make friends with the other 5 women who are also still waiting. Share my large stash of pads with the poor woman who was also leaking. Lots. Ahem. Mike comes back. We wait. Finally-- I get called back to my room at around 8:30.

The nurse does all the nurse-y type things, and gives me an IV-- during which time I bleed profusely all over the floor and my flip flops, scaring the crap out of the poor nurse. I'm just a good bleeder, I am. Dr. Alvarez comes in and tells me the truth-- I'm not in the best of situations. Having your water broken, not contracting strongly to speak of, and being only one cm dialated-- not so good. So on the Pitocin I go. Mind you, at some point I had a birth plan (this puppy was detailed, friends, detailed, I tell you!)-- and it involved no Pitocin, no interventions to speak of, and natural labor. Thankfully, I also had enough sense to realize that my body didn't care about my plan. And I didn't care about my plan-- I cared about a healthy baby.

So I labor. And they turn the Pitocin up. And my contractions start. And they turn the Pitocin up. And by noon... I'm barely two cm dialated. So they turn the Pitocin up. And I labor. And I'm HUNGRY. Dr. Alvarez now tells me he wishes he'd told me to eat a steak-- I'm going to be here awhile. So I eat as many popsicles as I can without making Mike look like a crazed popsicle thief having to run out there for me every few seconds. I drink my contraband Gatorade. I contract. I realize that even though I'm stuck to all these posts and bags and monitors-- I cannot stay in bed and do this. I get up, I labor standing. They turn up the Pitocin. We watch 4 hours of SportsCenter. I move around. I do everything I can think of. It's 3 in the afternoon, and I'm making no progress. They turn the Pitocin up. I start to realize that this is getting really hard-- that my contractions might not be doing much for my labor, but they hurt and they are one on top of another thanks to the Pitocin that is nearly maxed out already. But I'm certain I can keep going. So I labor. They turn up the Pitocin. I rock on my birth ball like it's all I can do. Dr. Alvarez leaves, and Dr. Beatty arrives-- MY ob, my sanity during my miscarriages and trying to get pregnant. She checks me. 4 cm. But barely. She recommends I think about something for the pain-- something to help me rest, because I'm going to be here awhile. To say the least. Ahem.

At 6, I realize that yeah, I do need something. I start thinking about the epidural I never thought I'd get. And I rock on that ball. And I probably eat a few more popsicles and think about how hungry I am. I tell my nurse I think I'm ready for an epi. Nick brings Mike dinner, my nurses change shifts, and somewhere in there my request gets lost. So I rock on the ball, with the Pitocin WAY over maxed out and on my second bag, hungry hungry hungry, and having back to back contractions that are doing nothing to get Mr. E out. Mind you, during all of this, Ev is happy as a clam. No decelerations, no nothing. Still moving around, still kicking me in the ribs.

Finally at around 9-- the anesthesiologist comes in. The dreaded-at-one-point epi goes in. I am sound sound SOUND asleep before he even leaves the room. The next 3 hours-- I remember nothing. I sleep like I've never slept before. At 12, Dr. Beatty checks me. I'm at 6 cm. Nothing is really changing, Ev's head isn't pressing down on my cervix, and I'm still laboring. Dr. Beatty knows how important having a natural childbirth is to me, and so she says I can keep going. She puts me on antibiotics because my water'd been broken so long at that point. I come in and out of sleep as the nurses come in and out of the room. I have a few more checks. Nothing major. Finally, at 6:30 am, Dr. Beatty comes in and checks me again. She tells me that Ev's head just can't stay lodged in the birth canal; it's just too big. She says she really doesn't think I can have a natural childbirth, and that she's ready to prep me for a Cesarean.

I cry a little bit. Mike rubs my back. I'm scared to death, but I'm so ready to meet this little guy. So I swallow my tears and I get ready for this. At 7:15, Dr. Beatty orders the C-section. I'm wheeled out of the room, and into the operating room. They push me in and I suddenly feel like I'm on some sort of medical show-- there are 7 or 8 people all just looking at me and I realize that, OK, I'm about to have some major surgery here. I need a spinal because my epi's wearing off. It makes me so so so cold and loopy. Mike isn't in yet. Everyone is talking to me and trying to keep me calm. They move me on the operating table and I remember thinking, this is the smallest table ever. I'm definitely falling off of it. Mike comes in, and holds my hand...

I can't see anything, don't hear anything until I hear Dr. Beatty say-- oh, my, look at all of this hair. And at 7:49 am on Tuesday, February 19, they tell Mike to stand up, and I look up to see tears streaming down my husband's face as he sees our son for the first time. And I cry again typing this story. They bring Ev around and he's screaming his little lungs out and he's big and he's beautiful and I cry and cry and I ask out loud how it is possible that any part of me went into making something so incredible. The rest of the surgery is a blur to me. The anesthesiologist talks to me the whole time, asks me Ev's name, keeps me company as everything gets pulled and stitched.

... and finally I'm wheeled back to my room and there's my husband and my beautiful baby. And I cry some more. And I finally-- finally, it seems like!-- get to hold my boy. I knew I would love him. I had no doubt in my mind about that. But the feelings are beyond anything you can ever describe or explain. You know at that moment you'd lay down your life for this little person, you'd do anything to keep them safe and happy and loved forever. And I realize at that moment that everyone was right-- nothing mattered, not how he got here, not whether or not anything was as I'd "planned"-- because he was healthy, he was safe, and he was mine. And man did I love him.

... and I do more every day. The next 4 days in the hospital were long-- I wanted to be home, I wanted us all in our own space, I wanted Maxxy home with us. And I'm not going to lie-- recovery hasn't been the easiest thing ever. And I didn't really do so well at listening to the doctors, and was up and down the stairs and out taking walks the weekend I got home. But things are slowly starting to feel healed. And looking at Evan makes my heart just swell up a thousand sizes to big and reminds me that I will wear this c-section scar with so much pride every day of my life-- because it is a constant reminder of my boy. And that's more than OK by me.

xoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxox.

ev says....

This weekend. Promise. Mike's going to see the IU NCAA tourney game so I get some Gab time in return.... if I can put the wee one down that long, that is.....
xoxoxoxoxxo,
g