the peacoat papers

shot through the heart (er, leg, but it felt like the heart)

(Welcome to my Mommy Monday.  This is where I tell you about every emotion of new mommy-dom.)

Last week I cruised into Pigtail's two-month pediatrician appointment without a thought.  My sister was with me, and we had plans to do a little shopping after we were done.

Then the nurse told me that after she took Pigtail's measurements, she would be coming in with a tray of vaccinations and she didn't want it to startle me.

Panic.

Even though The Gorilla and I had made the conscious decision to fully vaccinate on schedule, I was suddenly in a spiral of uncertainty.  Somehow I had missed the fact that these shots would start at the two-month appointment.  I thought I had another month.  But now we were in the brightly lit room, and Pigtail was wearing only a diaper, and my head was spinning. 

Had I done enough research on this?  Did I want my baby injected when she was so little?  My brain was blank.  The nurse - and later, the doctor - seemed to sense that I was bewildered at the appointment's turn of events, so everything was carefully explained to me and they were gracious with my need to exit into the hallway to call my husband.  Of course they were slow and patient with me, it was a big decision that these days is surrounded by controversy.

On the phone, The Gorilla reminded me of the multiple reasons why we had made this decision, and I was calmed.  Until the time came for the needle to actually enter Pigtail's leg.  I didn't look.  I stroked my baby's head and cooed to her until it was over.  She let out a scream that lasted a solid 15 seconds, and I scooped her up and kissed her all over. 

Within a few minutes, Pigtail was fine, but I was a wreck.  It was the first time I had ever seen her in real pain, however momentary.  I was shaking as we retrieved our car from valet, and dropped my sister off to shop while I went in search for chocolate to soothe me.

I really need to grow a backbone. 

photo by Mel B. via flickr

hats off to the single moms

(It's Mommy Mondays, where I chronicle my experience of being a new mom.  Does my ear look huge in this picture?)

The Gorilla had to attend a wedding on the other side of the country, so this was my first weekend as the sole acting parent to Pigtail. 

We survived!

My sister took the opportunity to visit from Oklahoma - I wasn't quite ready to be alone alone yet - but the poor girl got sick and was pretty miserable throughout the weekend.  We mostly stayed in, ate takeout, and watched movies. 

Pigtail was an angel baby for almost three days straight.  She finally had enough and melted down mere hours before The Gorilla was due home Sunday evening, so we weren't exactly a picture of zen bliss when he walked in the door.  But all in all, I consider the weekend a success.

I don't know how single moms do it.  With a happy, healthy, baby, I was still running exhausted.  The Gorilla and I normally take turns doing the night shift, so just tackling that alone was enough to give me monster eye bags.  I can't imagine parenting night after night, day after day, without someone else around to take a turn bouncing the baby. 

I tip my hat to you gals (and guys) who have to go it alone. 

My sister is a single parent to four.  My sister-in-law birthed her first baby boy when my brother was fighting in Iraq.  It's one thing to know in your head, "Wow, that situation must be really hard for her," and then getting the teeny tiniest glimpse of what it would be like to do this partner-less.

I am not equating a few days without my husband to the plight of single parent, but I am feeling utterly grateful for those who help with my daughter, love on her, and in general make me feel less alone in this world.

Especially my husband.   

it's different when it's your own

(Welcome to Mommy Mondays, my designated day to blather on about my kid, and about being a mom to Pigtail, aged 7 weeks.)

Everyone told me it would be different when it was yours.  I didn't believe them.

I didn't believe them because I have kids in my life that I love so much my heart could burst, kids that I have loved since they were in the womb, kids that I would jump in front of a train for, without question.  

I still feel the same way about those kids, but it's different with Pigtail. 

1. I am okay with getting up with her in the middle of the night.  Every night.  Sleep and I have a passionate love affair.  I sheepishly admit that losing out on hours of slumber was my greatest fear becoming a parent.  But here I am, seven weeks in, and I'm doing alright.  It's true that she does pretty well at night, and that The Gorilla and I take turns getting up with her, but let's be honest: I'm still only getting about half the hours of sleep I used to pre-Pigtail.  Yet somehow I don't want to die a miserable death.  I'm not saying I leap for joy when I hear her stirring at 3am, but when I see her little face looking up at me out of her swaddle, I melt a little.  

2. Dirty, dirty diapers don't make me think less of her.  On Sunday, Pigtail had two of the craziest dirty diapers known to man.  We're talking about all the way up the back, down the legs, ruined a onesie, set off my gag reflex kind of diapers.  I am now rethinking my future plan to cloth diaper, they were that bad.  But in general, there really is something different about your own child's dirty diapers.  The smell, the clean up, it just doesn't bug me.  Is that some sort of instinctual thing?  Did God give us this smell tolerance as a survival tool?  Baffling. 

3. It's not a burden to be with her.  This isn't like babysitting.  It's not a chore to take care of her.  Funny, I thought it would be.  I've had lots of help these first two months, and I am so grateful for that, but when I'm not with my baby then I miss her.  This is a surprise!  Taking care of Pigtail is as natural as taking care of myself.  It's now just What I Do.  She seems almost like an extension of myself.  You don't feel this way when it's someone else's kid.

I'm still sorting through all the well-meaning advice and words of wisdom I received about parenting, I figure I'll be doing that for the rest of her life.  But if there is one thing I would tell any fearful mommas-to-be out here, it's that It's Different When It's Your Own.

That one is true.    

goo-goo ga-ga words (i love you)

Having a baby makes everything turn to mush.  Your heart, your brain, your words.  Things get downright mushy around here on a regular basis. 

All day long I say things like, "You're the most beautiful girl in the world!" and "I love you so much, there is no one I love as much as you," and "You're my favorite person in existence, we're so happy you came into our life!" and on and on.  Really.  It's almost embarrassing.

A curious and pleasant by-product of all this sweet sappiness is that it has spilled over into my marriage.  So maybe I don't use a high screechy voice when I'm talking to The Gorilla, but the hormones or the general baby bliss has made us both more vocal in our affection.

We had a date night on Friday and wandered around the LACMA then had a nice dinner at The Little Door.  (This restaurant has the best atmosphere in Los Angeles, hands down.)  I found myself saying, "I'm so glad to be on this date with you," and other, um, sweet things. 

It's not that my husband and I weren't vocally affectionate before Pigtail was born, because I think it is very important to say those three little words and every derivative often.  But these kinds of things are contagious.  Happy thoughts produce loving words produce mushy, gushy, sentimentality.

I'm not complaining.  It's the holiday season, so maybe my sickeningly sweet google eyes for my husband will just get lost among the festive spirit, so as not to mortify him.

Babycakes.

Pigtail is wearing an adorable hat by Kelley Hart Creations. 

i asked, sortacrunchy answered

My dear high school friend Megan, the author of SortaCrunchy and Simple Kids, is having Baby Week over at SC and chose to answer a very important question today.   

I am able to deem it very important because I'm the one who asked it.

In a comment I left on one of her blog posts, I wondered where the line is between Trusting Your Instincts and Trusting Conventional Wisdom.

And, like the good friend/mama/writer that she is, she answered me.  Pop over and check it out. 

(psst - there are some great nuggets in the comments, too.  Don't miss 'em.)

bottle judge

I was admonished by a toothless Russian woman for bottle-feeding.

On Thursday afternoon, I enjoyed a lovely lunch at my favorite outdoor mall with a pregnant friend and Pigtail.  It is still warm enough in Los Angeles to sit outdoors, so we sipped French onion soup and people-watched.  I'm not sure I'll ever get used to seeing Christmas decorations go up while the sun beams down at 80 degrees.

Before we did a little shopping, I needed to feed an increasingly fussy Pigtail, so we parked it on a bench next to the 300 foot Christmas Tree.  Babies always attract attention, so more than once we had passersby stopping to coo and gush over my baby. 

One of them was a middle-aged woman with a thick Russian accent pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair.  The elderly man made a couple of jokes towards us that I didn't understand, but one of them seemed to be an offer of paternity if I ever wanted another baby.  I, uh, smiled and nodded politely.  My friend did, too.

As they were drifting off, the woman asked me if I was breastfeeding.  I answered that I was.  Then she wanted to know why I was using a bottle there on the bench.  Before I could answer she began ranting about how "girls these days always quit breastfeeding because they think it's not enough.  IT'S ENOUGH!  IT'S ENOUGH!"

It was awkward, I didn't respond in the least, and she finally wandered off, pushing the crass old man in the wheelchair.

What made her think it was okay to judge my feeding choices?  How did she know it wasn't breast milk in the bottle?  The only thing that kept me from making a very smart reply was that she was obviously foreign.  Why that tied my tongue, I'm not sure.

I have had a heck of a time feeding this child.  We're powering through, both breastfeeding and supplementing with formula, but the ordeal has made this particular topic more sensitive to me than others.  

Had someone - older and accented or not - approached me in judgment of any other parenting decision, I would have felt narrow-eyed fury instead of embarrassment.  In the seconds after she walked away, I did feel a flash of anger.  Because I know I'm doing the best I can, and I have every confidence that Pigtail is thriving.

But in that unexpected moment, I sat abashed.  The mothering emotions are complicated.  

photo by Alessandro Perrilli via flickr

four fears & fantasies

Pigtail is now four weeks old.  When do I start calling her "__ months old?" Is that now or on the 18th of every month?  Does anyone know the answer to this very important question?

To celebrate the four weeks she has graced us with her wonderfulness, I'm going to list four fears. 

But then I'll list four fantasies.  So as to end on a good note.

Four Fears & Fantasies, brought about by my daughter.

1.  [FEAR] Falling Down the Stairs.  Our home is three stories.  And while that's nice and canyon-y, it's terrifying when you're sleepy and shuffling and carrying the most precious cargo.  The first two weeks of Pigtail's life I didn't even attempt it.  I was having enough trouble as it was getting myself up and down the stairs.  But now I have to brave the wooden flights several times a day with Miss Thang, and it starts with several moments of deep breaths and prayer.

[FANTASY] A New Address!  I am deeply connected to our house, but all this baby business has got me thinking about a new one.  One-story, with an actual yard to play in, and a straight street to ride a bicycle down.  (Pigtail that is.  I'm more of a walker.  Or really, a watcher.)

2.  [FEAR] Sleeping Through A Crisis.  Pigtail sleeps in a co-sleeper about three feet from my face.  Still, I worry.  It was suggested to me this week that it was time to move her to her own room.  She may be ready, but I'm certainly not.  How could I make it through the night without looking at her?  I keep her alive simply by staring at her, you know.

[FANTASY] Sleeping Through the Night!  All the parenting jokes about not sleeping are true.  I knew this going in.  They're still true.  That is all.

3. [FEAR] Having To Buy A Whole New Wardrobe.  I made the ridiculous mistake of trying on my largest, baggiest, pair of pre-pregnancy jeans.  They didn't fit.  Like at all.  Why did I do that?!

[FANTASY] Buying a Whole New Wardrobe!  I borrowed almost all of my maternity clothes, and didn't buy anything during the months leading up to my pregnancy, since I was in anticipation of the big event.  As it turns out, I now need a few new things for winter.  But here I am, eh, between sizes.  So shopping is very un-fun.  But, oh, the damage I could do if I were back to my old size...

4.  [FEAR] Pigtail Has Reached Her Pinnacle of Beauty.  The child is just so darn cute that my heart bursts daily.  I am convinced she can't get any cuter, that it's physically impossible.  Talk about peaking early.

[FANTASY] Pigtail's Beauty Starts Inside.  Every day I shower her with kisses.  I make everyone around her profess her cuteness and kissability.  We hold her for hours and hang on her every coo.  So I sure hope we're not producing a real diva here.  Beauty is only (velvet soft) skin deep.

Do you have any fears & fantasies?  They seem to go hand in hand, don't they? 

a quick quiz

Choose which of the statements below is true:

a.) According to the last pediatrician's appointment, Pigtail is gaining almost half a pound every week.  (Please translate what this means to the momma's chest who is feeding her.)

b.) Our brains are so addled that we used up precious sleeping time on Saturday night watching a documentary on the downfall of the polka king Jan Lewan.

c.) During our baby's first-ever bath, The Gorilla shut off the video camera to take a call pertaining to his fantasy football team.

d.) All of the above.

If you chose "D," then imagine a bell ringing happy chimes in your direction!

*

So this mothering thing is kinda hard.  Why didn't you tell me?  Oh, wait.  Everyone did. 

Pigtail is now three weeks old.  She is an angel.  Minus some feeding issues that we're still working out, she does what she is supposed to do: sleeps (a lot), poops (a generous amount), and eats (us out of house and home). 

I am still not entirely physically recovered.  Three weeks seems like a long time, right?  I think so, too.  My doctor told me in the hospital that I needed to "lower the bar."  Maybe I underestimated the whole birthing process? 

But all in all, we are doing well.  Attempting to find a rhythm, enjoying the process.  The Gorilla's parents arrive today and we are so excited to be surrounded by more family. 

Time is flying, and yet it seems like our little family has always been.   

things my mom said the week pigtail was born

My mom left on Friday.  I dropped her off at the airport, then cried all the way to Target.  Then I cried for ten minutes in the parking lot, then the smelly candle aisle sent me into tears again.

Friday was a bad day.

On Friday night, The Gorilla and I heated some of the food she had left us and talked about how glad we were that she was there for the first two weeks of Pigtail's life.  I don't know how we would have done it without her. 

Mom tends to say funny things.  Luckily, I've been keeping a list.  Here are just a few...

The day she arrived we were all hanging out in the hospital room and out of the blue she says, "All my friends just love her name.  I'm really surprised because I thought it was goofy."  *sigh*

When I arrived home from the hospital, The Gorilla pulled the car right up to the front door and both my parents appeared excitedly to greet us.  I stepped out of the car, still in pain but flush with happiness.  My mom looked me up and down and the first words out of her mouth were, "What are you wearing?"

 

It only took her a few hours from the time we arrived back in the canyon from the hospital to pull out this line: "I've decided she looks a lot like me.  Let me get out my baby pictures and show you!"  For the record, she says this about every.single.grandchild.  All seven.  Maybe, maybe one looks like her.  And it's not Pigtail.

One night when I was particularly tired and still needed to take my salt bath (doctor's orders) and pump my overflowing breasts she actually said, "Maybe you can learn to pump while you're taking a bath."  Mom, wouldn't that be tantamount to suicide?  I guess I could take my laptop to the bath, too, but I won't.  She thought a moment, "Wait, forget I said that."

But I don't forget much of what you say, mom.  I should remember that with Pigtail.

pigtail's delivery story, part I

After a little bout with pain two weeks before my due date, The Gorilla and I decided to induce labor at 39.5 weeks. Both control freaks, the idea of knowing exactly when this whole baby-birthing thing was going to go down was appealing.

So we set the date for Tuesday. The date had a nice ring to it. We made arrangements for my parents to arrive on Monday. I packed a bag, slept hard, everything was under control.

We had big plans for how we were going to spend our last weekend just us. We thought we might go down to the beach, have a nice dinner, wax nostalgic.

This is the part where God laughs big belly laughs at your plans.

Friday night we had a late dinner at Hot Wings Café. My choice. Not because spicy foods are one of the wives’ tales that bring on labor, but because I actually like hot wings. This was our last dinner out as Tremaine-Family-of-Two.

Saturday morning we woke up early and The Gorilla went and got donuts, my favorite Saturday morning breakfast. He was home in time for kickoff of the OU/TX game. Watching this game involved a lot of screaming at the TV. And jumping up and down. I joked in my facebook status that the game was going to send me into labor. The Gorilla laughed nervously and suggested more than once that maybe I shouldn’t get so excited over it.

I brushed him off and marched upstairs at halftime to make some crab dip. We ate the bubbling, cheesy, amazing crab dip with blue corn chips while sitting cross legged in the middle of our bed. The Sooners lost the game, but it wasn’t totally unsatisfying.

We spent the rest of Saturday afternoon in our favorite way. We didn’t do anything. No beach. We never even got out of our jammies. I read, The Gorilla messed with his turtles. We both napped. It was perfect. Maybe we’ll go to the beach tomorrow, we said.

About six o’clock, we wandered sleepily to the kitchen and ate leftover hot wings and pizza and whatever else we could scrounge out of the fridge. We sat at the bar, both with our laptops, and chatted about whatever we were browsing through on the ‘net. The movie Hancock came on and we didn’t change the channel.

I decided I wanted to make cookies. While I was spooning them onto the cookie sheet, I felt an undeniable Braxton Hicks contraction. I hadn’t had many of these, and was surprised at the tightness.

“Feel my stomach,” I commanded my husband. As soon as The Gorilla’s hand touched my belly, there was a gush of…something.

I gasped (what was that?!) and ran to the bathroom. We talked through the bathroom door. Was that my water breaking? It didn’t seem like enough liquid. It wasn’t nearly the explosion they always show in the movies. But it was more than a little something. What was it? We didn’t know.

I came out of the bathroom and The Gorilla asked, “Do you want to call the doctor? What do you want to do?”

“I want to finish making these cookies.”

And so I did. They were so yummy.

Check back soon for Pigtails Delivery Story Part II: Can I Get a Room With Windows, Please?

photo by Lookr via flickr.