Saturday night spit-up

I have been a parent for eighty days and during those eighty days I have spent about eighty minutes away from Evelyn. I exaggerate of course, but not too much. Since I’ve been a parent I’ve been to one movie and have gone out to dinner one time, that’s two nights out in two and a half months. Before Evelyn was born, Jay and I either had people over or went out just about every Friday and Saturday night, and even sometimes on Thursdays or Sundays too. 

When I was pregnant, Jay and I would talk about how hard it was going to be to stay in so much; neither of us are homebodies, we’re both quite the opposite. We talked about how we were going to miss going to the movies once a week and how it was going to be hard to not be able to hang out with our friends every weekend. We knew we weren’t going to be able to do these things so often anymore, not only because we had to physically care for the baby, but because we would have to start saving more money as well.

Luckily, we’ve always been smart about our finances, so we knew that change wouldn’t be too difficult. What we didn’t expect was that it would be so easy to stay home so much. Why spend ten dollars or more on a movie ticket when you can entertain your very own baby so she smiles at you? Why go to a bar or club and small that hairy guy’s body odor all night when you can smell the sweet smell of your baby’s neck? Why go out and end up having to take care of your drunk friend when you can take care of the Most Adorable Baby in the World? Why clean up that drunk person’s throw up when you can instead clean your baby’s spit up?

 

I think some of our friends have this misconception about being a parent because we’re so young. I think some of them feel bad for us because we don’t have certain freedoms anymore, and it bothers me a lot. I hate that some of them think of  my daughter as a cute little burden. My daughter is the greatest thing in my life, no amount of missed nights out could change that. I’m sure as she gets older it will be a lot easier for me to leave her, but right now I’m perfectly content with going another eighty days with two nights out. 

The world’s most effective diet

I weigh three pounds less than I did at my first doctor’s visit. At that point I had morning sickness, so I probably hadn’t gained any weight yet. Evelyn will be eleven weeks old tomorrow, and eleven weeks ago I weighed thirty-two more pounds than I do now. So, basically I’ve lost thirty-two pounds in eleven weeks. This wouldn’t be as miraculous to me if it hadn’t been for the fact that I have never eaten more food IN MY LIFE than I have eaten in the last eleven weeks. 

Back when I was a human incubator, I was told that I wasn’t eating for two, that I only really needed to eat three hundred more calories per day than I usually did. I remember being scolded at one of my doctors appointments for gaining an extra pound than I should have since my last visit. If you’re smarter than a second grader, you probably figured out that I gained twenty-nine pounds during my pregnancy. I was pretty good at following the doctor’s orders, I gained one pound less than what she recommended, and that was on a pretty good diet, but that was probably because I didn’t really have a ton of cravings during my pregnancy, I mostly craved foods that cooled me down because of the obscene heat. I would not recommend getting pregnant at this time of year unless you’re willing to eat tons of popsicles, I mean enough popsicles to recreate your 3,000 square foot home with popsicle sticks. Having said that, I do think the weather made my belly a better habitat for a growing fetus because it produced The Most Adorable Baby in the World. 

exibit A: 

exibit B:

Anyway, I credit this weight loss to the sustaining of a human life with the contents of my boobs. I eat about as much as Tolkien’s hobbits, yet I’ve lost all of my pregnancy weight because now I AM eating for two. So, if you want to lose weight while eating anything you want, get pregnant, gain thirty pounds, give birth then feed that baby with your boobs. I swear it works. Side effects include sleep deprivation, poopy diapers, and responsibility for the life of a child for the next eighteen plus years.

Resolutions

I’ve never really had New Years resolutions so this year I figured, since I’m a parent now, I should take every chance I can to have a go at bettering myself. So, I came up with three. I tried to make them simple and not too overwhelming so that I can actually follow them:

1. Eat healthier.

I used to only eat foods that were organic or at least all natural. I was very good at always eating the healthiest thing available to me. I felt and looked great, had tons of energy, was rarely sick, and even though I avoided a lot of foods, I never really felt deprived. Then, working two jobs and going to school got the best of me and I fell off the healthy wagon. I still haven’t had McDonalds since I was fifteen, but the stress and sugar got to me. I was always tired, felt sick more often, and even gained a few. When I found out I was pregnant, I went back to my old healthy habits, but I cheat more often than I ever did before. Candy has been my weakness, so my goal is to kick the sugar and get back on the wagon.  We want to set a good example for Evelyn, so Jay is doing this one with me.

2. Curse less.

Jay is doing this one with me too. I pretty sure someone would report us to social services if Evelyn’s first word was “shit” or worse, “fuck.” We don’t curse like sailors or anything, we just want to decrease our level of profanity so that she doesn’t pull a Meet the Faulkers on us.

3. Blog more consistently.

I’ve been uncharacteristically flakey about this blog so I want to change that. I think it’s great therapy for me and I’m pretty sure I’ll be glad I did it as Evelyn grows. Also, if I do follow though with this resolution, we can find out if I really follow through with the other two throughout the year.

 

Inspiration to never work at a children’s photo studio

We’ve been trying to get a good picture of Elijah and Evelyn together to frame as one gift to my parents for Christmas, but a 22-month-old and a 2-month-old are exactly the most photogenic pair. This picture was like two hours and 400 attempts in the making. We take them to see Santa tomorrow night, can’t wait.

Here are some of the others we got: It’s a good thing we got them the GPS too, these look like they were taken at the most run-down studio ever, so much for the last-minute gift of sentiment.

There’s still hope for our possible future children

I was watching football yesterday morning when the sound of Jay yelling “MIAAAAAA, MIA HURRY!” caused me to HAUL ASS to our room where he was cleaning up one of Evelyn’s poopy monstrosities. I immediately had to resist the urge to kick Jay in the crotchal region when I saw the smile on his face. You don’t yell like that when you have a month old baby, especially when you know the baby’s mother has convulsions whenever she thinks something might be wrong with said baby. 

Anyway, the reason yelled in such an inconsiderate manner was because of the sheer joy he had that Evelyn laughed at him. Yes, our baby laughs now. She was literally laughing at him as he made faces at her and played with her cheeks.  Have I ever mentioned that I have THE MOST ADORABLE BABY IN THE WORLD? I’m glad I resisted my urge to kick Jay in he nuts, because I’m sure that would have hindered our chances for subsequent children and therefore surely eliminate any future first laughs.

Paging Doc Brown and his DeLorean

Just when I thought I was getting a handle on how her cuteness distracts me and give me butterflies, Evelyn smiled at me today. I was talking to her like I always do, and she looked right at me and smiled. It was the greatest feeling in the world. She kept at it for a good couple of seconds, and she even did it again a few times before she stuck out her bottom lip, signaling me to cut it out and whip out my boobie already. 

It’s amazing how something so simple can make you feel so good. I think I had better look into the possibility of investing in a time machine, because I’m pretty sure that whatever life throws at me, seeing her tiny face smile at me like that will make it better in an instant.

My little Obama baby

 

Jay went back to work Monday, and ever since I’ve been praying for the weekend so that we could return to tag teaming Evelyn. She’s a good baby, she doesn’t cry much, but she does keep me busy. This is what I’ve discovered about parenting a newborn so far:

1. You better get that diaper on fast if you don’t want to have a poopy mess on your hands: SHE WILL POOP, DIAPER PRESENT OR NOT.
2. Just because you just changed her, doesn’t mean she’s not going to poop two minutes later.
3. Evelyn has the ability to sense when you’re sitting down that rivals the world’s most superior altimeters, so you better not even bend your knees if you don’t want to sound the alarm.
4. Your hygiene is your barometer to how well your day alone with baby went. Get used to showering when Jay comes home.
5. Sometimes the baby book just isn’t enough reassurance, it’s okay to google everything.
6. Breastfeeding does eventually feel less like a pack of starving wolfs are vying for your nourishment.
7. Can you’re boobs get any bigger? Yes they can. Can you control your bladder long enough to get her to sleep? Yes you can. Can Jay and I survive through any more sleep deprivation? Yes we can.

Bliss in the face of utter discomfort

I never knew that I could be so satisfied with sitting and watching another human being for hours at a time. Jay and I have been holed up in our room all week gazing at our little offspring.

ME: How did this come out of my vagina?

JAY: It’s wasn’t pretty, believe me.

ME: (considering adoption because this last statement tells me the possibility of conceiving another biological wonder has gone the way of the dinosaur for us)

JAY: But I’d do it again anytime.

ME: Me too.

I say this while trying not to think of the ten thousand stitches located down there, the obscene amount of bleeding, the horrendous cramps, and the terrible fatigue.

I went into labor fully expecting it to be most unbearable experience of my life, and despite the fact that it was drawn-out so much that I considered suing the nurse who put the medication that slowed down the labor process, it wasn’t as bad as I expected. Every one tells you horror stories about giving birth, so you’re prepared for that, what you’re not prepared for is what happens after a baby emerges from your body

Another thing I don’t think you’re ever really prepared for is how much you can love. I never knew I could love anything so intensely or so achingly. I’m not at all ashamed that I spend several hours a day just listening to her breathe, I can’t stop playing with her tiny hands, and my heart palpitates every time she even glances my way, coos, whimpers, smirks, or even passes gas. My life before seven days ago feels like it happened ages ago, and I’m in serious danger of forgetting it altogether if she continues to be this amazing. 

Thankful

I forgot to mention how thankful I am to have my mother. She came with us to the hospital at midnight and didn’t leave my side for more than five minutes for the next 24 hours, she made sure Jay got what rest he could with that high of an anxiety level, she got me ice even before I asked, and she held my hand when I needed it. She was there for me in every way I needed her to be.

I want to mention also how wonderful Jay was. I think it must be strange to watch your significant other giving birth to your baby. He was anxious in ways I’ve never seen in him before. It’s the most bizarre, yet wonderful experience, to go through together. He, like my mother, was there for me when I needed him to be. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have a man that will look at me the way he did when I was in such a state, especially when about 30 seconds before he looked like he was going to blow chunks.

I’m also thankful for my iPod, music kept me from teetering over the edge a number of times. I’m thankful that my mother and Jay get along so well, their banter kept me distracted when my iPod couldn’t. I’m thankful for football on Sundays, it gave me something to concentrate on and on occasion, an excuse to let out a slight yell. Lastly, I’m thankful for the night nurse at my birthing center, she was an amazing person, and a strong commodity in my support system for those long hours.

 

My boobs sustain a life once again

I survived. I survived another one of the most physically uncomfortable experiences of my life (all but one have occurred within the last month or so).

My boobs were the size of melons yesterday, and I don’t mean the cantelope and honeydew variety, I mean they were the size of watermelons. What made it worse was that Evelyn refused to eat from my either of the nuclear reactors lodged on my chest. At the hospital she was eating fine, all the nurse even commented on how well she was taking to it, but yesterday she refused and looked up at me with an expression that said, “What, are you trying to kill me with these things?” 

Even before I was pregnant I had decided that  I would breastfeed my children excursively for as long as I could, so what made the pain worse was the feeling that my baby didn’t want all that I had to offer, especially when I had so much to offer, but I couldn’t blame her, my boobs were each three times the size of her head by this point, and that’s bound to be intimidating for anyone, let alone someone who’s only seen 72 hours of life.

Our plan of action was to take the doctor’s advice and to supplement her with formula until she would eat from my gigantic bosoms or whatever I pumped out of them. I tried using the manual single pump we had received at the baby shower, but it didn’t seem to be working, so Jay rushed to the store to buy a double electric pump before my chest exploded. In the meantime, I tried massaging my boobs, putting warm cloths on them, even taking a warm shower, nothing I did caused the pain to subside even the smallest amount.

I wanted to kiss Jay when he returned with the tool that would save my life. Or so  I thought. I was taking the pump we had purchased out  of it’s packaging, I noticed something that must have put a look on my face similar to Evelyn’s Lip Pout: I held in my hands a used pump. How did I know this pump was used? It had a few drops of someone else’s milk in one of the bottles. My disgust was only surpassed my the continuing agony of the size and tenderness of my boobs, it was so bad, my bra felt like barbed wire was wrapped around my chest.

When you buy a breast pump, it has a sticker on the label that dictates something about the pump not being returnable once the seal was broken, so I was worried that the store wouldn’t take it back, and angry that they had accepted it back once before. I wanted to go with Jay and raise hell. What stopped me was imaging myself walking in there looking like I had stuffed to basketballs where my tits should be. 

So once again I waited for Jay to return with the overpriced pump. When he came back I inspected the machine and couldn’t wash the thing quick enough. Once I got to pumping I was so relieved I almost sang a song of sweet relief. Jay and I fed Evelyn with the expressed milk for the rest of the day. 

 I was praying through my sleepless night that the engorgment would subside and she would take to my boobies once again. This morning before I tried to feed her I explained to her the importance of the task before her, I told her that the bond between mother and child facilitated by breastfeeding was important to me, so could she please do me this big one and eat from the contents of my breasts?  She looked at me and gave me a little grunt, and when she latched on to my boob seconds later, wrapping her arm around it as if to claim her territory, I took that grunt as a yes. She took to it so well that when she was done I checked her for fangs. Sore nipples are far better than barbed wired boobs the size of watermelons.