On the off chance that you’re still reading this blog…I’ve moved. New life phase, new blog. Try pineneedleseverywhere.blogger.com.
On the off chance that you’re still reading this blog…I’ve moved. New life phase, new blog. Try pineneedleseverywhere.blogger.com.
Been laying in bed for the past hour with Jude asleep on my chest, dogs at my feet. Watching the wind blow the rain through the trees outside. Trying to remember if the doors are locked. Thinking about all the laundry I need to do today. Need a drink of water and the toilet. Bum is going numb. Worried my child will never nap during the day in a normal bed, or sleep through the night without a swaddle. I’m going to have to swaddle my 30-year-old son, unless he finds a wife who’ll do it for him, but if she puts up with the swaddling she can’t be normal, right?
My parents’ old office chair makes a good rocker. I’ve learned this over the past few days as I’ve tried to steal a few minutes at the computer during feedings. It’s nice to be able to rock him to sleep once he’s nice and full, and then take a few minutes to glimpse at what the world is up to, or to stare vacantly at the trees out the window next to my desk.
J-man (thanks, sister) turned seven-weeks-old yesterday. Right now we’re in the office chair, him asleep on my chest, me debating whether which I need worse: a nap or lunch. Instead of taking either, I’m here writing, which I’ve wanted to do for days. It’s amazing how childbirth gives you fodder for creativity. The nine months of pregnancy were so miserable that I felt sharing would only be a gripe session, so I limited how much I shared. And really, these last seven weeks have plenty of their own gripes, but probably lots of good stuff, too. Getting a smile at week five stands out as a highlight. The five-hour stretch of sleep J-man had a few nights ago stands out as well.
Having my finger pooped on twice in three days does not.
I have to say, I’m just not one of those women who loved being pregnant, and I’ve decided I’m probably not one that loves the newborn stage, either. Don’t get me wrong: I love my newborn. Love him. What with the “baby blues” and all that, it took me some time to realize how much, but I would definitely seriously consider murdering anyone who tried to touch him inappropriately, or what have you.
However, I’m really, really looking forward to finding out what is going ON in that brain of his. J-man is not a cuddly baby, unless he’s not feeling well, or has fallen asleep in my arms. From the time he wakes up in the morning, he’s looking around and taking things in. If he’s being held, he wants to be held so that he can see what’s going on around him. As soon as he arrived in our house we noticed his obsession with the trees outside our bedroom window. Generally speaking, he can’t get enough of trees (good thing, we’re surrounded). Once my arms get tired from holding him up over my shoulder so he can look out the window, I transfer him to his playmat so he can gaze at himself for a while. That gets old after about 10 minutes, so we move to his bouncy seat. At this point I usually put him in the bathroom with me so I can shower, pee, brush my teeth, or perform whatever other hygiene rituals I’ve been bypassing for the last three days. He likes to chat with the toys that hang over this little chair, and I swear they’re telling him jokes because I’ve caught him smiling at them more than once. Once their stories get old, he starts to fuss some more, so at this point we have to leave the house and find something new to look at. Honestly, keeping him entertained is already making me tired. The only time he’s content to just be held is when football is on television. I’m hoping this is an interest that continues, because at the rate he’s growing he’s going to make a heckuva football player. (Have I mentioned that he’s been rolling over since his one-month birthday? Yeah, I’m going to have to start baby-proofing the house next week, I figure.)
All that to say, J-man seems to find the world a very interesting place. He fights sleep during the day, as if he doesn’t want to stop learning. I’m lucky if he sleeps two hours in the afternoon, in addition to the 12-ish hours he gets at night. Supposedly most newborns sleep up to 18 hours a day. Gosh, that would be nice.
I’m looking forward to finding out what he thinks of all this mess. I’m looking forward to the day when he can chase the dogs around the house (and help clean up after them). I’m looking forward to making a quote book, and maybe sharing his witticisms here on this blog. I’m looking forward to answering his questions, finding out what makes him tick, learning what he loves and what his passions are. I’m looking forward to getting to know my kid.
And I’m also looking forward to not having my finger pooped on.
I’ve been avoiding blogging much about my pregnancy because frankly, I’m tired. I’ve been tired for 8+ months now. I’m not normally a person who likes unsolicited advice. In fact, I would say I hate it, and now that I am with child and exhausted, I hate it even more. A pregnant lady (or a new mom) can’t make a comment about how she’s feeling or what she’s thinking without 80 well-meaning ladies piping in with their feedback. I could probably make a grouchy list of all the comments that make me nuts, but top of the list might be anything related to sleep. I know folks mean well, but “sleep while you can, because you won’t sleep later” doesn’t make me feel any better when I’m already getting up at 1am, 4am, and 6am to go to the bathroom. I got four and a half straight hours of sleep the other night, and I felt like I’d been reborn. The lack of sleep has already started, but without the reward of an actual child to help make up for it, so all I want when I complain is sympathy, not commands to sleep more.
That’s not what I wanted to write about. I just wanted to explain my absense. And if you’re one of those people who has commanded me to sleep, or stand on my head to cure my heartburn, or whatever, please know this is not directed at you. It is not directed at any one person, but rather the collective universe of females (and sometimes males) that don’t always know to keep their mouth shut.
If you are one of the people who has said I look great in all the pregnancy pics on facebook, you win my undying love and affection.
I watch the Today show nearly every morning. When I was a little girl my dad would watch the Today show while he was getting ready for work, so it’s been the soundtrack that starts my day for as long as I can remember. This morning Train was doing a concert in their concert series, and I watched it because this was one of the few bands that has performed this summer that I actually recognize (read: I’m old and listen to too much NPR).
The last song of the morning was one picked by viewers, and naturally it was “Drops of Jupiter”. Why wouldn’t it be? I remember the first time I heard this song, standing behind the RA desk at WMU (Women’s Missionary Union Memorial Dormitory). It came on the radio and I turned it up, making everyone else be quiet and listen with me. I immediately went out and bought the album, and spent the rest of the year singing the song loudly in the hallway with my residents. Or alone in my room. Whatever.
The song began this morning, and naturally I remembered all the words. Bentley was sitting on the couch beside me, looking up curiously, and I grabbed his floppy ears and started to serenade him. Somewhere before the start of the first chorus I started to tear up…and I still have no idea why. I was thinking about several things at the time: remembering college and how much I loved those four years, thinking how my unborn child could hear my voice at this moment, and that maybe when he arrives I’d sing him this song to put him to sleep. Maybe I was thinking about how I’d woken up three times last night and according to the lady who rang me up at Trader Joe’s the other day I’d never sleep again once I became a mother, but whatever the reason, I started to cry. I tried to stop, to keep singing, but I just couldn’t do it.
Then lead singer Pat Monahan took off his shirt to reveal a white man-tank, which looked ridiculous on its own, but was amplified by the skinny white jeans, high top shoes, and crazy homeless man hair he’s taken to sporting over the last few years.
I couldn’t look at the man and continue to be emotional. That stopped the tears.
I swore I wouldn’t do this.
I promised myself I wasn’t going to start writing you letters. I think it can be very, very sweet with other moms-to-be do it, but somehow it didn’t feel like my style. I can be emotional, and even sentimental, but I’m not a very sappy, schmaltzy person. I lean a little more to the snarky side, and have little patience for overblown affection.
However, it turns out that when you carry around a little creature 24 hours a day, you tend to start a dialogue with them, regardless of whether you want to or not. Since you’re probably not going to remember most of these conversations, I figured I’d fill you in on some of the high points. So, in no particular order, a few things you might like to know…
* We currently refer to you as L’Dub, short for Little Wetzel. We have a name picked out for you, and when it’s just the three of us, we use your name all the time. However, your Papa wanted to keep this piece of information quiet for now, because as you will soon find out, your Mama has a big mouth and tends to share more information than Papa would always like. I don’t mind keeping this secret. I like having this little part of you all to ourselves for now.
* I have also started referring to you as Little Ninja. Because you never stop moving. Ever. And as you get bigger, these movements become more pronounced. This morning, in fact, I was resting my kindle on my tummy, trying to read about what on earth to do with you once you get out, and you gave my hand several swift kicks, enough to dislodge the device from it’s resting place, causing me to lose my spot. You often kick hard enough to make my shirt jump. The first time you did this we were in Arkansas visiting the Green side of your family, and after we finished our BBQ lunch you signaled your approval by giving an enthusiastic thumbs up that your MiMi could see from across the table. I know I shouldn’t mind any of this, because these are all signs that you’re healthy and growing (I do get nervous when you’re still for too long) but seriously, I wish you could know what it feels like to get punched in the stomach from the inside.
*Along the lines of your wiggliness, it took three ultrasounds and four ultrasound techs to get all of your measurements at your 20-week appointment. I wasn’t really feeling you move too much yet, just a flutter here and there, but once we got a peek at what was going on in there…it was obvious I was in for a boxing match. After the first appointment, when my midwife saw how few measurements the tech actually got, she laughed and said, “What was your baby DOING in there?!” I ended up having another appointment a few days later because little Finn jumped off my tummy a little too enthusiastically one night, and we had to make sure everything was okay. It was; you were still doing somersaults. However, they still were able to capture all they needed, and at the third appointment, the first tech we had laughed and said you were a mover. Then she got frustrated, and said she’d never seen a baby move that much. Then she had to go get another, more experienced tech to give it a go. That final tech had me rolling from side to side, trying to get you to stop in the position she wanted you to be in, and in the end we were rewarded with a blurry, grainy picture of your little face. I wish I could say that I can tell you look like me or Papa, but really, who can tell from those things?
* Speaking of the dogs, they’re excited for you to get here. I’m assuming. They’re definitely enjoying laying on your baby blankets, and sniffing all the toys that keep showing up at the house. So far Finny has been our “test puppy”. We’ve put him in the Baby Bjorn, the swing, the rocker, and the bassinet. He enjoyed the bassinet until we turned on the vibration, at which point he got out of there as fast as possible. Bentley also tried to test the swing out for you, but he’s just a hair over the weight limit…plus it’s hard to jump onto a moving object and stay put.
*Finn and Bentley are slowly losing the lap space that they usually share, thanks to you. I suppose this is just getting them ready for your arrival, because once you’re here I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold on to you and two puppies at the same time. Finn doesn’t seem to notice you in there kicking away, but Bentley likes to rest his head on my belly, and you often try to “pet” him with enough force that I can see his head bouncing around. I’m sure he doesn’t mind. In fact, I think you two are going to be great friends. We keep telling Bentley that we’ve gotten him a little boy to play with, and that he’ll be here soon. Don’t worry; you’ll have a little time to adjust before we start letting him wrestle with you. Oh, and you’re taking over poop scoop duty as soon as we can get that physical dexterity and hand-eye coordination up to par.
* Things I have lost/misplaced since becoming pregnant: a laundry basket, a blue oven mitt, and a pair of maternity pants. I’ve also burned my arm on both the iron and the pizza pan. Your Papa doesn’t let me get food out of the oven anymore. Oh, and yesterday I went hunting for your crib online, only to find out that it is being discontinued and is currently on sale. Rather than pay $50 to have it shipped to the house (read: your Mama is cheap), I decided to go pick it up from the store. However, the closest store that still had one in stock was 45 minutes away. I counted up the gift cards and cash we’d received so far, realized I had enough, and headed out he door. I dropped off Finny so he could visit Papa’s office for a while (he’s the Affirma mascot)…and while there I realized I’d left the envelope full of cards on my desk in the living room. So I had to drive back. And then drive to the store in rush hour traffic. Please stop sucking up my brain power for your ninja kicks.
* You probably don’t want to know all the gross stuff going on in your Mama’s body, do you? For now, let’s just say that I just started my third trimester, and I’m feeling rather large. In fact, I don’t understand how I get larger. My tummy muscles feel so stretched out all the time, and I’m dreading the feeling I’ll have a month or two (or three) from now when they’re stretched even further. You seem to be a big guy; at the final ultrasound we had, when I was probably about 22 weeks, the tech said you weighed about a pound an a half. The books I’d been reading right before your appointment said by 22 weeks you would be nearly a pound. Apparently you’re taking after your Mama…although if you come out at 10 lbs 10 ounces I WILL hang it over your head for the rest of your life.
* Speaking of your ultrasounds (apparently one of my favorite topics), a few things happened in the days leading up to when we first laid eyes on you (electronically, of course):
I think that’s good for now. I’ve been sitting long enough that you’re starting to get uncomfortable…or I would assume by the nudges you’re giving my stomach. I’m guessing you’d like me to go work on your room a little more, eh?
I have watched this five times in the last 20 minutes.