My wonderful mama has flown in from Virginia to stay for a weeks with us so she can help out with Isaiah. I never appreciated another set of hands around the house so much in my life. You'd think that between Nick and I, we'd have everything under control.
Shatter those expectations right now. There's no such thing as control when you're learning how to be a parent for the first time. Quite the opposite, you'll find that nearly everything is actually OUT OF CONTROL.
For example - let's take the bathroom.
Once the pride and joy of our house when we got a few things redone, but since Isaiah has come along, it has evolved into a banished and neglected corner on the second floor. It is in such dire need of a cleaning that even NICK said something about how we need to get control of that thing. By "thing," we're talking about the overdue scrubbing of the tub. Our BRAND NEW tub that we've neglected for months now.
Control is a funny illusion of life. We THINK we know what's around the corner because we anticipate problems, we logically hypothesize the risks and factors of every decision and, understandably, wait for the expected outcome.
Remember, though, that an illusion is something that appears to be real. It presents itself as something actual, something tangible, but it is, in fact, not.
It's like how I believe I have Isaiah's schedule in control and then, out of nowhere, he decides he's bored out of his mind and wiggles like crazy for an hour. He's fed, dry, and not tired. He's just wiggling. Wiggle, wiggle.
He wiggles out of his bouncer, he wiggles off the blanket on the floor, he wiggles out of my arms, he wiggles to the corner of the couch. And I think, "I can't control this boy."
Ah HA! Parenting lesson #827462 - NO CHILD IS UNDER OUR CONTROL, PARTICULARLY CHUBBY NEWBORNS.
And thus Nick and I feel out of control at times. We do our best to stay in routine, not make any plans and be nerdy 30-somethings with no lives outside our jobs and domestic responsibilities that include trips to Home Depot. We have learned that control is, quite frankly, laughable.
I thought I had control of nursing Isaiah and yet, still, every stinking week, something comes up. This week, for example, I developed a low grade fever on Sunday. My leg muscles were achy and my whole body was sore. I couldn't believe I was sick. Considering how neurotic I've been about washing and/or sanitizing my hands every time I touch an unsterilized door knob, I didn't think I'd catch any bug.
And as it turns out, I was dehydrated. I kept drinking waterbottles full of H20 and didn't have to pee at all. Miraculously (insert sarcasm there), the next morning my fever broke. I kept drinking and drinking and by the early afternoon, I felt as fine as a shiny new button.
How could I forget to increase my water intake? Nursing, working out, the weather is *just* beginning to warm up...hello? Water? More of it?
Before I admonished myself too harshly, Nick shared a story with me that made me feel oodles better...
The other night Nick woke up in the middle of the night because he heard Isaiah on the monitor. Nick thought Isaiah was just fussing around but he still got up to listen to the monitor more closely. He was alarmed, though, when he realized that Isaiah's breathing was making an irregular high pitched squeak, like he was having trouble breathing. As he started to move quickly toward the door, concerned that maybe Isaiah was sick or in a bad sleeping position, he noticed that the high pitched noise was moving with him, despite he was growing further and further away from the monitor.
"It was my own breathing," Nick told me. "It was my own freaking nose that was making those noises. I couldn't even distinguish my own self from a baby monitor."
Mhm. That's bad, babe, I thought.
So, you have a dehydrated and dizzy mom and a dad who can't hear his own nostrils.
Perfect.
Showing posts with label Pregnancy and Parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy and Parenting. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
The Irony
Writing, for me, serves many purposes. Not only is it my passion, my center, my lifelong dream and goal, writing is also cathartic. When I write, it always relieves something. It helps me share the good. It also helps me release the aggravation.
Today, I am writing for the latter.
It is my first taste in understanding how parents can simultaneously love their child and also want to run away to Bora Bora alone and get lost in the beauty of the ocean, away from screaming cries and milk stains and the smell of diapers and the sight of bad eczema.
Today Isaiah was a complete paradox. After sleeping through the night consistently for over a month (I know, I know - we're incredibly blessed and I shouldn't be complaining), he didn't last night. He WAH!ed and AIGH!ed for an hour while I tried everything to calm him down, but...to no avail.
He woke at 8am and was just as fussy. So I stripped him down to his diaper to look for any signs of...anything - rashes, bumps, bruises - signs of discomfort or hurt. Nada.
While he laid on our big bed squirming like a fish out of water with nothing but his diaper on, I couldn't help but laugh at how adorable he looked. His pure smooth skin (except his face where he has eczema, poor guy) and fat rolls...he looked like an enormous human cinnabon, just ready to be eaten. So I leaned over and teased him, calling him my favorite pumpkin and gave him a friendly zerbert on his stomach.
And thus came Isaiah's first laugh.
3 hearty, adorable chuckles erupted from his tiny little mouth and I squealed in delight.
That was the highlight of the day.
The rest of the day he was either fussing, crying, yelping, or sadfacing. I was at my wit's end and contemplated what Bora Bora looked like this time of year. I could hear it calling my name. Liiiiiisssssaaaaaa...LLLLLLLiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssaaaaaa
I was brought back to reality when Isaiah spit up on me for the fifth time.
It was a toss-up between me and his burp cloth for WORST SMELL IN THE LIVING ROOM. We both were covered in Isaiah's regurgitation.
Of course it had to be a night when Nick worked late until 9pm. He walked in to find me on the floor, lightly bouncing Isaiah in his bouncer while his eyelids drooped closer and closer to a close. My other hand was stuffing dinner in my face because I hadn't eaten in hours. Taking care of Isaiah required both hands all day. Food was secondary. By 9pm, I was so ravenous, I felt like I was going to eat a piece of old firewood laying in the fireplace. It looked like a hotdog at the time.
Luckily, I was able to scarf down dinner while Isaiah bounced around for a few minutes. Nick had barely entered the house when I announced that I needed to go upstairs and get my sanity back. "I'm going to take a shower. If you need me, I'm NOT available."
It's ironic that Isaiah's first laugh came today when I spent most of the day near tears with Bora Bora dreams. Nothing, not even the promise of spring in three weeks could alleviate the stress of a restless baby.
And so, I write.
Today, I am writing for the latter.
It is my first taste in understanding how parents can simultaneously love their child and also want to run away to Bora Bora alone and get lost in the beauty of the ocean, away from screaming cries and milk stains and the smell of diapers and the sight of bad eczema.
Today Isaiah was a complete paradox. After sleeping through the night consistently for over a month (I know, I know - we're incredibly blessed and I shouldn't be complaining), he didn't last night. He WAH!ed and AIGH!ed for an hour while I tried everything to calm him down, but...to no avail.
He woke at 8am and was just as fussy. So I stripped him down to his diaper to look for any signs of...anything - rashes, bumps, bruises - signs of discomfort or hurt. Nada.
While he laid on our big bed squirming like a fish out of water with nothing but his diaper on, I couldn't help but laugh at how adorable he looked. His pure smooth skin (except his face where he has eczema, poor guy) and fat rolls...he looked like an enormous human cinnabon, just ready to be eaten. So I leaned over and teased him, calling him my favorite pumpkin and gave him a friendly zerbert on his stomach.
And thus came Isaiah's first laugh.
3 hearty, adorable chuckles erupted from his tiny little mouth and I squealed in delight.
That was the highlight of the day.
The rest of the day he was either fussing, crying, yelping, or sadfacing. I was at my wit's end and contemplated what Bora Bora looked like this time of year. I could hear it calling my name. Liiiiiisssssaaaaaa...LLLLLLLiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssaaaaaa
I was brought back to reality when Isaiah spit up on me for the fifth time.
It was a toss-up between me and his burp cloth for WORST SMELL IN THE LIVING ROOM. We both were covered in Isaiah's regurgitation.
Of course it had to be a night when Nick worked late until 9pm. He walked in to find me on the floor, lightly bouncing Isaiah in his bouncer while his eyelids drooped closer and closer to a close. My other hand was stuffing dinner in my face because I hadn't eaten in hours. Taking care of Isaiah required both hands all day. Food was secondary. By 9pm, I was so ravenous, I felt like I was going to eat a piece of old firewood laying in the fireplace. It looked like a hotdog at the time.
Luckily, I was able to scarf down dinner while Isaiah bounced around for a few minutes. Nick had barely entered the house when I announced that I needed to go upstairs and get my sanity back. "I'm going to take a shower. If you need me, I'm NOT available."
It's ironic that Isaiah's first laugh came today when I spent most of the day near tears with Bora Bora dreams. Nothing, not even the promise of spring in three weeks could alleviate the stress of a restless baby.
And so, I write.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Isaiah and Love
I am listening to Isaiah gulp down his milk.
He is in the other room with Nick. The strains of the television are loud, but they still cannot drown out the long sighs and squirms and squeaks of our little one. As I write this, though I cannot see him, I know he is draining his bottle, staring at the intricate patterns of the ceiling, and kicking his legs into the air.
Isaiah is 9 weeks old. Nick and I can scarcely believe it. I cannot imagine the level of disbelief I will be in when he is 9 months, 9 years or 19 years old. Those days will come, but for now, I just watch and observe my big little guy, chasing the winter blues away - which are so common for Clevelanders - with his rainbow wide smile and fat rolls on his wrists and ankles.
My father recently commented that from the photos I have taken of him, it's obvious that Isaiah is the love of my life. And I couldn't agree more. He's the love of OUR lives - Nick and mine. Every little thing he does evokes a reaction from us that reminds me how I was when I was falling in love with Nick. All the tiny details of your beloved's existence seem to burn into your memory. Nothing seems as interesting or intriguing as what is happening in their world. Life seems more exciting when you know you are going to see this person and when you see their smile...ahhhh, it's like the world was just reborn, everything's new and beautiful again.
Isaiah has moved the furniture in our hearts and has promptly and decidedly plopped his round little bottom into the middle of it. He takes up every inch we have of energy and attention, laughter and frustration, sleep and concern. This is the transition of parenthood, I assume. You begin to learn to live outside yourself. Love of self still continues, obviously (and necessarily), but the center of well-being shifts. It's no longer contained in my life, it exists in this chubby 22 inch body who cannot do anything but need, cry, and wiggle. And somehow, incredibly, this person also delivers immeasurable joy.
Sweet Isaiah, these 9 weeks have been life-changing. Your father and I will never be able to adequately explain how nuts we are about you. I hope you know that you have introduced us to a new and deeper kind of love that we never knew before. Not only have you brought this love out of us for you, but it has also further deepened our love for one another.
He is in the other room with Nick. The strains of the television are loud, but they still cannot drown out the long sighs and squirms and squeaks of our little one. As I write this, though I cannot see him, I know he is draining his bottle, staring at the intricate patterns of the ceiling, and kicking his legs into the air.
Isaiah is 9 weeks old. Nick and I can scarcely believe it. I cannot imagine the level of disbelief I will be in when he is 9 months, 9 years or 19 years old. Those days will come, but for now, I just watch and observe my big little guy, chasing the winter blues away - which are so common for Clevelanders - with his rainbow wide smile and fat rolls on his wrists and ankles.
My father recently commented that from the photos I have taken of him, it's obvious that Isaiah is the love of my life. And I couldn't agree more. He's the love of OUR lives - Nick and mine. Every little thing he does evokes a reaction from us that reminds me how I was when I was falling in love with Nick. All the tiny details of your beloved's existence seem to burn into your memory. Nothing seems as interesting or intriguing as what is happening in their world. Life seems more exciting when you know you are going to see this person and when you see their smile...ahhhh, it's like the world was just reborn, everything's new and beautiful again.
Isaiah has moved the furniture in our hearts and has promptly and decidedly plopped his round little bottom into the middle of it. He takes up every inch we have of energy and attention, laughter and frustration, sleep and concern. This is the transition of parenthood, I assume. You begin to learn to live outside yourself. Love of self still continues, obviously (and necessarily), but the center of well-being shifts. It's no longer contained in my life, it exists in this chubby 22 inch body who cannot do anything but need, cry, and wiggle. And somehow, incredibly, this person also delivers immeasurable joy.
Sweet Isaiah, these 9 weeks have been life-changing. Your father and I will never be able to adequately explain how nuts we are about you. I hope you know that you have introduced us to a new and deeper kind of love that we never knew before. Not only have you brought this love out of us for you, but it has also further deepened our love for one another.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Who Doesn't Love a 4am Wake-up Call?
All the little things I never understood before about parenting, I am quickly beginning to understand now.
I used to look at parents of babies and wonder how in the world they can keep their head on their shoulders when a baby is crying like it's the end of the world Answer: you get used to it.
At parties or gatherings of any sort, how do mothers simultaneously socialize, balance a plate of food in one hand, baby on the other arm, and smile? Answer: women are capable of anything.
Reuseable diapers seem like a good idea. Answer: They're not.
Why do parents keep a million framed pictures of their babies? Isn't one enough? Answer: You can never have too many pictures of Baby.
How do people wake up in the middle of the night to take care of the endless needs of a child? Answer: Hormones and Love.
I do believe there must be some sort of hormonal explanation for my newfound ability to meet 3 or 4am head-on. Seriously, I was the type of person who could sleep through hurricanes and thunderbolts, loud music and alarm clocks. Give me a chair, bed, reclining anything and I will sleep. On land or on a plane, I even fell asleep while floating in a friend's backyard pool in highschool.
I used to boast my sleep agility stories like war vet stories. I've fallen asleep propped up against a wall in a dentist's office. In the back of a truck on a bumpy dirt road. On someone's shoulder in front of a campfire. IN FRONT OF AN AIRLINE CHECK-IN DESK THAT WAS REPEATEDLY CALLING MY NAME.
These instances are all true.
And now...
[le sigh...]
Now, one little meep or beep or squeak or tweek or gurgle or belch or cough or sniff or anything from my little one and my eyes are OPEN, head is rising off the pillow with one eye on the door the other enviously watching my dear spouse snore his life away into his pillow.
Isaiah has changed our lives. He's brought us unimaginable joy and the wonderful gift of big and small laughs. E.g. Thinking about how he'll probably be taller than me by the first grade or giggling over his tiny little toe peaking out from one of the sewn holes in a knit blanket.
There's no further proof of the power of a first baby than the altered sleeping patterns of a night owl like myself.
Nick has a belief that the older one gets, the more prominent the true self becomes. For the most part, I firmly agree with him. However, my "true" self might be put on hold until Isaiah is 18 and away at college. Or my "true" self is permanently changed to reveal a mother who used to need a sledgehammer to the gut to wake up and now wakes at the slightest wind passing through the nursery. My "true" self loved sleep, so much so that I'd sleep through historical moments (the 2000 presidential election result/debacle) or natural disasters (tornado like conditions). Alas, my "true" self has changed. And that's all due to my son.
Answer: I couldn't imagine it any other way.
I used to look at parents of babies and wonder how in the world they can keep their head on their shoulders when a baby is crying like it's the end of the world Answer: you get used to it.
At parties or gatherings of any sort, how do mothers simultaneously socialize, balance a plate of food in one hand, baby on the other arm, and smile? Answer: women are capable of anything.
Reuseable diapers seem like a good idea. Answer: They're not.
Why do parents keep a million framed pictures of their babies? Isn't one enough? Answer: You can never have too many pictures of Baby.
How do people wake up in the middle of the night to take care of the endless needs of a child? Answer: Hormones and Love.
I do believe there must be some sort of hormonal explanation for my newfound ability to meet 3 or 4am head-on. Seriously, I was the type of person who could sleep through hurricanes and thunderbolts, loud music and alarm clocks. Give me a chair, bed, reclining anything and I will sleep. On land or on a plane, I even fell asleep while floating in a friend's backyard pool in highschool.
I used to boast my sleep agility stories like war vet stories. I've fallen asleep propped up against a wall in a dentist's office. In the back of a truck on a bumpy dirt road. On someone's shoulder in front of a campfire. IN FRONT OF AN AIRLINE CHECK-IN DESK THAT WAS REPEATEDLY CALLING MY NAME.
These instances are all true.
And now...
[le sigh...]
Now, one little meep or beep or squeak or tweek or gurgle or belch or cough or sniff or anything from my little one and my eyes are OPEN, head is rising off the pillow with one eye on the door the other enviously watching my dear spouse snore his life away into his pillow.
Isaiah has changed our lives. He's brought us unimaginable joy and the wonderful gift of big and small laughs. E.g. Thinking about how he'll probably be taller than me by the first grade or giggling over his tiny little toe peaking out from one of the sewn holes in a knit blanket.
There's no further proof of the power of a first baby than the altered sleeping patterns of a night owl like myself.
Nick has a belief that the older one gets, the more prominent the true self becomes. For the most part, I firmly agree with him. However, my "true" self might be put on hold until Isaiah is 18 and away at college. Or my "true" self is permanently changed to reveal a mother who used to need a sledgehammer to the gut to wake up and now wakes at the slightest wind passing through the nursery. My "true" self loved sleep, so much so that I'd sleep through historical moments (the 2000 presidential election result/debacle) or natural disasters (tornado like conditions). Alas, my "true" self has changed. And that's all due to my son.
Answer: I couldn't imagine it any other way.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Growing
I forgot to mention that on Isaiah's last appointment, he got his Hepatitis B shot. Our awesome pediatrician, Dr. Cochran, grabbed one of his meaty thighs and stuck him with the syringe and pumped that stuff right into his little body. I watched his reaction.
Nothing at first and then the torture face appeared. Dr. Cochran promptly picked him and handed him to me. I wanted to wail out of pity for my sweet little pumpkin head but decided his tears were enough. I gathered him in my arms and he spit up all over me, old milk that was resting in his belly from breakfast and shot out of his mouth from being startled so suddenly.
After I secured him inside the folds of my arms, he quieted and I felt my first triumphant surge of motherhood. He stopped crying! I'm not only a milk machine to him, he is comforted by me. Well, I thought to myself, we do spend 19 out of 24 hours of the day together. The five hours are when I in the basement doing laundry, getting a shower, or sneak in a walk. All when Nick is available to watch him. With all that time together, he should be comforted by his Momma.
In other words, we're bonding.
Isaiah's smiles are increasing in frequency. Nick received his first dose of Isaiah's ray of sunshine yesterday. It's just adorable, simply adorable.
And if being covered in milk stains and learning quick diaper changing tricks isn't enough excitement already, I must re-announce that my new website is still underway. I've been working with my webdesigner for months. The project has taken so long because of my pregnancy. It's been a stop and go process, but we're nearing the end. Two weeks or so from now, it shall be ready and shortly after that it will be unveiled.
So, remember that Notes from Home Plate will still be up and available, but, likely, I will cease writing on this blog in the next month or so and will shift my writing to the new website which will feature many different forms of writing and other issues in which I have vested interest. But don't worry, you'll still have a healthy dose of Isaiah updates and my poking fun at Nick.
As January trickles to an end and the world turns pink and red for February, I am in awe of how quickly time passes. My sweet boy is almost 6 weeks old! And as he grows out of his newborn clothes as quickly as the transforming Hulk ripped through his human clothes, our hearts are growing with him as he gains every ounce and stretches another inch.
Isaiah, nothing compares to you. Nothing.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Show Me That Smile
The weeks are flying by and I can scarcely believe Isaiah is already a month old. A month? A whole month? I can't remember when time went so quickly. I have a feeling that it's going to be like that a lot and soon I will be saying things like, "I can't believe he's crawling," "I can't believe he's talking," "I can't believe he's on a tricycle..."
I better reverse this whole, "I can't believe..." because it's all going to unfold eventually and I want to be able to soak up and enjoy every minute of it.
Isaiah is sporadically sleeping through the night. Last night he slept from midnight to 7am, which is highly unusual for someone so young, but I've given up worrying so I'm not frazzled by it at all. He's getting chunkier every day (and cuter by the minute) and I have no worries about his weight gain either.
The most heart-melting moment this week happened yesterday. Isaiah and I had a long day together. We were cooped up in the house all day and he was just fussing for a few hours straight, not sleeping, constantly hungry, and bopping his head around like one of those bophead toys where the neck is a spring and the huge head swings in all directions. Finally, I fed him after having a long talk with him. Afterward, I looked down at his face. He was listening intently to my voice and, out of nowhere, gave me his first baby smile.
It wiped every irritated feeling out of my world and all I did was melt into his little face.
He smiled.
A real smile, not a muscle reflex or little side lip curl - it was his entire mouth widening into a big adorable upside down rainbow.
Suddenly, I wasn't worried about anything and all was sunny in the world. There were no earthquakes in Haiti, John Edwards wasn't a moron, it was the day before spring arrived, and a new batch of Rice Krispie Treats were waiting on the kitchen counter.
It was the quickest antidote to the world's problems that I have ever encountered.
The first smile, so gentle, so NEW from my firstborn son was beyond uplifting.
Nothing, not even a new episode of Grey's Anatomy, could hold my attention after that And with delivering his first smile, he promptly fell into a deep 7 hour sleep, as if trying to give me rest when he knows he deprived me of it throughout the day. And this morning, he woke like an angel, barely crying, just cooing and grunting and then feeding with no problems.
Ahh, my little cherub...If only everyone had a newborn to love who gave their first smiles everyday, I firmly believe we would end all wars, disease, and corruption. Yes, new life is that powerful.
I better reverse this whole, "I can't believe..." because it's all going to unfold eventually and I want to be able to soak up and enjoy every minute of it.
Isaiah is sporadically sleeping through the night. Last night he slept from midnight to 7am, which is highly unusual for someone so young, but I've given up worrying so I'm not frazzled by it at all. He's getting chunkier every day (and cuter by the minute) and I have no worries about his weight gain either.
The most heart-melting moment this week happened yesterday. Isaiah and I had a long day together. We were cooped up in the house all day and he was just fussing for a few hours straight, not sleeping, constantly hungry, and bopping his head around like one of those bophead toys where the neck is a spring and the huge head swings in all directions. Finally, I fed him after having a long talk with him. Afterward, I looked down at his face. He was listening intently to my voice and, out of nowhere, gave me his first baby smile.
It wiped every irritated feeling out of my world and all I did was melt into his little face.
He smiled.
A real smile, not a muscle reflex or little side lip curl - it was his entire mouth widening into a big adorable upside down rainbow.
Suddenly, I wasn't worried about anything and all was sunny in the world. There were no earthquakes in Haiti, John Edwards wasn't a moron, it was the day before spring arrived, and a new batch of Rice Krispie Treats were waiting on the kitchen counter.
It was the quickest antidote to the world's problems that I have ever encountered.
The first smile, so gentle, so NEW from my firstborn son was beyond uplifting.
Nothing, not even a new episode of Grey's Anatomy, could hold my attention after that And with delivering his first smile, he promptly fell into a deep 7 hour sleep, as if trying to give me rest when he knows he deprived me of it throughout the day. And this morning, he woke like an angel, barely crying, just cooing and grunting and then feeding with no problems.
Ahh, my little cherub...If only everyone had a newborn to love who gave their first smiles everyday, I firmly believe we would end all wars, disease, and corruption. Yes, new life is that powerful.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Pictures of Beginning Week 3
Beginning Week 3 of Life! He's getting so big already!
(No surprise there...)
(No surprise there...)
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Some Updates
Some bullet updates:
Saturday, January 2: Umbilical cord fell out while Nick was changing Isaiah! Hooray! Sponge baths are over. Hello glorious baths.
Sunday, January 3: St. Dominic's Sunday mass bulletin announced Isaiah's birth to the whole congregation.
Monday, January 4: Isaiah's 2 week doctor appointment went great. He was described as "mellow," with "great skin and color" and overall "looking fantastic!"
Tuesday, January 5: We solidified Isaiah's baptism date - Sunday, January 24! Bring on the Holy Spirit!
Wednesday, January 6: Um, ok - hard lesson. Isaiah doesn't like peanut butter, anything too greasy, or pizza. He fusses and gets a little skin irritation. Bad mom. Back to bland foods...
No more Wendy's...
Thursday, January 7: His first bath. Oh, you should have seen me and Nick climbing in and out of the tub, nervous as hell and as clumsy as a first graders. Also - first visitors tonight to watch the Alabama/Texas Nat'l Championship game. Uncle Brian and Christina are coming over. Thank goodness! My social exposure is just as bad as my sleep deprivation.
Also, I finally drove today for the first time in two and a half weeks! Ah, the open road! The FM pop music! Target! The grocery store! Strangers who don't know I just had a baby! No pregger belly that everyone tries to pat or stare at! It was invigorating!
Saturday, January 2: Umbilical cord fell out while Nick was changing Isaiah! Hooray! Sponge baths are over. Hello glorious baths.
Sunday, January 3: St. Dominic's Sunday mass bulletin announced Isaiah's birth to the whole congregation.
Monday, January 4: Isaiah's 2 week doctor appointment went great. He was described as "mellow," with "great skin and color" and overall "looking fantastic!"
Tuesday, January 5: We solidified Isaiah's baptism date - Sunday, January 24! Bring on the Holy Spirit!
Wednesday, January 6: Um, ok - hard lesson. Isaiah doesn't like peanut butter, anything too greasy, or pizza. He fusses and gets a little skin irritation. Bad mom. Back to bland foods...
No more Wendy's...
Thursday, January 7: His first bath. Oh, you should have seen me and Nick climbing in and out of the tub, nervous as hell and as clumsy as a first graders. Also - first visitors tonight to watch the Alabama/Texas Nat'l Championship game. Uncle Brian and Christina are coming over. Thank goodness! My social exposure is just as bad as my sleep deprivation.
Also, I finally drove today for the first time in two and a half weeks! Ah, the open road! The FM pop music! Target! The grocery store! Strangers who don't know I just had a baby! No pregger belly that everyone tries to pat or stare at! It was invigorating!
Monday, December 7, 2009
Let It Begin
There are no doubts in my mind that within a month or so, I will wonder what my old life was like. "Old life," meaning, a life without a child. I hear parents say this all the time. My brother, with four children of his own, laughs in my face when I say two words: I'm busy.
He argues, "Oh, Leese, you don't know what busy is until you have kids."
Mhph.
Well, perhaps it's just another level of busy-ness that I have yet to understand. I do know, however, from sage advice passed down from old and new parents alike, that I should embrace these last few weeks of quiet, down time, doing as I please, and sleep.
I'm trying, but, it's hard to appreciate what I've always had for about 30 years.
The weekends, though, are signs of what is to come.
Comparatively, my weekends have grown to be more domestic, more tasky, less flashy than my weekends of my twenties. A Saturday night in was usually a sign of a wild Friday night. Now, though, a Saturday night in is in order because my poor feet are swollen from walking around Giant Eagle from simple grocery shopping or following Nick around Home Depot while he picks up another space heater.
Not exactly a thrilling weekend, but somehow, it fits where we are right now.
I am beginning to believe that it's the simple pleasures of life that deliver the most refreshing joy. Particularly when you're pregnant, have a nasty cold, and can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.
Being at home, honestly, has forced me to actually DO things around the house I've been avoiding. Over this weekend, I FINALLY bought drapes that I actually like for our windows. Nick FINALLY installed our printer correctly which we've had for over a year. I FINALLY tried to make chocolate chip cookies for the first time in my life. And it's these little things, working together on our home and yelling at the TV when stupid Texas beat Nebraska that makes these new kinds of weekends comforting, relaxing, and enjoyable.
So, let it begin - the quiet, the domesticity, the diapers, the "busy-ness" that my brother alludes to. Let it begin.
He argues, "Oh, Leese, you don't know what busy is until you have kids."
Mhph.
Well, perhaps it's just another level of busy-ness that I have yet to understand. I do know, however, from sage advice passed down from old and new parents alike, that I should embrace these last few weeks of quiet, down time, doing as I please, and sleep.
I'm trying, but, it's hard to appreciate what I've always had for about 30 years.
The weekends, though, are signs of what is to come.
Comparatively, my weekends have grown to be more domestic, more tasky, less flashy than my weekends of my twenties. A Saturday night in was usually a sign of a wild Friday night. Now, though, a Saturday night in is in order because my poor feet are swollen from walking around Giant Eagle from simple grocery shopping or following Nick around Home Depot while he picks up another space heater.
Not exactly a thrilling weekend, but somehow, it fits where we are right now.
I am beginning to believe that it's the simple pleasures of life that deliver the most refreshing joy. Particularly when you're pregnant, have a nasty cold, and can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.
Being at home, honestly, has forced me to actually DO things around the house I've been avoiding. Over this weekend, I FINALLY bought drapes that I actually like for our windows. Nick FINALLY installed our printer correctly which we've had for over a year. I FINALLY tried to make chocolate chip cookies for the first time in my life. And it's these little things, working together on our home and yelling at the TV when stupid Texas beat Nebraska that makes these new kinds of weekends comforting, relaxing, and enjoyable.
So, let it begin - the quiet, the domesticity, the diapers, the "busy-ness" that my brother alludes to. Let it begin.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
The Last Weeks of Pregnancy
I wish there was some sensible and orderly manner to communicate the 9 billion things going through my brain as of late. It's not a frenzy of thought, it's just there are SO many things Nick and I are doing and trying to accomplish that it feels almost limiting to try and communicate even a handful of what those things are...Perhaps that's why blogging our lives in the month of November was such a struggle. There's almost too much to say and too little time and even less energy to try.
But, we're not quitters - I'm a determined blogger.
It's December and, likely, Isaiah's birthday month. Lately, our doctor appointments have been confirming what I have been guessing for the past several weeks: this kid's huge. Or, at least, he has huge limbs.
On our last appointment, his weight was in the 70th percentile of babies his age, but his head, dear Lord, HIS HEAD is what we need to be concerned about. His noggin is measuring in the 90th percentile.
Dude.
90th percentile.
Who even has a head that big?
(Nick kindly reminded me, when I asked him that question, that Isaiah's mom has a big head.)
So, Isaiah has Borchers feet and a Factora head.
I don't know whether to laugh or pray for him.
So, we just keep truckin' along, my doctor's appointments are now on a weekly schedule and we have another ultrasound next Thursday to take some more measurements, make some more decisions. Obviously, an enormous head and little bit of a bigger body may have some problems being birthed by a woman who is only 5'2.5 with a smaller pelvic region.
I knew I should have never married a tall German/Irish/Frenchman.
Sleep has slowly grown into a small nightmare. I am routinely up at least 3 times a night. If it's not a stuffed up nose (blame the estrogen that causes this syndrome in 30% of prego women), it's a really dry throat that leads to hacking my lungs out (blame our wonderful space heaters), or it's time to empty the bladder (that's just Isaiah pressing against all my organs), or it's that I am JUST UP, sniffing around the refrigerador for fresh pineapple and a gallon of water. Or, in the middle of the night, a nice bout of heartburn or acid reflux decides to pay a visit and I end up vomiting a portion of dinner. My mom told me she had the same exact issues in the last month of pregnancy as well.
My legs look like two stuffed pillows in pink boots. I have two new precious pimples on my face. My hands are either tingling, numb, or swollen - forcing me to painfully remove my wedding ring for the next few weeks. A caterpillar could officially beat me in a foot race and I cannot reach for anything to save my life. "Nick, can you grab that bowl on the third shelf for me?" "Nick, can you scratch my ankle?" "Nick, can you pick that sock up off the floor?" But the worst part, OH, the worst part has been THE ITCHY ABDOMEN.
I know that the skin is stretching, the colder air dries everything out, but the itching has been nothing short of maddening, simply maddening.
I bought three bottles of extra, intensive, for extra-dry skin lotion and will dump a very generous amount onto my hand. In one stroke across the universe that is my belly, the lotion has already been swallowed up.
Somedays I wonder if it just might be better to sleep in a tub of Curell lotion.
But all the little irritations and annoyances of these last few weeks cannot alter the simply AMAZING journey I have had in this pregnancy. I still have a little bit to go, but overall, it's been a low maintenance, high excitement 9 months that has left me and Isaiah healthy and happy.
Sure I'm now seeking cupcakes and chocolate like a dog looks for a bone, but to watch Isaiah roll around, pushing and prodding his way into this world makes me smile (or cry out of over emotion) and I just thank God for this wonderful gift of life that Nick and I have been blessed with.
Isaiah, my sweet little boy, we're ready.
But, we're not quitters - I'm a determined blogger.
It's December and, likely, Isaiah's birthday month. Lately, our doctor appointments have been confirming what I have been guessing for the past several weeks: this kid's huge. Or, at least, he has huge limbs.
On our last appointment, his weight was in the 70th percentile of babies his age, but his head, dear Lord, HIS HEAD is what we need to be concerned about. His noggin is measuring in the 90th percentile.
Dude.
90th percentile.
Who even has a head that big?
(Nick kindly reminded me, when I asked him that question, that Isaiah's mom has a big head.)
So, Isaiah has Borchers feet and a Factora head.
I don't know whether to laugh or pray for him.
So, we just keep truckin' along, my doctor's appointments are now on a weekly schedule and we have another ultrasound next Thursday to take some more measurements, make some more decisions. Obviously, an enormous head and little bit of a bigger body may have some problems being birthed by a woman who is only 5'2.5 with a smaller pelvic region.
I knew I should have never married a tall German/Irish/Frenchman.
Sleep has slowly grown into a small nightmare. I am routinely up at least 3 times a night. If it's not a stuffed up nose (blame the estrogen that causes this syndrome in 30% of prego women), it's a really dry throat that leads to hacking my lungs out (blame our wonderful space heaters), or it's time to empty the bladder (that's just Isaiah pressing against all my organs), or it's that I am JUST UP, sniffing around the refrigerador for fresh pineapple and a gallon of water. Or, in the middle of the night, a nice bout of heartburn or acid reflux decides to pay a visit and I end up vomiting a portion of dinner. My mom told me she had the same exact issues in the last month of pregnancy as well.
My legs look like two stuffed pillows in pink boots. I have two new precious pimples on my face. My hands are either tingling, numb, or swollen - forcing me to painfully remove my wedding ring for the next few weeks. A caterpillar could officially beat me in a foot race and I cannot reach for anything to save my life. "Nick, can you grab that bowl on the third shelf for me?" "Nick, can you scratch my ankle?" "Nick, can you pick that sock up off the floor?" But the worst part, OH, the worst part has been THE ITCHY ABDOMEN.
I know that the skin is stretching, the colder air dries everything out, but the itching has been nothing short of maddening, simply maddening.
I bought three bottles of extra, intensive, for extra-dry skin lotion and will dump a very generous amount onto my hand. In one stroke across the universe that is my belly, the lotion has already been swallowed up.
Somedays I wonder if it just might be better to sleep in a tub of Curell lotion.
But all the little irritations and annoyances of these last few weeks cannot alter the simply AMAZING journey I have had in this pregnancy. I still have a little bit to go, but overall, it's been a low maintenance, high excitement 9 months that has left me and Isaiah healthy and happy.
Sure I'm now seeking cupcakes and chocolate like a dog looks for a bone, but to watch Isaiah roll around, pushing and prodding his way into this world makes me smile (or cry out of over emotion) and I just thank God for this wonderful gift of life that Nick and I have been blessed with.
Isaiah, my sweet little boy, we're ready.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Crib Talk
Nick assembled the crib last night. Technically, I COULD say that WE assembled the crib last night, but he did the majority of thinking and attaching. I just stood there and held things up, lowered when he needed things lowered, and so on and so forth. Sometimes, I think that that job sucks even more than reading the instructions and doing the physical labor.
But, given that I can barely bend over to pick up a sock, I left the labor to the father-to-be.
Along with the bouncer, swing, play palace, and bringing in the bassinette, stroller, and car seat, Nick has been a MACHINE with getting things ready for Isaiah. As for me, I continue to poke my index finger into his shoulder blade at night and whisper, "Don't forget that we still need to ____, and ______, and buy ______, and pick-up ______, and figure out _____. Oh, and we still haven't decided how we're going to handle ______ or who's going to ______ ...
Nick's response is always the same: a very sleepy arm throws itself around my very large belly and he mutters, "Ok, babe, we'll take care of it this weekend."
And then he talks to his son, "Isaiah, take care of your mom. She's freaking out."
But, given that I can barely bend over to pick up a sock, I left the labor to the father-to-be.
Along with the bouncer, swing, play palace, and bringing in the bassinette, stroller, and car seat, Nick has been a MACHINE with getting things ready for Isaiah. As for me, I continue to poke my index finger into his shoulder blade at night and whisper, "Don't forget that we still need to ____, and ______, and buy ______, and pick-up ______, and figure out _____. Oh, and we still haven't decided how we're going to handle ______ or who's going to ______ ...
Nick's response is always the same: a very sleepy arm throws itself around my very large belly and he mutters, "Ok, babe, we'll take care of it this weekend."
And then he talks to his son, "Isaiah, take care of your mom. She's freaking out."
Monday, November 9, 2009
Barn-ilicious
A few months ago, Nick got a storage box from home. It was heading toward the trash and we salvaged it, thinking we could use it for Isaiah's things. Nick didn't tell me right away what the storage box looked like. He just said, "Just come see it."
It was a barn.
Oh.
Well, that's kinda cute, I guess.
We took it home and put some baby clothes in it, hand me downs from Isaiah's cousins who quickly outgrew of barely used some of the outfits.
I forgot about the barn the past few months.
Then, last night, Nick and I headed to a good-bye party for one of my co-workers who was moving to Boston with her husband and 7 month old son. It was a special party. You weren't allowed to bring gifts and you had to take a "treasure" with you. Meaning, the things they couldn't take to Boston were up for grabs. There were some pretty nice items including deck furniture, shelves, books, trinkets, frames, unused clothes and jewelry...I was busy sorting through the frames and ransacking the unopened spice bottles when Nick calls me across the room, "Leese! Do you think that's up for grabs?" He's pointing near my feet.
I look down and don't see anything.
"Where? Which one are you talking about?"
He points again, "That one!"
I look and see some sort of vintage, Fisher Price box that I thought was garbage.
Oh, this thing? I ask.
"Yes!" Nick was so excited, I honestly didn't know how to react to his excitement over this dirty box.
But it was no box.
It was a BARN.
He explains as his eyeballs roll over it, "We had one just like this when we were kids!"
Oh. Ok. So you want it, then?
YES.
So, we bring it home and I say that it's an interesting toy. The barn doors open to a Moooooooooooooooo sound. It came complete with animals and tools to play with.
As we are leaving, Nick gathers bags of treasures - books, spices, a baby swing, a frame, and countless little things I can cook with.
But he's most excited about the barn.
I wondered what was up with the barn theme. Then I heard him introduce himself to someone at the party, "I didn't grow up on a farm, but I'm definitely a farm boy."
Well, that explains it.
It was a barn.
Oh.
Well, that's kinda cute, I guess.
We took it home and put some baby clothes in it, hand me downs from Isaiah's cousins who quickly outgrew of barely used some of the outfits.
I forgot about the barn the past few months.
Then, last night, Nick and I headed to a good-bye party for one of my co-workers who was moving to Boston with her husband and 7 month old son. It was a special party. You weren't allowed to bring gifts and you had to take a "treasure" with you. Meaning, the things they couldn't take to Boston were up for grabs. There were some pretty nice items including deck furniture, shelves, books, trinkets, frames, unused clothes and jewelry...I was busy sorting through the frames and ransacking the unopened spice bottles when Nick calls me across the room, "Leese! Do you think that's up for grabs?" He's pointing near my feet.
I look down and don't see anything.
"Where? Which one are you talking about?"
He points again, "That one!"
I look and see some sort of vintage, Fisher Price box that I thought was garbage.
Oh, this thing? I ask.
"Yes!" Nick was so excited, I honestly didn't know how to react to his excitement over this dirty box.
But it was no box.
It was a BARN.
He explains as his eyeballs roll over it, "We had one just like this when we were kids!"
Oh. Ok. So you want it, then?
YES.
So, we bring it home and I say that it's an interesting toy. The barn doors open to a Moooooooooooooooo sound. It came complete with animals and tools to play with.
As we are leaving, Nick gathers bags of treasures - books, spices, a baby swing, a frame, and countless little things I can cook with.
But he's most excited about the barn.
I wondered what was up with the barn theme. Then I heard him introduce himself to someone at the party, "I didn't grow up on a farm, but I'm definitely a farm boy."
Well, that explains it.
Friday, October 30, 2009
The Shot Heard Around Shaker Heights
Yesterday was a normal day for most people. A typical fall day with Halloween costume chatting, and leaf raking commencing...a very normal day indeed.
And yet, a raging two month mental battle also ended yesterday with my wondering over whether or not to get the h1n1 shot.
I'm fairly knowledgeable about the issue. Research is one of my specialties and I spared no pamphlet or website when absorbing the pros and cons of vaccinations for pregnant women. Despite my insides telling me that regardless what I choose, I will likely be fine, my housemate seems to be a magnet for all local and national news reporting bad news about the swine flu. Steeped in worry, Nick passes the information along to me as if I need more momentum to swing me back and forth in my decision.
To get or not to get the h1n1 flu shot is risky. It's risky either way, I saw it, and in the end, seeing how slow my body was recovering from a simple, albeit nasty, cold and cough, convinced me that I probably should go ahead and get stuck by the needle.
So, after work yesterday Nick and I made plans to get to the middle school where they were administering round #2 of the vaccine. I imagined it was going to take hours, Nick disagreed. Of course I was right.
But before I took the shot in my arm, I felt like I had to confess something to Nick. A deep, dark secret welling inside me like a balloon. I looked up at him in the kitchen over chopping Bok Choy and green beans for dinner and announced,"I realized today I have been stalling to get the shot because I think if anything goes wrong with the vaccination and hurts Isaiah, I'm afraid I'm going to blame you for the rest of our lives."
There. I said it.
Nick had a confession as well. "Last week, when you were sick, all I kept thinking was that if you had the flu and something happened to Isaiah, I was going to blame you for not getting the shot for the rest of our lives, too."
Immediately, I brightened, "Really? We were ready to blame each other for the rest of our lives? This sounds demented, but I feel SO much better!"
We hugged.
Now that our confessions were confessed, we headed to the middle school and saw the lines wrapping around the building. It took several minutes to find parking and finally got in line. It felt something like a combination of the lines at Cedar Point, a huge pediatrician's office with a million kids running around, and a gigantic holiday sale where they haven't opened the doors yet and make you wait outside.
In other words, it was hell.
Immoveable and inflexible situations are prime time conversation periods for me and Nick. The possibilities were endless. We had hours to wait, so talked about numerous things:
Nick's Topics: the lack of efficiency when it came to setting up the lines (half the people were waiting outside when the whole middle school could have been utilized), his brainfart that he did not bring a heavier coat, how people were supposed to "prove" if you were on the priority list (pregnant people are kind of obvious, but healthcare workers? ), and other issues relating to orderliness and publicity.
I was fairly single-issue minded: WHY ISN'T THERE A SEPARATE LINE FOR PREGNANT WOMEN?
Seriously.
No chairs. Standing out in the chilly air with children running amok.
A thought occured to me and I shared it with Nick, "Do you think that it's slightly ironic and even more slightly idiotic that they make us stand outside in the cold with a bunch of screaming children with no heat or chairs so we can get vaccinated for the FLU?"
The women behind me had a stroller for her perfectly big 6 or 7 year old. She was not careful with the wheels and kept rolling over the back of my foot. I was feeling a bit snappy but bit my tongue countless times. After all, she'd be right behind me for God knows how long.
We make it inside only to wait another hour or so. A volunteer took pity on my very pregnant state and asked if I wanted a chair. I nodded gratefully.
So, Nick held my place in line while I sat for about 20 minutes, giving my back and feet a rest. Watching Nick, I just shook my head while he made friends in line - chatting with people in front and behind him - and even helping a stranger get their stroller down the stairs. What a good samaritan. All I kept thinking of was how much I wanted a Twix bar.
I got back in line with Nick and discovered he'd made his own h1n1 support group in line. Everyone was offering us advice on birthing, breastfeeding, sleeping, pain meds, and Hillcrest Hospital where we'd be deliverying Isaiah. It was nice to be talking, inside the building and shielded from the cold, but my energy had depleted and I just wanted to get it over with.
Surprisingly, Nick was able to get a shot as well, thanks to Isaiah's due date of 1.1.10, Nick qualified as a parent with a child less than 6 months.
Then came the time to decide whether to get nasal mist or the needle.
Another decision. Not my specialty.
The nasal mist is the activated vaccine. It has no mercury.
The needle is the inactivated vaccine with mercury to keep it germ free.
My only question was, "So where's the INACTIVATED vaccine with NO MERCURY?"
One of the volunteers replied, "They are just starting to make that now, but we have no idea if or when those will ever come to the Cleveland area."
Awesome.
So, loaded with all different kids of information pamphlets on brightly colored paper, we got in line - Nick in the nasal line, me in the needle line.
And within 3 minutes, it was over.
How can one seemingly simple decison be so complicated and anxiety-ridden?
As someone said to me, "Welcome to parenting."
And yet, a raging two month mental battle also ended yesterday with my wondering over whether or not to get the h1n1 shot.
I'm fairly knowledgeable about the issue. Research is one of my specialties and I spared no pamphlet or website when absorbing the pros and cons of vaccinations for pregnant women. Despite my insides telling me that regardless what I choose, I will likely be fine, my housemate seems to be a magnet for all local and national news reporting bad news about the swine flu. Steeped in worry, Nick passes the information along to me as if I need more momentum to swing me back and forth in my decision.
To get or not to get the h1n1 flu shot is risky. It's risky either way, I saw it, and in the end, seeing how slow my body was recovering from a simple, albeit nasty, cold and cough, convinced me that I probably should go ahead and get stuck by the needle.
So, after work yesterday Nick and I made plans to get to the middle school where they were administering round #2 of the vaccine. I imagined it was going to take hours, Nick disagreed. Of course I was right.
But before I took the shot in my arm, I felt like I had to confess something to Nick. A deep, dark secret welling inside me like a balloon. I looked up at him in the kitchen over chopping Bok Choy and green beans for dinner and announced,"I realized today I have been stalling to get the shot because I think if anything goes wrong with the vaccination and hurts Isaiah, I'm afraid I'm going to blame you for the rest of our lives."
There. I said it.
Nick had a confession as well. "Last week, when you were sick, all I kept thinking was that if you had the flu and something happened to Isaiah, I was going to blame you for not getting the shot for the rest of our lives, too."
Immediately, I brightened, "Really? We were ready to blame each other for the rest of our lives? This sounds demented, but I feel SO much better!"
We hugged.
Now that our confessions were confessed, we headed to the middle school and saw the lines wrapping around the building. It took several minutes to find parking and finally got in line. It felt something like a combination of the lines at Cedar Point, a huge pediatrician's office with a million kids running around, and a gigantic holiday sale where they haven't opened the doors yet and make you wait outside.
In other words, it was hell.
Immoveable and inflexible situations are prime time conversation periods for me and Nick. The possibilities were endless. We had hours to wait, so talked about numerous things:
Nick's Topics: the lack of efficiency when it came to setting up the lines (half the people were waiting outside when the whole middle school could have been utilized), his brainfart that he did not bring a heavier coat, how people were supposed to "prove" if you were on the priority list (pregnant people are kind of obvious, but healthcare workers? ), and other issues relating to orderliness and publicity.
I was fairly single-issue minded: WHY ISN'T THERE A SEPARATE LINE FOR PREGNANT WOMEN?
Seriously.
No chairs. Standing out in the chilly air with children running amok.
A thought occured to me and I shared it with Nick, "Do you think that it's slightly ironic and even more slightly idiotic that they make us stand outside in the cold with a bunch of screaming children with no heat or chairs so we can get vaccinated for the FLU?"
The women behind me had a stroller for her perfectly big 6 or 7 year old. She was not careful with the wheels and kept rolling over the back of my foot. I was feeling a bit snappy but bit my tongue countless times. After all, she'd be right behind me for God knows how long.
We make it inside only to wait another hour or so. A volunteer took pity on my very pregnant state and asked if I wanted a chair. I nodded gratefully.
So, Nick held my place in line while I sat for about 20 minutes, giving my back and feet a rest. Watching Nick, I just shook my head while he made friends in line - chatting with people in front and behind him - and even helping a stranger get their stroller down the stairs. What a good samaritan. All I kept thinking of was how much I wanted a Twix bar.
I got back in line with Nick and discovered he'd made his own h1n1 support group in line. Everyone was offering us advice on birthing, breastfeeding, sleeping, pain meds, and Hillcrest Hospital where we'd be deliverying Isaiah. It was nice to be talking, inside the building and shielded from the cold, but my energy had depleted and I just wanted to get it over with.
Surprisingly, Nick was able to get a shot as well, thanks to Isaiah's due date of 1.1.10, Nick qualified as a parent with a child less than 6 months.
Then came the time to decide whether to get nasal mist or the needle.
Another decision. Not my specialty.
The nasal mist is the activated vaccine. It has no mercury.
The needle is the inactivated vaccine with mercury to keep it germ free.
My only question was, "So where's the INACTIVATED vaccine with NO MERCURY?"
One of the volunteers replied, "They are just starting to make that now, but we have no idea if or when those will ever come to the Cleveland area."
Awesome.
So, loaded with all different kids of information pamphlets on brightly colored paper, we got in line - Nick in the nasal line, me in the needle line.
And within 3 minutes, it was over.
How can one seemingly simple decison be so complicated and anxiety-ridden?
As someone said to me, "Welcome to parenting."
Monday, October 26, 2009
Cleveland Tea Party
Have you heard that tea is our newest rage in the house?
It's true.
Warm drinks have always been high on my radar, especially this time of year. I drink coffee as a dessert, a special treat from time to time. I would probably drink it more if I did not have such drastic and noticeable effects from the caffeine.
When I drink coffee, if feels like there is a special vein that is activated in my body that filters out the milk, sugar, coffee bean, and whatever flavored syrup has been added, and sends the caffeine to my brain like an express train. Within minutes of a few gulps, my heart starts beating more quickly, my thoughts begin racing, and my mouth starts yapping at even FASTER levels than normal.
On road trips with Nick, pre-preggers state, Nick would watch the evolution first hand. First, I'd be quietly content watching the trees out the window and then we'd exit to get food and if I was tired, I'd get a nice small coffee. By the time we're on the ramp heading back on the highway, my head is bopping toward the car roof and I'm playing 20 questions, laughing, and talking a mile a minute.
So, it's natural for me to look for substitues now that cooler weather has arrived and I yearn for something warm to drink. I've always loved tea as well. It's better for you anyway.
So I began drinking herbal tea, non-caffeinated. Then I began hearing that herbal tea can be bad for you during pregnancy. I don't drink gallons of it, an occassional raspberry leaf treat in the evening is just enough to settle me in for the evening. Getting over this cold has been rough and tea smoothes the road just a bit more for me.
But you can imagine my surprise when Nick and venture to Giant Eagle to grab groceries for the week and while I am elbow deep in the produce section, notice he has wandered away. He normally does this when he remembers we need practical things like toilet paper, his Pert Plus shampoo stock is low, or wants more granola bars in the house. I was even more shocked when I found him in the tea section, peering closely at the labels and, after finally deciding on something, tosses it in the cart.
"I'm really getting into tea," he confides.
"I noticed. It's really good for you. I'm going to start drinking it more once I've popped our son out."
"I just realize that I feel like drinking it when I'm reading," he muses.
Nick has this, like, tendency to pick really amazing books to read. You know, some people choose New York Times best sellers or the latest from David Sedaris. No, Nick chooses Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. This book is something like 1300 pages long. Meanwhile, I am trying to balance reading my pregnancy books, online articles, links, research, and one fiction Wally Lamb book and then find my forehead falling backward because I fall asleep so easily these days. Pathetic.
Champion Nick is over halfway through Atlas Shrugged. And it was this book, apparently, where he heard his tea calling.
"Maybe we should get a tea kettle," I offered.
"I can't imagine they'd be that much," of course Nick thinks of the cost vs. benefit relationship.
"No, they're not expensive at all. And you can have a lot of hot water waiting for you in case you want another cup. You don't have to use the microwave or anything. It might be worth it." I, of course, get excited at any prospect to buy something for our kitchen, even if it's just a tea pot.
"Mhm, yeah. That's probably a good idea."
When Nick says "that's probably a good idea," that means his eyes turn from a yellow to a green light. It's the go ahead sign.
So, Nick has been experimenting with his new vice while I enviously sniff the fresh aroma from the next room. Last night he picked up the box and said, "I hope I'm going to look like this guy when I'm done drinking it." The tea box had an adorable and huge brown bear, tucked away in a couch by a fireplace, a red-striped frock for pjs and a matching hat. The tea was called SLEEPY BEAR.
I studied the picture, "I think this is what you're going to look like in about 50 years."
Nick hollered from the kitchen, "50 years? Try 15 minutes."
It's true.
Warm drinks have always been high on my radar, especially this time of year. I drink coffee as a dessert, a special treat from time to time. I would probably drink it more if I did not have such drastic and noticeable effects from the caffeine.
When I drink coffee, if feels like there is a special vein that is activated in my body that filters out the milk, sugar, coffee bean, and whatever flavored syrup has been added, and sends the caffeine to my brain like an express train. Within minutes of a few gulps, my heart starts beating more quickly, my thoughts begin racing, and my mouth starts yapping at even FASTER levels than normal.
On road trips with Nick, pre-preggers state, Nick would watch the evolution first hand. First, I'd be quietly content watching the trees out the window and then we'd exit to get food and if I was tired, I'd get a nice small coffee. By the time we're on the ramp heading back on the highway, my head is bopping toward the car roof and I'm playing 20 questions, laughing, and talking a mile a minute.
So, it's natural for me to look for substitues now that cooler weather has arrived and I yearn for something warm to drink. I've always loved tea as well. It's better for you anyway.
So I began drinking herbal tea, non-caffeinated. Then I began hearing that herbal tea can be bad for you during pregnancy. I don't drink gallons of it, an occassional raspberry leaf treat in the evening is just enough to settle me in for the evening. Getting over this cold has been rough and tea smoothes the road just a bit more for me.
But you can imagine my surprise when Nick and venture to Giant Eagle to grab groceries for the week and while I am elbow deep in the produce section, notice he has wandered away. He normally does this when he remembers we need practical things like toilet paper, his Pert Plus shampoo stock is low, or wants more granola bars in the house. I was even more shocked when I found him in the tea section, peering closely at the labels and, after finally deciding on something, tosses it in the cart.
"I'm really getting into tea," he confides.
"I noticed. It's really good for you. I'm going to start drinking it more once I've popped our son out."
"I just realize that I feel like drinking it when I'm reading," he muses.
Nick has this, like, tendency to pick really amazing books to read. You know, some people choose New York Times best sellers or the latest from David Sedaris. No, Nick chooses Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. This book is something like 1300 pages long. Meanwhile, I am trying to balance reading my pregnancy books, online articles, links, research, and one fiction Wally Lamb book and then find my forehead falling backward because I fall asleep so easily these days. Pathetic.
Champion Nick is over halfway through Atlas Shrugged. And it was this book, apparently, where he heard his tea calling.
"Maybe we should get a tea kettle," I offered.
"I can't imagine they'd be that much," of course Nick thinks of the cost vs. benefit relationship.
"No, they're not expensive at all. And you can have a lot of hot water waiting for you in case you want another cup. You don't have to use the microwave or anything. It might be worth it." I, of course, get excited at any prospect to buy something for our kitchen, even if it's just a tea pot.
"Mhm, yeah. That's probably a good idea."
When Nick says "that's probably a good idea," that means his eyes turn from a yellow to a green light. It's the go ahead sign.
So, Nick has been experimenting with his new vice while I enviously sniff the fresh aroma from the next room. Last night he picked up the box and said, "I hope I'm going to look like this guy when I'm done drinking it." The tea box had an adorable and huge brown bear, tucked away in a couch by a fireplace, a red-striped frock for pjs and a matching hat. The tea was called SLEEPY BEAR.
I studied the picture, "I think this is what you're going to look like in about 50 years."
Nick hollered from the kitchen, "50 years? Try 15 minutes."
Thursday, October 22, 2009
The New Schedule
Nick, Isaiah, and I have been bumped up on to the 2 weeks rotation for seeing our doctor.
This morning, Nick and I went to the doc, eager to see how Isaiah was doing and what her diagnosis would be for the bug in my system.
It seems like the regular common, nasty, horrible cold with accompanying cough. I'm supposed to watch my temperature in case this turns into anything that resembles the flu, but it's unlikely that that is what I have. My temperature was normal, my lungs sounded clear, and I have no runny nose. Apparently, those are the big three for causes of concern.
But, I'm to rest, rest, rest and drink drink drink liquids until I feel better.
Other interesting news to report is Isaiah F. Borchers is measuring a bit big for almost 30 weeks. Doc said we have to keep an eye on him and possibly take a look with an ultrasound later to see just how big he is getting.
If he is either too impatient or too big to wait until his 1.1.10 due date and possibly forsake his early fame of getting in the paper for being the first baby of 2010, either Nick or I are to blame. If it's impatience, blame the mother. If his limbs are just too sticking big and he's breech because his feet are like paddles, blame the father.
This morning, Nick and I went to the doc, eager to see how Isaiah was doing and what her diagnosis would be for the bug in my system.
It seems like the regular common, nasty, horrible cold with accompanying cough. I'm supposed to watch my temperature in case this turns into anything that resembles the flu, but it's unlikely that that is what I have. My temperature was normal, my lungs sounded clear, and I have no runny nose. Apparently, those are the big three for causes of concern.
But, I'm to rest, rest, rest and drink drink drink liquids until I feel better.
Other interesting news to report is Isaiah F. Borchers is measuring a bit big for almost 30 weeks. Doc said we have to keep an eye on him and possibly take a look with an ultrasound later to see just how big he is getting.
If he is either too impatient or too big to wait until his 1.1.10 due date and possibly forsake his early fame of getting in the paper for being the first baby of 2010, either Nick or I are to blame. If it's impatience, blame the mother. If his limbs are just too sticking big and he's breech because his feet are like paddles, blame the father.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Germaphobe
Kinda like how that little kid in The Sixth Sense said, "I see dead people," in that freaky whisper, confiding to Bruce Willis his longtime secret and hidden power, that's pretty much how I want to tell you
I see germs and bacteria.
Everywhere.
I'm becoming neurotic about washing my hands and walking 10 feet behind any living thing that I think looks pale, sounds raspy, or coughs into a shirt sleeve.
All this worrying is justified.
Yesterday, I woke up with a slight tickle in the back of my throat. By 11am, it had moved into a dry cough and irritating the hell out of me. (Coughing means I am constantly holding my belly and trying not to jostle Isaiah around as much.) By 6pm, scheduled to stay later for work, I sent an email to my boss explaining that my cough was getting worse, felt like my head was compressing, and felt a little warm on my forehead.
It could be a number of things. It could be a common cold. It could be the erratic change in climate (40-50s to high 60s in one day?). It could be the annual visit from the bronchitis family that loves to descend onto my lungs once the weather provides an easy transport. It could be the damn space heater in our bedroom that dries the room out. It could be that my office swings from sauna to freezer every other day. It could be that my hand sanitizer obsession is proving futile in the wake of GERM SEASON 2009. It could be something Nick brought home from hanging out with high school kids with youth ministry. (Yeah, I know - blame the spouse!) It could be...anything.
I don't know.
So, I do what most people do when they're in the limbo of sick and well -- commiserate on the couch and think of the worst possible situations while flipping between Dancing with the Stars and the ALCS between the Angels and Yanks.
The worst thing is I feel stripped of energy yet unable to sleep.
To make team Borchers/Factora-Borchers even more hapless these days, Nick's ear problems have returned with a vengeance. His ear is ringing, making his head feel like it's going to explode each night and thus scheduling an appointment with an ear doctor. It never ceases to infuriate me how LONG it takes for ear doctors to understand that Nick is in a lot of discomfort and needs to be seen NOW. Not now-ish, or next week, but NOW. As in yesterday; that kind of now.
But he scheduled it last week and still has to wait until Monday. Until then, I try not to talk as loud or as much (that's hard when I want to tell him all about my lungs and Isaiah's latest acrobatic stunts), but we're managing.
We're still keeping ourselves busy. Nick is caulking the outdoor windows and I'm registering us for a bunch of baby classes and tours of the facility where I'll be delivering. As thrilling as, "Baby Basics," and "A Night with the Anesthesiologist" classes sounds, we're not very exited over a jam packed November of classes and learning.
I keep thinking that people have become really effective and good parents by good ol' fashion living and learning. Why do we have to go to these classes?
"Because we don't know anything about anything," says Nick.
In the end, I concur, "It's probably a good idea to figure out how to use a car seat, I guess."
Monday, October 19, 2009
The View Going Downhill
The combination of being pregnant and growing older makes me more attached to being at home. More and more, I take restorative comfort in the familiar couch, the wooden frames of our dining room threshold, the little nooks and crannies that make home HOME.
No matter how exciting the roadtrip, no matter how great the people we are venturing off to see, no matter how climactic the event we attend, these days, the thought of leaving home means two things: it's going to be a long trip because we have to stop all the time for me to stretch or use the loo, and, if we're staying overnight, I will lose sleep and be even more tired the next day.
So, you can imagine how excited I was to get through this past weekend which marked the absolute last planned roadtrip for me. On Saturday, I headed to Columbus for a conference I was to present at and have been preparing for diligently for weeks (hence the few blog posts in October).
My plan was to head to the heart of the heartland on Friday when I get an odd text from my buddy Christy whose house I was to be staying at Friday night. In the text she informs me she is sick but I am still welcome to stay.
Clearly, she has not been informed that I am the lead consumer of Purell's hand sanitizer and the most informed citizen reading the CDC's website. (Center for Disease Control)
Sick?
How sick, I ask?
"...well, it's knocked me off my feet this week."
Christy, my childhood friend who was the first person I met when I moved to Ohio when I was 8 years old, was the lead point guard on our basketball teams. She was an athletic volleyball player and is a general knows no sickness kind of gal. For her to say she was knocked off her feet means for a pregnant, low immunity system waddler like myself these days, there was a 35% of my collapsing Saturday morning from her bug and a 100% chance of my getting SOME sort of viral infection.
It was a no brainer.
So, I had no place to stay in Columbus Friday night and ended up getting up at 5:15am Saturday morning (OOOOUUUUUCCCCCCCHHHHHH) and driving to Buckeyeland for the conference that started at 8am with registration. My presentation wasn't until 9:40am, but I wanted to get there early and test out my AV equipment and relax.
At 5:15am, I expected to crawl like a cavewoman out of bed, dreading the cold, and trying to leave Nick undisturbed. To my sweet surprise, Nick, the loyal cheerleader he is for all things I try to achieve, pops out of bed when the alarm sounds, turns on all the lights, and starts fist pumping. I was putting on my jewelry and make-up with the speed of a tortoise when he begins blasting Kanye West's, "Stronger," (my favorite pump me up song) and starts clapping like it's game day. I smile.
I make it to Columbus without any problems and my presentation on feminism, race, and politics in the Midwest goes beautifully. I receive countless compliments from professors from all over the country and even an invitation to submit my work into an academic journal. The raving strokes my very tired and dusty ego which hasn't been activated in a long time. Around 2pm, I duck out when I feel Isaiah happily kicking his excitement and my already low bank of energy begin to go into the red.
I head home to Cleveland.
Nick and I celebrate Saturday night with a dinner date at Anatolia Cafe, a mediterranean restaurant not far from our house and beam like stars at our table. It was wonderful but I was glad that the traveling piece was over. That night, I nearly drowned taking a extra bubbly bubble bath to relax because I nearly fell asleep in the warmth of our new tub. (I guess I'm not used to such luxuries.)
And so, here we are, approaching week 30 of pregnancy, and continuing our efforts to make room for Isaiah and prepare the nursery. As he gains momentum, weight, and strength with each passing week, my appetite and fatigue are skyrocketing. I believe I slept 11 hours straight Saturday night and still felt like I could use a nap in the afternoon. Knowing, though, that I have no plans for the rest of the pregnancy relaxes my body and mind.
Nick I agreed last night that each week of pregnancy feels like you're counting upward toward 40 weeks. 5 weeks. 10 weeks. 20 weeks. But once you hit 30 weeks, it suddenly feels like you're counting down. Very similar to New Year's Eve, we're just anxiously waiting for the Big Apple (Big Baby) to slowly drop and make his way into the world.
No matter how exciting the roadtrip, no matter how great the people we are venturing off to see, no matter how climactic the event we attend, these days, the thought of leaving home means two things: it's going to be a long trip because we have to stop all the time for me to stretch or use the loo, and, if we're staying overnight, I will lose sleep and be even more tired the next day.
So, you can imagine how excited I was to get through this past weekend which marked the absolute last planned roadtrip for me. On Saturday, I headed to Columbus for a conference I was to present at and have been preparing for diligently for weeks (hence the few blog posts in October).
My plan was to head to the heart of the heartland on Friday when I get an odd text from my buddy Christy whose house I was to be staying at Friday night. In the text she informs me she is sick but I am still welcome to stay.
Clearly, she has not been informed that I am the lead consumer of Purell's hand sanitizer and the most informed citizen reading the CDC's website. (Center for Disease Control)
Sick?
How sick, I ask?
"...well, it's knocked me off my feet this week."
Christy, my childhood friend who was the first person I met when I moved to Ohio when I was 8 years old, was the lead point guard on our basketball teams. She was an athletic volleyball player and is a general knows no sickness kind of gal. For her to say she was knocked off her feet means for a pregnant, low immunity system waddler like myself these days, there was a 35% of my collapsing Saturday morning from her bug and a 100% chance of my getting SOME sort of viral infection.
It was a no brainer.
So, I had no place to stay in Columbus Friday night and ended up getting up at 5:15am Saturday morning (OOOOUUUUUCCCCCCCHHHHHH) and driving to Buckeyeland for the conference that started at 8am with registration. My presentation wasn't until 9:40am, but I wanted to get there early and test out my AV equipment and relax.
At 5:15am, I expected to crawl like a cavewoman out of bed, dreading the cold, and trying to leave Nick undisturbed. To my sweet surprise, Nick, the loyal cheerleader he is for all things I try to achieve, pops out of bed when the alarm sounds, turns on all the lights, and starts fist pumping. I was putting on my jewelry and make-up with the speed of a tortoise when he begins blasting Kanye West's, "Stronger," (my favorite pump me up song) and starts clapping like it's game day. I smile.
I make it to Columbus without any problems and my presentation on feminism, race, and politics in the Midwest goes beautifully. I receive countless compliments from professors from all over the country and even an invitation to submit my work into an academic journal. The raving strokes my very tired and dusty ego which hasn't been activated in a long time. Around 2pm, I duck out when I feel Isaiah happily kicking his excitement and my already low bank of energy begin to go into the red.
I head home to Cleveland.
Nick and I celebrate Saturday night with a dinner date at Anatolia Cafe, a mediterranean restaurant not far from our house and beam like stars at our table. It was wonderful but I was glad that the traveling piece was over. That night, I nearly drowned taking a extra bubbly bubble bath to relax because I nearly fell asleep in the warmth of our new tub. (I guess I'm not used to such luxuries.)
And so, here we are, approaching week 30 of pregnancy, and continuing our efforts to make room for Isaiah and prepare the nursery. As he gains momentum, weight, and strength with each passing week, my appetite and fatigue are skyrocketing. I believe I slept 11 hours straight Saturday night and still felt like I could use a nap in the afternoon. Knowing, though, that I have no plans for the rest of the pregnancy relaxes my body and mind.
Nick I agreed last night that each week of pregnancy feels like you're counting upward toward 40 weeks. 5 weeks. 10 weeks. 20 weeks. But once you hit 30 weeks, it suddenly feels like you're counting down. Very similar to New Year's Eve, we're just anxiously waiting for the Big Apple (Big Baby) to slowly drop and make his way into the world.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Last Trimester and Life Insurance
It's Friday and I can't emphasize enough how grateful I am to the calendar for making another Friday appear so quickly. Lately, I have been fighting droopy eyes and the deep urge to crawl into anything that resembles a chair and let my head rest and fall asleep.
Nick can attest that the passenger seat in our car has seen many hours of my dozing off like I'm a baby and the Accord is my crib.
As the third trimester begins, I can hear the trumpets blaring in the sky and the archangels singing that THE END IS NEAR! The final months of bun-in-the-oven are coming to a close.
But --
not so fast.
It's still a little over 2.5 months away. That's still a lot of pregnancy left in my life.
So I find myself making lists of what needs to get done and, believe it or not, have no problems with Christmas and the holidays coming early this year. YES. Christmas. It's already on my mind.
Why?
Because up the street there was a case of swine flu. And small little outbreaks of it are surfacing here in Shaker Heights, making me more nervous than Nick feels before the Michigan game. And while I'm probably going to end up getting the vaccine, I'm not completely confident that pumping a small dose of God only knows what into my body, permeating the environment of Isaiah's little world, is 100% safe. But, going out into crowds is not 100% safe either.
As much as I love ambling around commerical stores in November and December - elbowing small children in my haste to grab the last toy for my nephews or peering for hours into holiday decorated windows at the mall - I don't think it's that safe for me to be around local crowds. Not when the swine flu is suspiciously active in this area. I considered buying a medical mask and drawing little holiday berries and holly on it, Nick adamantly said NO.
So, I'm looking for Christmas to come early for me this year. As in, I'm going to start shopping right after Halloween. Yes, I am that person this year.
I don't care what people think. If you were beginning to waddle around, keep one hand on your belly, and just getting in and around the Giant Eagle was beginning to make you a wee bit tired, you'd want to be ahead of the holidays this year as well.
Plus, the percentage of clothes that fit me is dwindling. I think I'm down to 20% of my wardrobe is wearable, decent, and public safe. By November, I don't know if I'll have any clothes left that will fit me. I don't want to look like a eggroll, tightly wrapped in clothes that won't let me breathe. I seem to have forgotten what it feels like to actually zip something up, or wear anything that is not bandy, elastic, or blows like a flag with the fall wind. There are days where I feel like a cow wrapped in huge poncho.
Other news...
Nick and I met with an insurance guy yesterday. We now have life insurance. There was something about that meeting that was midly depressing. It's not like the idea of dying brings me comfort or the thought of being a widow makes me jump for joy. I was quiet, signed at all the x's and then shook Mr. Insurance's hand. After he left, I looked at Nick who was as happy as a clam because L-O-V-E-S getting things done and crossing one more thing off of his TO DO list. He was humming and yelled over his shoulder, "Now we can die!"
Awesome, I replied morosely.
I hate when he says things like that. Must he always look on the bright side of everything?
Nick can attest that the passenger seat in our car has seen many hours of my dozing off like I'm a baby and the Accord is my crib.
As the third trimester begins, I can hear the trumpets blaring in the sky and the archangels singing that THE END IS NEAR! The final months of bun-in-the-oven are coming to a close.
But --
not so fast.
It's still a little over 2.5 months away. That's still a lot of pregnancy left in my life.
So I find myself making lists of what needs to get done and, believe it or not, have no problems with Christmas and the holidays coming early this year. YES. Christmas. It's already on my mind.
Why?
Because up the street there was a case of swine flu. And small little outbreaks of it are surfacing here in Shaker Heights, making me more nervous than Nick feels before the Michigan game. And while I'm probably going to end up getting the vaccine, I'm not completely confident that pumping a small dose of God only knows what into my body, permeating the environment of Isaiah's little world, is 100% safe. But, going out into crowds is not 100% safe either.
As much as I love ambling around commerical stores in November and December - elbowing small children in my haste to grab the last toy for my nephews or peering for hours into holiday decorated windows at the mall - I don't think it's that safe for me to be around local crowds. Not when the swine flu is suspiciously active in this area. I considered buying a medical mask and drawing little holiday berries and holly on it, Nick adamantly said NO.
So, I'm looking for Christmas to come early for me this year. As in, I'm going to start shopping right after Halloween. Yes, I am that person this year.
I don't care what people think. If you were beginning to waddle around, keep one hand on your belly, and just getting in and around the Giant Eagle was beginning to make you a wee bit tired, you'd want to be ahead of the holidays this year as well.
Plus, the percentage of clothes that fit me is dwindling. I think I'm down to 20% of my wardrobe is wearable, decent, and public safe. By November, I don't know if I'll have any clothes left that will fit me. I don't want to look like a eggroll, tightly wrapped in clothes that won't let me breathe. I seem to have forgotten what it feels like to actually zip something up, or wear anything that is not bandy, elastic, or blows like a flag with the fall wind. There are days where I feel like a cow wrapped in huge poncho.
Other news...
Nick and I met with an insurance guy yesterday. We now have life insurance. There was something about that meeting that was midly depressing. It's not like the idea of dying brings me comfort or the thought of being a widow makes me jump for joy. I was quiet, signed at all the x's and then shook Mr. Insurance's hand. After he left, I looked at Nick who was as happy as a clam because L-O-V-E-S getting things done and crossing one more thing off of his TO DO list. He was humming and yelled over his shoulder, "Now we can die!"
Awesome, I replied morosely.
I hate when he says things like that. Must he always look on the bright side of everything?
Monday, October 5, 2009
October Showers
The beginning of October marks the beginning of the third trimester and baby showers. This weekend was one big fiesta in Cleveland that took care of all the requests from my family, our friends and co-workers in Cleveland, and old friends who live or have easy access to NE Ohio.
Welcoming Isaiah was no small task. My sister and Mom took the reins for this event and deleted the word "simple" from the vocabulary. For days, they cooked, shopped, and brainstormed on the best way to welcome Isaiah.
The guest list knew few regrets and I was delightfully surprised at how many folks turned up -- nearly 50 friends and family!
It was kinda huge.
Like Isaiah's feet measurements.
Nick's family, minus Kelly and Tim, all came Saturday and stayed at the house. My dear friend, Claire Mugavin, drove 6 hours from Louisville, KY Friday night. One of my best friends, Tricia, flew in from California for a Saturday wedding in Columbus and then drove up Sunday as well. And that's just a few traveling stories. My parents came in from Virginia and many made roadtrips from Columbus and Youngstown.
Nick and I were in awe, once again, of how many people showed up to support us and celebrate this new chapter in our lives. It's really hard to describe when I'm overwhelmed like that. I just smile a lot and don't know what to say. Everyone is just so generous and positive. Bringing new life in the world really brings out the best in people.
So many people pulled together to make this fiesta possible and we could not even BEGIN to articulate how grateful we are to our families for being there for us and for our friends who see us through everything.
To add icing on the cake, the rain held off and cooperated so we could have seating outside! (Thank God! At one point, I almost considered opening up the bedrooms so people had a place to eat.) It was beautiful.
There are numerous pics that I'm sifting through, but the two above are some of my favorites. The one picture of me is with three of my oldest friends who I've known for over 20 years. I grew up with them and they somehow manage to always rally around me whenever a huge transition is taking place in life. I was so happy they were there. (L to R -- Christy, me, Tricia, and Jen)
And, of course, the love of my life, opening the biggest present. Only appropriate that Big Daddy himself would open the big gift for his son.
It was an awesome weekend!
Next weekend we get to do it all over again in the ROOOOOOOSHHHHH! (aka Russia, Ohio) with Nick's side of the family. So excited for the fiestas to continue!
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