Life With Baby: Week Three

We finally finished moving today. Huzzah. Because someone didn't want to hire movers or cleaners we spent an insane amount of time going back and forth and wasted three days of our lives. I also had to spend large chunks of time away from Wren so she got her first taste of formula. I haven't built up any kind of milk cache since she is waaay too interested in eating all the time. Thankfully my mom and sis-in-law are here so the former got to watch the kids while Bruce and I moved crap and the latter was the bestest non-technically related person ever and helped clean up the apartment. I'd recommend her cleaning skillz any day of the week seeing as how we got the whole deposit back. That could also be because of the wishes I made on the not one, not two, but THREE wishbones I found while cleaning. I have hoarding tendencies, obvs. That's pretty much all I have to say. I am exhausted. I would look forward to finally being able to sleep in tomorrow but....

Moving on Up

As of today I will no longer be a resident of Chicago. After nine years of living in my adopted city, I would be more sad but I hate this apartment so very much. So where are we moving? Uhhhhh. Evanston? Skokie? Depends on who you ask. The Post Office says Evanston. The gas and electric companies call it Skokie. Bruce calls it Skevanston. It's like the mullet of addresses, Evanston in the front, Skokie in the back. 

I haven't talked that much about our house hunting process. That's because it's been friggin' insane. After several months of looking for a single family home to rent (option to purchase a bonus) we finally settled on this place. It isn't perfect (no dining room) but it had a lot of what we wanted: a finished basement for all the kids' crap, a huge yard for a garden and swing set and lots and lots of storage for all all our junk. Plus it is still relatively close to the city so all my friends will hopefully not totally forget about me. It also had an option to purchase going on which was great. Possibly our best chance to own a house in a decent school district within the next three years. 

This all happened about a month ago. We set stuff up on our end with Paula, the best realtor ever, and she presented our offer to the owner's side. Everything was verbally accepted. Yay! Then she changed her mind on the terms to make them a little more favorable to her, which, fine. Paula never thought she'd go for what we asked for in the first place so that was OK. Until two weeks ago when the owner got an offer on the house and decided she was going to go with that instead. Never mind that it left us only 14 days to find somewhere else to live. With a brand new baby, mind you. And no recourse under the law for being screwed over as she had only verbally accepted our offer. We had signed stuff and written checks but she had dithered and dallied so much, she never got around to signing anything. I was livid, naturally. Or, more like weepy and panicky. My ultimate plan was to send the homeowner a letter with a photo of Wren and the caption, "Thanks for making me homeless, bitch." After one whirlwind day of looking at MORE places that really didn't suit us, for whatever reason, the sale fell through. Bwahahahahaha. It was ours again! Except now, the option to buy had to be exercised within two years instead of three and she wanted an annual rent increase to make us want to buy faster. OK, sure, lady whatEVER. More paperwork, more checks. Then, THEN, she decided NO option to buy at the current price, one year lease only with the right of first refusal when she puts the house back on the market at whatever price she deems appropriate. At least the rent got lowered under this plan. So earlier this week we finally signed a lease under these convoluted terms and are now moving in in piecemeal fashion.

Why are we still dealing with this person. No idea. Stockholm Syndrome? The house has glass doorknobs? The yard? Because I am too tired/stressed/lazy to look anymore? I think she broke my spirit. At least she lives far, far away so I doubt we'll ever have to deal directly with the owner. Unless we want to paint, of course, In  that case we have to call her up and ask nicely.

Bruce started hauling shit over there the day we signed the lease and today we have a truck reserved. I was agitating for hiring movers but Bruce seems to think that we can do this ourselves no matter that we also have two kids to supervise and I am not currently medically permitted to lift anything heavier than Wren. Under his plan, it is very likely that we will end up having to leave the bulk of our furniture behind and/or I die of a ruptured uterus. Awesome. Wish us luck.

Wordless Wednesday: Makeup Bag

Note: These may be the last pictures I take for a while since Calder dropped my camera and the lens is jammed. Sad face.

Life With Baby: Week Two

Welcome to Blorpy Town: Population Two Cheeks.

After going three and a half years between kids, there are still some things about having an infant around again that take some getting used to. Namely, diapers. Calder has been pretty much fully  potty trained for over a year now. I pretty much forgot how fast babies go through diapers and wipes. I though the giant box of diapers I ordered on Amazon Mom would be enough to get through a month. I was sorely mistaken. I also didn't think we needed to get any wipes. We have kept buying those all along because, c'mon, they are awesome. I think we had a bulk box with three or four packs left in it at the time she was born. Uhhh, not so much any more. The physical act of diaper is also much more difficult than I remember. Not only do newborns not listen when you say, "Stay still so you don't get crap all over yourself.", they don't even care if they do. Wren pretty much hates being diapered. She seems to prefer letting things air out a bit. Same goes for getting dressed: Calder - self sufficient. Wren - no help and, in fact, does not want.

Wren's belly button is still a bit... leaky so I had Bruce shoot the doctor an email. Thanks to Dr. Google I am afraid she has an umbilical hernia. We'll probably have to bring her back into the office to have it looked at. From my internet-ing at the very least she'll probably get some silver nitrate in it to dry it out and at the very most, uh, no idea. Haven't crossed that brain bridge yet but it's not like I don't have a million other things to worry about right now.

I also forgot how terrible being postpartum is. The cramps, the stitches, the return of hemorrhoids, the constant bleeding. None of it is very fun. It's like your body is punishing you for the awesomeness of not getting your period for nine months. As if the swelling and weight gain weren't punishment enough. That's not even counting the massive hormonal mood swings. Plus, daily interaction with a three year old does not help. "Please just eat your dinner. I don't care if you hate eating." *sob* Neither does trying to get dressed. "My fat pants are too small and my maternity clothes are too big and I have nothing to nurse in." *sob* Nor does watching the evening news. "Elebenty billion people I don't know dead in a tornado in Alabama and some are children?" *SOB* Even if I am mentally and physically still in recovery, every one else seems to think I look great. Each time I leave the house at least one person exclaims, "I can't believe you had a baby X number of days ago!" Thanks, people. Even if you are lying which I doubt. I have lost approximately 35 pounds in two weeks. It's a little diet I call stress and breastfeeding.

Speaking of which, breastfeeding Wren is going much better these days. Thank you, everyone, for your advice and support. It's still tough at times and if I even try to skip one of my steps I will surely pay for it later. I have taken to wearing the shells at all times, even in public. I hope no one really notices but just in case I plan to tell people that I am trying to bring back the Sweater Girl torpedo-boob look. I bought myself a nipple shield for when I just can't take the pain and I religiously use the lanolin after every feeding. Wren still isn't the best latcher. It's strong but inaccurate; sometimes I will have to try two or three times to get her on the boob in a way that doesn't make me want to screech with pain. Of course, once she's on there, right or wrong, getting her off is a tough endeavor on its own. It's like trying to unlatch a pit bull.

And the stress part? Well there's the whole moving thing and the two kids and finances and stuff and of course the lack of sleep. Yeah, I know, shocker. I haven't slept in my own bed in a week and a half unless you count me trying a last ditch attempt to get Calder to sleep by letting him start the night in there with me and then sneaking away to take the baby from Bruce. I have spent the bulk of my sleeping time on our horrible, nasty, no-good couch. Wren is a great sleeper unless you try to make her sleep somewhere she doesn't like. Those places include her pack n' play, the crib (I am guessing) and anywhere that is not directly attached to your chest. Generally, I start the evenings with her sleeping on me and once she is out deeply enough, I try to transfer her to the vibrating chair that is on the floor next to the couch. If she is being good, she'll hang there for about three hours but if she is being super fussy, I'll spend the night staring straight ahead, trying not to fall asleep and drop her. I suppose of could do this in my room but there is no light in there other than the ceiling fixture. If I had to turn the lights on every time I needed to get her latched on to eat, Bruce would probably kill me in a fit of sleep-deprived anger. And latching in the dark is a one-way ticket to ouchie town so couch it is.

In all, week two has gone pretty well. Calder still loves his sister and Wren continues to be a mostly chill baby. She certainly has her screamy times but they are much less frequent than Calder's were.

My Daughter is Part Werewolf

This explains so much. The full crop of hair, the tendency to chew on me until I bleed, the vulnerability to silver bullets. OK, that last one is just assumed.

Ear Floof

If Wren's not a werewolf then I am at a loss to explain her ridiculously adorable ear tufts. Maybe Maine Coon?

Calder Quotes

In the most pitiful whine imaginable: I can't doooo it! I not Ben Ten that change into aliens! I only a boy!

Yes, ham! I mean, Yes, ma'am!

Put her on the floor and play with me.

After bursting in on me in the shower: You got hairy nuts!

I shut the door so the monsters not get out and scare my baby.

Her got tiny feets! Look at her tiny feets!

Me: Is your stuff all picked up?
Calder: Yes.
Me: So If I turn my head to look, I'll see it all put away?
Calder: Don't turn your head!

Weighty Matters

Yesterday we had a second weight check for Wren at the doctor's. I guess there was some concern that she had dropped nearly a pound from her birth weight. Of course I am only guessing since Bruce didn't bother to ask any questions but they don't usually ask you to come back in if everything is super dandy fine. Though I do have really great health insurance...

It was also a good opportunity for me to ask the doctor all the questions Bruce had totally forgotten about. Like, what's up with the red spot on her eye, will it go away? Yes, it's from delivery. It will disappear eventually. Or, Is her belly button supposed to bleed like that? A little blood is normal so it should be fine, just watch out for a stinky smell or pus. And, of course, is Wren's weight OK? Yes, it's fine. In fact, she gained back 8 ounces since the first weigh in. That's half a pound in six days.

And on the matter of that belly button. Wren's umbilical stump actually fell off a few hours after we got home so I guess the blood wasn't really something to be concerned about except...

Grossness Alert

... Unlike Calder's which was just a dried little piece of nothing Wren's stump was a bit, uh, juicy at the end. That's because the attachment point in her belly button isn't totally closed and I will not lie, it freaks me the hell out. I am not squeamish about most bodily functions but there is a hole in my daughter's abdomen. A deep, moist, squicky hole and I have no idea what's in there. Once again I have questions but there's no more appointments with the doctor until mid-June. Of course I always have the googles to comfort me. Oh wait, never mind. That's all totally alarming.

Clothes Hoard

These are all the up to 3 months clothes we have in our house. At the moment.

I went from having almost no girl clothes to having three of the same dress in two days. Clearly, I need help. And a Goodwill donation box. Or a new nephew.

My Big Boy

Calder is a big boy. Don't you dare call him a baby or a little kid. He's a big boy now and it's true, he's enormous. He was the same size if not larger than Q, his five month older cousin, at my sister's wedding and he's probably grown larger in the few weeks since then. Or at least it seems that way to me but that could just be because I am spending most of my time hefting an eight pound infant. I do ignore my doctor's instructions and pick Calder up occasionally and each time it feels like I am going to topple over. When did he get so large? He's like a small person now. It's strange.

He has not only grown in terms of size but also in ability. These days Calder is perfectly capable of getting himself fully dressed, pouring his own beverages, brushing his teeth and washing up and he even takes showers by himself. Granted, in the shower Calder's more likely to stand there and sing songs about all the toys he has brought in than actually clean himself but I am sure some of the dirt must be coming off.

Calder is also embracing his role as a big brother admirably. He has helped change Wren's diaper on more than one occasion and is always the first one to notice if she is cranky or fussing. On the way home from the hospital, he was yelling at the other cars on the street to stop honking or else they would wake up his sister.

He even likes big kids things now, Thomas is for babies, MOM. He now prefers the impenetrable world of Bakugans. It's a show that he doesn't really watch but it's also toys and a game? I have no idea, it's like Pokemon but with robots (except on the show when they are not robots) and balls and cards and it's all very strange. He's been interested in them for a while and then got himself in deep when he was gifted an old collection from his tween cousin in Canada. Calder doesn't understand how it works either but lucky for him he's got a crapload of imagination and is more than happy to make it up as he goes along.

Thankfully, my little boy has not been fully replaced by this large independent monster. Calder still needs his cuddles and his stories and someone to kiss all his boo-boos. And trust me, there are plenty. The boy is both fearless and foolish. He's like a tiny non-evil (mostly) Jekyll and Hyde, during the day is a boisterous big kid, happy to carry on all on his own and then, at night, Calder magically transforms into a tender, needy little person who wants nothing more than to be his Mommy's little snuggle puppy.

Wordless Wednesday: Coming Home

Life With Baby: One Week

You can tell she's a girl because the blanket is pink.

Wren is one week old today! How about I hit you up with some stats.

At birth:

8 lbs, 16, oz

20.75 inches long

13.75 inches head circumference

8/9 Apgar scores

Eyes: Blue

Hair(!): Brown

According to the Babycenter.com growth chart calculator, that is in the 90th percentiles for height and weight and below for the 5th for her head. That's right, lady's got a huge body and a tiny noggin. No wonder she was so easy to get out. I feel like I should locate my sewing tape and remeasure just to be sure. The numbers sound vastly disproportionate but Wren looks pretty normal.

She had her first trip to the pediatrician on Saturday. I have no idea what went down because Bruce took her while I stayed home and had Special Mommy Time with Calder. We made egg-free brownies. The first ingredient was paste. Literally. "In a saucepan, combine flour and water to make a paste" No, that IS paste. Paste-brownies taste surprisingly good FYI. Based on the photos I forced Bruce to take, it looks like Wren has dropped down to 7 lbs, 15 oz. She has another weight check scheduled for Friday. I am not super shocked that she lost almost a pound. In her first three days of life she, no exaggerating, pooped 17 times. That's not counting the pre-birth meconium poop. The girl's got a digestive system like firing a bullet.

Likes:

Eating

Pooping

Sleeping barnacled to your chest

Her swing

Dislikes:

Hiccups

Sleeping anywhere that is not on top of you or in the swing

Moms who are too slow in taking the boobs out 

Bottles. There goes my pumping idea.

Is Liked By:

Calder. He adores her. I did not think "Please stop kissing your sister." would be something that I'd have to say multiple times per day. He is exhibiting signs of sibling rivalry but it is never directed at her. He's become a pain about routine things like getting dressed and he asks me to take his picture constantly so he's definitely feeling the lack of attention. I think if we keep on scheduling special Mommy and Daddy times for him and try to involve him in a much stuff as possible, we will get over this.

Chief. Chief lurrrrrves his little girl. She has been getting sloppy kisses since she was carried in the door. Since we brought her home he has not done a single one of his patented flying leaps over the arm of the couch and onto whomever is sitting there. If she starts fussing he'll go over to check on her and then go get Bruce to let him know. Even if I am in the room. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Chief.

Uh, me and Bruce. Obvs. You can tell Bruce is in deep smit because he has given her her own nicknames rather than recycling the ones he has been using interchangeably on the cats, dogs and boy for the last nine years. I am pretty sure he hasn't called her Meatfish even once.

Breast Intentions

WARNING: This post is going to discuss my boobs. Extensively. If you don't wish to know anything more about me than yes, I have a set, feel free to skip.

It would be fair to say that my Google search terms as of late have been a bit odd. Fun stuff like "bleeding nipples" and "breast latch problems". Every nurse who checked on Wren's feeding at the hospital said her latch looked very good. She seems to enjoy eating and the pinchiness went away pretty quickly. Of course, almost a week later my nipples are raw and bleeding, I am in constant pain and I am crying/googling breast feeding problems at 2 a.m. Bruce offered to go make a bottle for her so I could get some sleep and I accused him of calling me a failure. Then I cried some more.

With Wren, I have managed something I couldn't do with Calder, exclusively breast feed. So far. For almost a whole week. Go me. My Colostrum and milk supply seem to be enough for her and if I just let her eat as long as she wants, she'll stay asleep for over four hours. Letting her stay on my chest in bed rather than in the bassinet or swing also helps. Shh, don't tell Dr Sears. But, oh god the pain. And bleeding. My nipples look as beat on as my lady bits do. I got a matching set. Part of the problem I think is physics. Small mouths are not compatible with huge breasts and even huger areaolas. No really, they're like dinner plates on a good day and now that I am breast feeding they are the same diameter as Wren's whole head. Shove the entire areola in her mouth, the nurse says. Yeah, maybe if she were a crocodile.

Secondly, I think she is rolling her bottom lip under. The top lip looks good, all flared out the way it is supposed to be but no matter how many times I tug on her chin, the bottom one stays firmly tucked in. In fact, trying to correct her latch only pisses her off and make her clamp down harder or just relatch the way she wants to do it. Correcting her latch is not only difficult because she fights it but also the large ta-ta issue again. It's hard to fix what you can't see or reach.

I want to keep doing this. I really do. But the problem is each feeding starts with a shriek of pain and several Kelly Clarksons and even the most gentle accidental touch makes me want to pass out. It's gotten so bad that I have started flinching at the moment of feeding. Wren will be just about to latch and I will hesitate and even pull away from her out of fear. Just typing that out makes me tear up again. It sounds so selfish of me, denying my daughter food because of my own discomfort. 

Clearly I need to get help. I don't think I can afford my own lactation consultant right now what with the moving and all and the La Leche meetings that are close to me don't happen for another two weeks a least. I don't know if I can struggle along by myself  for that long. For the time being I am doing everything I can to make it work on my own. I have lanolin and breast shells, medical grade gel pads and witch hazel ones too. I am also thinking of getting some nipple shields to use until I can get Wren's latch fixed but am still unsure since they seems to have mixed reviews on the innertubes. Today I am going to start pumping on the sorest side so I can give that nipple a rest and that way If Bruce does suggest giving her a bottle again, I don't have to open the small tub of emergency formula that we grabbed the other day. Or yell at him.

A Baby Story

I pretty much knew I wasn't going to make it to my due date on Monday. I had had several comparatively strong contractions throughout the day but nothing long or really painful. Still, I knew the baby baking was soon to be over.

I woke up sometime after 1 a.m. with a contraction that hurt. Not knock my breath away pain but for sure very ouchie. About 8 minutes after, I had another. "Ahhh", so I thought, "This is what labor feels like." So very, very dumb of me. Being the middle of the night I was hesitant to pull the trigger on the whole labor thing too early and piss off everyone else involved. I was not risking making Bruce, Calder and the doctor mad at me for no reason. So I just laid in bed and waited, timing the contractions. When that got boring (and loud, Bruce snores like a bear) I got up and got some pre-hospital prep work done. First and foremost, I ordered Calder's Batcave. This was to be the big gift to him from his sister. I am not above resorting to bribery in order ensure family harmony. Then I packed him a bag. Yes, I packed Calder a bag. Why? Because Baby Plan: Middle of the Night involved us dragging Calder to the hospital and then calling someone to pick him up once it was late enough in the day to avoid annoying everyone I know.

After puttering around for a bit: getting dressed, finding the last items to add to my own bag etc. I gave Bruce a heads up. I told him  that while I think I am in labor, no need to get up until I get a confirmation from the doctor that I should head to the hospital. I am the nicest pregnant wife ever. Around 4, I gave the baby doctor emergency number (that's how it is listed in my phone) a ring and the poor, very sleepy sounding doctor called me back. I knew it wouldn't be my primary on call that night but I was fortunate that it was one of the others that I had seen more recently. After I gave her my stats, pain level 4, 5-8 minutes apart, no water breaking she told me to come on down. Yay! Having a baby!

I got Bruce up and he grabbed Calder and my bag (I got to carry Calder's much smaller backpack and milk) and we all headed out. Calder pretty much slept through check in and finally woke up in the triage room. The siren song of expensive, highly-breakable medical equipment must have finally reached his ears. We all got through the initial exam (5 cm, good thing we left the house) without giving Calder a ticket to the floor show and I thought, "Cool. This will work until Cary gets here." Right. Cary. Cary was our number one Calder watcher. She actually said she'd wake up and come get him whenever, even in the middle of the night. Whenever, except Tuesdays, because she teaches all day. Oh. Shit. The check in nurse said Calder could hang as long as he needed but if something went wrong, Bruce would have to take him out and I'd be on my own. Fine. Whatever. Bruce started texting people like the baby sitters and such to see if anyone could come down. You know who isn't awake first thing in the morning? Twenty year olds on summer break, that's who. For some reason I turned down getting an immediate epidural. But the contractions were starting to get worse. Much worse. Calder made good on his word though and held my hand.

After a short wait we got moved upstairs to one of the mammoth L&D rooms. Up was just starting on the in-house movie channel and there was a little girl in the family lounge down the hall with which Calder wanted to play. He was not going to be a problem for now. Actually, he was way less than a problem. He was hilarious (and probably annoying to the staff), asking the nurses to explain to him what they were doing and occasionally offering to help. Calder eventually had to be carried away kicking and screaming because he would not leave the room for my epidural. He wanted to watch Mommy get a tube in her spine. Naturally. Most awesomely, every time someone new walked into the room, Calder went up to them, offered his hand and said, "Hi! I Calder Turpin." Sometimes he threw in a "We havin' a baby!" Of course, every so often, someone reminded us that in the event of an emergency, Calder would have to go and Bruce with him. Right. Got it. We're working on it.

While I waited around for my painkillers, Bruce took Calder out for some breakfast and playtime at a nearby park. They were gone for a good long time. So was the anesthesiologist. Waiting for her to show up was probably the longest half hour of my life. I thought those initial contractions hurt? The new ones were not messing around. It's a good thing Calder was gone seeing as how I had been threatened with a time out for saying "friggin'" once already. If he had been there while I waited, I'd still be in time out. Fortunately, she showed up eventually and I got my sweet relief. The doctor took advantage of a Calder-less room to give me my first real exam (7 cm, getting there!) and to break my water and then... nothing happened. For, like, thirty minutes there were no contractions. Time to start the pitocin.

Bruce returned with Calder and was pleased to hear he had missed the grosser parts of the whole experience. She said with the pitocin doing it's thing, it'd probably be an hour or so until the kid was born and oh, yeah, meconium in the amniotic fluid so the peds team would need to be there. It was at this point that the doctor once again told us about emergencies and no boy and Bruce leaving blah blah blah and the delivery. *record scratch*. Wait, what? That's right, no one up til this point had told us Calder couldn't be in the room for the actual pushing. One baby sitter had finally gotten back to us but she lives more than an hour away so that wouldn't help. Bruce started doing some more texting. A short while later, Bruce got in touch with a former co-worker that lived nearby and she agreed to come take Calder while we got the business done. This was a good thing because they doctor had just checked me again and told us I could start pushing as soon as she showed up. Yay! Baby time!

Lauren, the saintliest of people I have never met before, came a bit later and took Calder to the park and the room was set up and let's start pushing on the next-

Oh, right, no one ever called the peds people. More waiting. So we are all there: Bruce by one leg, a nurse on the other, my doctor and a resident in between just waiting. Wren? Not so interested in waiting. Under explicit instructions NOT to push I sat there, feeling the pressure of her head on my lady bits. That's right, Wren was coming out. ON HER OWN. Every so often the resident would have to gently shove her up back up into my nethers. If you think a baby coming out your vageen is a weird feeling, try having one put back in. Finally, the peds team was ready to rock and on the next contraction I got to push. Three or four pushes (that same contraction) later and we had a daughter. The doctor told me that I could have gotten her out in one push but they like to control the speed. Apparently, shooting her across the room was not what they wanted. Fair enough, since my pelvis seems to require some sort of Danger: Low Overhead sign for baby heads, as Wren has the same squishy lump on her head that Calder did.

Calder was allowed back in the room after the peds people had cleaned out her lungs and washed her off a bit and he and Bruce started taking pictures. Calder mostly focused on her umbilical cord; he's fascinated by "the tuuube." I got all stitched and cleaned up and got to hold and feed Wren for a bit. Then we were to be moved up to recovery. At this point, I had gone through the whole entire labor and delivery process without Calder getting a money shot even once. Until they re-did the catheter to move me. Calder heard that they were going to mess with the previously noticed "pee bag" and was all about it. I had been awake since 1 am and, honestly, did not care at this point. It's not like he hasn't been busting in on my in the bathroom for the last two years or anything. Oh well.

Finally someone gave me a sandwich and we went to the recovery floor. I got a nice lake view an Calder got to introduce himself to his sister. Or not. "I don't wanna touch her." I am not sure if he was afraid or just suffering from shock from seeing my pulpy lady bits but he was not having any of it. Bruce was starving and Calder was in need of some reward for being the most well-behaved three-year-old in a delivery room ever so they went over to the mall and I got to hang with my new little lady. I'll just say she's a peach. She sleeps most of the time but I think that's OK? I dunno, what is it that newborns do if they aren't constantly screaming? Calder came out set on perpetual keening so I am not sure how a mellow one is supposed to act. She nurses like a champ and poops like a monster. At 8 lbs 12 oz, almost a pound larger than Calder, she's a beast. Maybe fat people really are jollier.

MOAR BABY FEETS

The people (ok, me) demanded more baby feet and I am happy to oblige (myself).

Nom, nom, nom

Birth Story to come. Warning: Thar be wordiness ahead.

Wren-ovations

I know I said this would be up way sooner but it's totally not my fault, Blogger. Congrats on getting your shizz together, Google. Just to be on the safe side, I am not going to write the birth story quite yet and just stick with some captions. Yes, because of Blogger, not because I am tired and lazy.

It's enough for now to say that we are all doing super great fantastic fine even if I can't remember what the date is or whether or not I put on clean underpants this morning. Calder is in love with "his" new baby and hasn't acted out too much. Of course, "she" gave him an Imaginext Batcave the day she came home so that may have helped grease the friendly wheels a bit.

In the L&D triage waiting room at 5 a.m. = one unhappy boy.

Calder managed to capture my hugeness quite well. Fact: Calder took more pictures than Bruce did.

My little fat bottomed girl. That's nearly a whole pound bigger than Calder and she came out 5 days earlier than him. Thanks, baked goods!

More Calder-vision. He was intensely interested in taking photos of her umbilical cord, or as he called it, "The Tube".

Initial  thoughts on his sister, "I don't wanna touch her."

Yay me!

He came around pretty quickly

"Her got tiny fingers!" That is pretty much what swayed the tide.

D'awwwwwww. This is what it's been like since. He accidentally bonked her head yesterday and started bawling. She did not.

Bay-bee feets! Apparently I am the only one in the immediate family that does NOT have creepy-long finger toes.

Baby burrito has got LOTS of hair. Oh yeah, that was quite the surprise.

More to come later, pictures AND words even. I have a few other things to get done before Little Miss Fatty van der Poosalot needs to eat again. Top of the list, ice down my poor, abused boobs and track down the Diaper Champ.

Wordless Wednesday

Not Wednesday. I know. Reposting after the Blogger-wide crash.

Just to make sure Calder gets some equal coverage around here for the next few days, here's my attempt at a Wordless Wednesday. These are all from our visit to the Virginia Living Museum in Norfolk on the last day of our beach trip.

Wren!

So I suppose you want to know, yes, we have a baby girl now! Wren Eloise Turpin was born at 11:19 am CST yesterday, weighing 8 lbs, 12 oz. That's almost a whole pound fatter than Calder. I would totally post pictures but I am a bonehead who forgot to bring the camera cord and am also working with a laptop that has a broken charger. I get about 5 minutes of work time every time I open it up.

We are both doing well and I will have a full write-up (photos included) for tomorrow after we get discharged.

It's a Bloody Show

I am guessing I'll be missing that 10 a.m. conference call with London this morning.

Dear Lady

Dear Lady at my Office,

Please stop pointing out how pregnant I am and expressing amazement that I am this large and still here. I know. I am aware of the circumstances. Unfortunately, the US only offers new mothers (and fathers) a pittance in terms of secured time off compared to the rest of the developed world. A lot of people can't even get paid during this time. Every day I stay home before the baby comes is one day less that I get to spend at home with the baby after she is born. See how that works?

Plus, it's not like staying at home waiting to pop is any kind of picnic. Bruce isn't going to be hovering around, waiting to take orders from my gravid-ass self. At home not only am I expected to bend down and pick up things that I have dropped but I am also expected to be doing things like packing, cleaning, poop wrangling, spackling and a multitude of other crap that needs to get done pre-June 1st.

So, yes, Lady at my Office, I am still here. Thanks for noticing.

Sincerely,

Management of the Uterus

And Another Thing

One thing I forgot to add to the litany of changes I will make to this whole delivery process: Steal more hospital stuff.

With Calder, it didn't even occur to me that all that beautiful (hospital grade) baby stuff on that cart was just there for my taking. I think all we walked out with was the Northwestern memorial hat that didn't even fit him, a shirt (?) and the big blue nose sucker. I didn't even think to grab one of his blankets. So, so naive back then. This time it will be different. I am going to leave the hospital with whatever I can cram into my bag. Diapers, nose suckers, wash basins, blankets, chairs... whatever. I am definitely going to get at least two of those white with pink and blue stripe baby blankets. That way I can use a fabric marker and write down Rusty's name, birth date and time on one and I can do the same for Calder and pretend that I was not so negligent the first time around. In 30-odd years, when I present it to Calder upon the birth of his own child, who the hell will know? Just little ol' me and the whole Internet. And I'm not telling.

Happy Mothers Day!

Looking insane in pictures is an inherited trait.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that the woman who owned two cameras in approximately 1856 took over 800 photographs the week of the wedding in North Carolina. Thanks for being around to give us life and (thoroughly) document it, Mom. We love you!

That still doesn't mean that I want to go three days overdue to have Rusty on your birthday.

See? Genetic.

Miss, you Gramma.

It's Gonna be Different This Time, Sort Of

I have been complaining a lot about not wanting to be pregnant anymore. Of course I realize two things about that. One, it's still a week til my due date, I really have no place to bitch yet. It could go on a lot longer than this. And two, if I am so desperate to get this child out, why don't I just give in to my doctor and schedule an induction? Well, I'll tell you why. Inductions are boring. Induction means Pitocin. Pitocin means an IV. An IV means being tethered to a bed for at least 12 hours. Being in a hospital bed that long means poor sleep and no real chance to find a comfortable position to deal with the contractions which means getting an epidural even sooner. That means spending even LONGER in bed, waiting for the catheter to be removed and for the feeling to come back into your lower extremities.

As awesome as all that sounds, no thanks. Been there, done that. It's not for me. I want to find out what actually going into labor is all about. I want the excitement of rushing to the hospital, not the boredom of sitting around in the ante room waiting for my name to be called to be hooked up to machines. I want to find out what contractions feel like if you haven't been awake for over 24 hours. I really feel like I could deal with them better on some rest. I'd like to think that this time I won't give in immediately to the epidural.

Those are not the only things I want to be different about Rusty's birth. Well, actually, most of Calder's birth was perfectly fine save the 40 billion people that rushed in to stare at my hoo-ha when his heart rate dropped. I'll opt to skip that this time if possible. But most of the rest was OK other than the boringness. Watching Meet the Robinsons while I wait to be dilated enough? Coolio. Forty minutes of pushing? That'd be sweet. Turkey sandwich in the delivery room afterwards? Sign me up. It's more the AFTER stuff that I want to be different this time, such as my own reactions to having a kid.

After Calder was born I am pretty sure I spent three days still wearing a hospital gown and that awful mesh underwear. I was too afraid to leave him alone long enough to pee with the door closed let alone take a shower, get dressed and put on makeup. I was also too afraid to ask the nurses to watch him so I could do all these things because I thought they'd think I was being a horrible person. The one time I did ask them to take him to the nursery so I could get some sleep after a whole day and night of straight crying led to me having a mental breakdown. When Bruce came in the next morning and wondered where he was. I panicked and sobbed hysterically for a bit and called myself a horrible mother for asking them to take Calder and told Bruce I had no idea where he was. Turns out, the nursery was directly across from my room. If I hadn't been too hobo fabulous to leave my bed, I may have found that out a lot sooner. Looking back, it sound like maybe I had a bit of temporary post-partum issues going on. With Rusty, I'd like to be able to recognize that sooner and get some help for myself whether that be talking to someone at the hospital or just some reassurance that needing sleep doesn't make me an awful mother. Just a very tired one.

More Oh, Calder

I just asked Calder when he wants his sister to get here because I am ready now. His answer?

"If at alllll, seven days."

How generous of you, Calder.

I Hate Sven

I feel like ranting. I still have a butt-ton of stuff left to pack and am out of boxes again, our current landlord wants us to pay for painting the apartment when we leave (to the tune of $1000, um no), I still have no place to live come June 1 and there is a person currently abusing the inside of my ribcage. Bruce has finally come around to my thinking about the whole house issue so perhaps one of those will be cleared up soon and that means I can't really rant about him anymore so instead, let me tell you about Sven.

I don't actually know Sven. Sven might not even be a real person, he may just be a Mactor-type. What Sven is, though, is every-goddamn-where. Sven is a guy featured on some ads for an apartment finding service that are currently plastered all over the Chicago public transport system. Almost every person on them makes me cringe in some special way. Like, Chip the ballhawk? You area grown man; let the children get the damn baseballs. Get a real hobby. And the Muse-lady whose name I refuse to remember? I don't think you get to give yourself that particular assignation, chica. Only the tattooed woman gets a pass from me. Brightly-dyed hair, full chest piece, lady parts and an Engineering degree? That's A-OK in my book. But Sven, Sven is the most insufferable of all.

First of all, Sven just looks awful with his big ginger pompadour, sideburns and stupid huge plastic frame glasses that make him look like he is wearing one of those joke pairs with the giant fake nose and mustache. Sadly, the schnoz and bushy handlebar on Sven are all too real. And don't get me started on the sweater... 

Then, god, each person featured on these adds gets two lines that describe them in some hipstery-version of ironic way and then state the neighborhood in which the service was able to find them an apartment. Let's just say that they all live exactly in the area you'd expect they would. i.e., tattooed lady's lines are "Stunt double/Civil Engineer" and she lives in Wicker Park, I believe. Shocker. Oh, but then comes Sven. Oh, Sven, the Explorer/Podiatrist! In the South Loop! And his creepy fetish-sounding Twitter handle! Let's just say he "luvs feet"! Yes, I can admit there is nothing inherently wrong with being a podiatrist or even having a foot fetish but explorer? In the South Loop? What, pray tell, Sven , exactly, are you exploring? Abandoned buildings and such I would imagine. That is just... so... current of you. Congrats on  your future arrest for B&E and by the way, Michiganders were loitering in empty factories before your stupid mustache was even an itchy stubbly patch. I hate you, Sven.

Every day I have to stare at Sven's stupid face as I wait for the train to take me home from work. Sometimes I even get a second audience with him, if his poster just happens to be the one plastered all over my particular car. All I can ever think when I see his stupid smirking mug is, well, it's the word Bruce says when he is driving, and was very heartened to see that someone agreed with me and had markered it over his Twitter name. Through the strength of my hatred, I was able to do graffiti with my mind, y'all. 

Wow, damn, that feels better. Now back to your regularly scheduled unsolicited uterus updates. Us pregnant ladies be crazy.

Holding Pattern

Things I learned at yesterday's trip to the doctor:

• I am twice as dilated as before. That's a whole whopping 3 cm now. But still, there should be no real action in the foreseeable future.
• I did not gain any weight and held steady at 195. Perhaps I will meet my goal of not hitting 200 lbs again. I knew last week would be a gainer due to the wedding trip. Any time I travel I engage in limited food tourism. I would much rather go eat thing than go see things but NC was like the perfect storm of me having a vacation eating plan. A. We'd be by the ocean so I was going to eat as much seafood as possible. I think I had some every single day (sometimes twice) and most of it was fried. B. We were in the south so I needed to get me some cheese grits, hush puppies, sweet tea and, My Beloved, Cheerwine. And C. Wedding equals cake. Caaaaaaaaake. Let's say I more than met my goals. Shockingly, I only gained three pounds.
• My doctor is on call on Fridays so going into labor on my due date would be ideal. However, doing it tomorrow would be even MORE ideal as I am so over this nonsense.
• My husband is an idiot. I texted him to let him know that I had made progress but nothing was imminent. His response, "Progress in what?"
• Rusty is going to be well into the high 7 lb range, if not larger. Calder was 2 oz. shy of 8 pounds so I am not super shocked. It's a good thing I decided to skip ordering the newborn sized diapers and went straight to the 2's.

This week I learned that one of the things I needed to get done at work isn't even going to happen until well after I am gone so I have just decided to let go of those issues and relax. As for project two, I led one big meeting today that laid the groundwork so if I for some reason decided to have a baby a week early, it would not be a terrible thing. And by not terrible I mean AWESOME. Really. SO. DONE. I can't wear any shoes other than flip flops because my feet are so grotesquely swollen, rolling over in bed requires a coordinated effort between me, Bruce and a lever and the kid is taking up so much space I can't even really take pleasure in eating anymore. Sleeping and eating are usually my two favorite things and now I have nothing left in this world to enjoy. Also, as my apartment fills with stacks of boxes, I keep whacking my stomach on them as I toddle around. As the box density grows, I am in very real danger of getting my fat ass wedged between a carton of bath towels and a monumental tower of packed up books.

Getting Ready

Christ on a cracker, I am having a baby sometime THIS MONTH. Out there somewhere are dairy products that expire after my uterus does. I am sort of getting things prepared around the apartment physically, finding clothes, gear and other stuff that we will need, but I am also working really hard to get Calder prepared. We keep having discussions about how we will both have to go away to the hospital for a while and then Daddy will come back and I will stay for a few days more with the baby. Bruce and I did ask Calder if he wanted to come to the hospital with us. I think it will be too scary but you never know, my kid is weird about body parts. We offered him the option to come with us and see the baby come out or stay home with Auntie Cary or his baby sitters. Calder opted for hanging out at home with Cary AND his sitters. Apparently he plans on throwing a party while mom and dad are out.

Calder has been confused about the mechanics of the whole baby thing for a while now. Like, he seems to think that shouting into my belly button is an effective means of communication with his sister. We haven't really done that much talking with him about how and why there is a baby in there. There just is and at some point a doctor will take it out at the hospital. The end. I think three is just a tad too young for a real sex talk. Calder will be OK being in the slightly murky dark for a little while longer. However, I am afraid this week's episode of Community may have confused him even more. SPOILER ALERT. The show featured a woman giving birth during an Anthropology final and in true TV fashion, contractions to water breaking to delivery took about 15 minutes. At least the newborn was appropriately gross coming out though he was graced with a perfectly puffed 'fro not two minutes after the cord being cut. Because of this, Calder seems to think that regardless of what I have been telling him, I won't be gone too long. He also seems to think that we will get the baby out by compressing on on my stomach and yelling, "PUSH! PUSH!" in a CPR/Lamaze hybrid.

Of course, depending on when this kid decides to go off, Calder may not have a choice about coming along for the ride. I would feel really bad making someone get out of bed at three in the morning to deal with Calder while Bruce and I took off. He gets pissed enough when I have left for work before he wakes up, I can't imagine what he'd be like if he found out if we were both gone to the hospital and we didn't tell him. Ideally I'd go into labor at work (no really, it's way close to the hospital), cab (???, still working on that) myself there and Bruce can make arrangements to have Calder watched, then meet me with my bag. This way, I can make sure I leave all the work stuff I need done under very specific instructions, I don't have to scare Calder if I am in pain and I get a chance to risk having a baby in a whole 'nother mode of transportation that would get me in the newspaper.

Oh, Calder

After soaking his shoes and being told that he can just take them off and go barefoot:

"I don't want bear feet. I want people feet!"