Six Weeks Old!

And according to my doctor I can officially now go for a run and have some sex.

(Guess which one I'm more excited about.)

No seriously. Guess.

I'm not gonna tell you, that's personal. Sure I'll tell you about getting shots in my butt, and how the doctor who delivered my little Porks (nickname is awesome. but will be replaced so she doesn't get made fun of. is sad day when we can't call Porks, Porks anymore. is perfect little Porks.) was doing sign language in my vagene, but you do not get to hear about my running/sex life. I have some boundaries.

Hahahahaha No I don't! But I'm still not gonna say out of respect for my family.

You're welcome Porks.

Anyway, I'm not sure how the doctor decided it was ok for normal activities to resume since she didn't really examine me. And by "didn't really examine" I mean, I started to undress and the nurse was like, "Oh no don't bother. Does everything feel ok down there?"

"Uh, yes? Other than the fact that little Porker came out of it six weeks ago it's hunky dory." (I didn't really say 'hunky dory' but I wish I had.)

"Hi Mom? The forties called, they want their slang back."

Then my doctor came in, asked me a few questions, laughed a lot at the fact that I was a screamer in the delivery room, and said, "Well that's it, you look fine. Can I hold the baby?"

And I was like - I look fine? You didn't even glance at my area clothed, let alone examine it naked. What if the baby messed something up, I don't even know what, what if there's two vaginas now instead of one?!?! DON'T YOU WANT TO CHECK ME?

But no. She did not. Apparently if something was wrong I'd feel it.

Whatever.

Modern science my a$#. It's more like a guessing game, but with human lives. And their stretched out private parts.

Stretched out for a good reason!

A very good, six-week old reason.

Four generations in da house!

Our families have been visiting non-stop which has been so nice, and wonderful for us and for Adeline. She gets cuddled all the time, and I get to do things like actually brush my teeth or . . . uhm. . . that's about all I can remember to do lately. But still! Yay clean teeth! I think! I mean, I know I took my toothbrush out but I'm not sure if it's wet because I brushed or because it fell into the pot in the kitchen sink where I was soaking some old bowls full of chili.

Because the kitchen sink? It's where I make us brush our teeth now. Because let me tell you something - when that little lady falls asleep at night there's no way in the world I'm letting us ruin it with something trivial like brushing teeth in our own bathroom. Or peeing. Or changing into pajamas. I'm this close to making us sleep on the floor next to the door of our bedroom because sometimes I'm afraid the blankets will be too loud. Anything that needs to be done before bed has to be done before she falls asleep or you can just go right ahead and sleep in your jeans and boots mister I-have-the-noisiest-shoe-laces-in-the-world!

Yes. It's probably time I put her in her own room.

But I'm not ready yet!

Maybe when she's six years weeks old. Maybe.

Addie and her Auntie Becky.

Addie and her Grandma.

Addie (and me with a cape on apparently) and Tutu!

Five Weeks!

So, you know what I've learned? Babies are sneaky little suckers. Sneaky and tricky. Just when you think you've got it figured out - BAM - your bed gets pooped on twice in one night and you end up sleeping on towels because no one is in the mood to change the sheets at 3am, towels you think are clean because they're in the hamper, only to remember in the morning, the hamper is place you put the dirty towels and these towels you've been sleeping on all night are the ones that got peed on the night before.

Joy of joys!

When we first took our little monster home (I say that fondly. She's the cutest little monster ever. But if you could hear the dinosaur noises that come out of her when she's trying to find the boob, and the wild, grunting head shaking that accompanies it, you would know ' cute monster' is more than appropriate.) she was still brand new and learning how to be in the world so she would eat and sleep. And that's it. And we were both all, "Oh my gosh, having a baby is easy!" And then we probably followed it up with something as equally stupid like, "Metal jumpsuit. Lightning. Large open field. What could go wrong? Hey Cheryl! Get the camera! We're about to dodge God!"

Once she hit about 2 weeks old she was like, "Oh hey, I can be awake? Awake a lot? Interesting. Lets do this sh&t!" Enter the dark circles under my eyes that makes it look as though I am routinely beaten. By Rocky. And his Russian nemesis.

She'll go from this:

Hi! Oh my gosh I'm gorgeous and cute and I love you Mama.

To this:

I HATE BATH TIME!

To this:

I'm so sleepy and cute. I love you Mama.

To this:

I HATE THIS!

Sorry, that's the same picture, but usually when she's crying I don't have time to snap a loving shot of it. Usually I'm too busy dodging the rocketing poop that accompanies the screams, as well as trying not to get punched in the eye by her extremely strong, flailing limbs.

My point is, apparently babies do not just eat and sleep their whole lives. I should have known this, but apparently I was under the impression they went from eating and sleeping to toddler like magic. Turns out - not so much.

I mean, she's only five weeks old. She's still a teeny tiny little thing. But my god can that woman scream. And unfortunately at 3am when she's being changed and the lights are on and suddenly, out of nowhere she lets out a blood curtling yell all her father and I do is giggle. Because it's so out of the blue and it's so pissed it seems as though we missed something. And then she catches sight of the ceiling fan and all screaming comes to a dead halt.

She loooooooves the ceiling fan.

Sure I'll sit in this car seat, as long as you leave me here right under the fan.

Hey Dad, I'm a little concerned about my fan. Have you seen - oh there it is! Hi fan!

Excuse me Mr. Giraffe? You're not looking at the fan. Any reason why not? Don't be rude.

Hi fan. I love you.

So if you walk by our house at 4am, and catch one of us holding the little lady up to the ceiling like a weird version of the Lion King that is why. Because it calms her down.

It may end up as her crib mobile. I'm just saying.

4 Weeks Old!

So I have not abandoned the blog! I'm gong to keep on keeping on, I've just been distracted because my mom was here for a week and then my sister was here for a week, and oh yeah - that brand new baby is here ALWAYS!

And despite the fact I got about 45 minutes of sleep last night, I just love her to pieces.

So, a real post tomorrow. But for today, here's some pictures!

Not sure about the car seat this time.

Hey guys, have you seen the fan? It's awwwwwwwesome.

There's something hanging here you guys! It's almost as good as the fan!

Sleepy head! Refuses to burp. Burping her makes her fall asleep. Until you lay her down in bed. Then she's enraged. Naturally.

Part 3!

(favorite picture so far!)


Someone told me you need to eat more calories when you're breastfeeding than you did when you were pregnant. Due to my new-found baby brain (remember nothing, think everything is sad and/or magically wonderful, speak in sentences like, "I wish my mouth was there." "What?" "What?" "You wish your mouth was where?" "I think I mean to say I wanted that donut.") I'm not sure if that someone was a nurse who told me about the extra calories while I was in the hospital, or if I dreamed it and Julia Roberts told me whilst in the midst of eating plates of spaghetti - but I'm thrilled regardless. Because I'm hungrier than ever.

Also, my weird dreams have not gone away. Most of the time they involve me living in France with David Sedaris and his boyfriend, but sometimes they also are super realistic and I dream I was feeding the baby, and then I wake up and realize I haven't fed her yet. But I have breastfed the sheets pretty good.

Anyway, Labor and Birth Part 3! The Final Part! Because I'm fairly certain no one wanted this much detail about the whole thing!

Where was I? Oh yeah, I tried to bite my baby daddy - which was the only time during the whole ordeal he dared to let out a little laugh and an, "Ohhh kay. Let's not do that." Later he told me it was kind of hard not to laugh at the fact that I was SCREAMING my A off every three minutes. Not because it was funny to see me in pain, but because it was a totally crazy experience. And because I was making the most noise I've ever made in my entire life. People talk about birthing soundtracks - and I had one made. But trust me, you would not be able to hear Nicki Minaj over me no matter how loud you turned that sh%t up.

So, I had gone from 3 to 7 cm dilated and the room got super busy. Which was nice because once I knew other people were getting ready it helped me get through the contractions without pushing because I knew it was going to happen eventually. The other thing that helped me get through them was my boyfriend. Not only did he never let go of my hand (not that I would let him, I had a death grip on that sucker), but every time I started a contraction he would get right up in my face and match my screaming with his equally as loud encouragement and calming words, which was probably an awesome sight. The two of us, nose to nose, supportively yelling at each other - me never opening my eyes, grunting and yelling like a combo of a tiger and a woman being stabbed, and him calmly repeating, constantly repeating, thank God repeating, "You're doing great, just get through this one. You're doing really great loves. I love you. You can do this." It might not sound that romantic to you, but as I'm typing this I have tears streaming down my face, because I could not have done it without hearing all of that every three minutes. He was safe, confident, and strong enough to shove some of that into me through yelling right back at me, and because of that I can honestly say we did it together.

I mean, I pushed that little sucker out, but it was nice he was there to watch.

Ok, so after the nurse and doctor realized things were happening quickly she checked me again and I was at a 9 and something. So she said she would let me go three more contractions and then I could push. And I was like, "DEAL!" Of course the doctor was like my mom trying to get me to eat rice when I was little saying, "Only three bites, then you get dessert" when really she meant finish all the rice then you get dessert. So after she said three more, the doctor quietly slipped out of the room to - I don't know, fix her hair? Who knows where she was going, but she left, and then about fifteen contractions later she came back and I was still 9 and something, but she was going to let me push anyway. Because she loves me.

So I started to push, which I kid you not, was the best part. I always thought the pushing would be where all the pain and whatnot would kick in because, you know, there's a human coming out of your VADGE. But it didn't really hurt, it felt right. Like what I was supposed to be doing all along. Suddenly I wasn't screaming anymore, things were gonna happen! But unfortunately that last bit of cervix kept pushing my little lady's head back in, so the doctor decided to do something fun.

"Ok, I'm just going to manually hold your cervix back. This might hurt," she said. You know what else might hurt? Falling off a moving roller coaster. You don't need to tell me that, I'm Fully Aware.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that nobody told me the doctor's hands were going to be all up in my business the whole time. And I mean all up in there. At one point she could have been playing solitaire in my vagina and it wouldn't have shocked me.

I also thought pushing was a constant thing that didn't stop until the baby was out, but that's not how it went. I pushed through a contraction and then stopped to catch my breath and then relax until another contraction hit. Sometimes the time in between would be so short I wouldn't really have time to breathe and other times I'd get so calm I'd start to think, "Oh my gosh what if I don't have another contraction? This is how I'm going to have to live. With a baby half pushed out. That's going to be pretty uncomfortable for a while." (Logic did not enter very much during pushing.) But then I'd have one and things would resume as crazily normal as they had been.

When I say pushing didn't hurt I don't mean it was easy and fun. It took a heck of a lot of work and concentration and I was trying as hard as I could to make it all go smoothly, but I could not tell what was happening. Everyone kept telling me I was doing a good job, and at one point my boyfriend said, "You're doing great loves. Every time you push you make a lot of progress." To which I replied:

"LIAR!"

Because now was not the time to be messing with me. But the doctor quickly jumped in to defend him and said, "No, no. He's right. You're making a lot of progress." But still I didn't believe her. And then after the next push everyone was talking suddenly, and gasping, and I was like, "Oh great, my vagina fell off." Because I had no idea what they were all so excited about. And then the doctor said, "Amy. Look down. Look down."

So, I looked down and OH. MY. GOD. it was her head. Her tiny, precious, dark-hair covered little head. It was the most surreal thing that has ever happened to me. I mean, I knew a baby was coming out of there, but there it was. A real baby. My real baby. My little girl. I could only see the back of her head, but it was the most gorgeous back of a head I had ever seen. And all I could do was say, "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!" Over and over. And I looked up at my boyfriend smiling and beaming and lit up and couldn't stop saying "Oh my god!"

"Amy!"

"Yeah?"

"It's just her head that's out, you still have to keep pushing!" the doctor yelled.

Oh whoops. Apparently I got so excited to see her I forgot her body was still up in me. Details. So I gave one last, totally pain-free push and she came right out and immediately up onto my chest where I could NOT stop smiling at her. In an instant I went from total focus, pain, concentration - the most focus and pain I've ever experienced in my entire life - to a second later feeling none of that. None of it. No lingering anything.

Suddenly it was just pure happy joy.

That sounds cheesy I'm sure, but it's true. I was in love with everybody, I didn't stop smiling or laughing for about 48 hours after she was born, I wanted to immediately braid a friendship bracelet for the nurse who had helped us and tell her she was my new best friend, I wanted to get up and hug the doctor and tell her she was my new best friend, I wanted to have my boyfriend crawl in the blood-soaked delivery bed with me and tell him he was my true best friend, forever and ever and ever.

And then a bunch of other stuff happened. Placentas and stitches and umbilical cord cutting, but I was holding the little lady the whole time so I did not care at all! You could have sawed off my leg and re-attached it and I probably wouldn't have cared. Because I had this now:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

Part 2!

For the record - I love this baby so much.

So, so, so much. She's amazing, and cute, and just lights up every minute of every day.

EVERY DAY.

But, the only thing I can think to talk about, even though I try and try to come up with something else, is boobs. And nipples. And more boobs and nipples. Pretty much my life revolves around attaching this baby to my boobs. And nipples.

Never in my life have I had my boobs out so much. Not even in college. And trust me, that's hard to beat. (kidding) Seriously though, I don't think Playboy bunnies have their boobs out this much, and even when they do, they're not freshly scabbed. (Sexy, I know. No one said feeding another human with your own body was going to be pain free. And if they did they lied. Or they have magic boobs of steel, and titanium, and that stuff they tried to use to fix the oil leak under water that didn't work, but did work for milk leaks.) (Ever wake up in a pool of your own milk? It's more fun than it sounds.) (Why? Because you know your baby is not just sucking air, that you are actually feeding her, which is such a comfort, you know, since ALL THE PRESSURE IS ON YOU)

Eating is so exhausting.

But anyway, sorry. This isn't a breastfeeding post. This is labor and delivery Part 2! YAY!

So, after all the bathtub attempts we made it to the hospital at about 1 am. At this point my contractions are about 3-4 minutes apart and hurt so much worse than the previous ones I have a death grip on the car door, and my left hand is digging into my boyfriend's driving leg, since it's the closest thing to me. Luckily it does not affect his driving. Or if it does he doesn't complain, which is nice. Any complaining will not be tolerated at this point, even from myself. I don't have time to hear myself complain, because I just realized how long the walk from the car to Labor and Delivery is and I have to make it there without delivering this baby through my yoga pants.

So we sit in the car through a contraction and then try to walk as fast as we can to the Hospital doors before another one hits. It's like being in an air raid and waiting for a shower of bombs to drop before running to the next dugout. That's how I think about labor. Like being in some sort of blitzkrieg with your uterus. One second it's all calm and lovely, the next it's finger painting war stripes over it's cheeks and running at you with spears set on fire screaming like a banshee, holding up a severed head of your old professor.

(Yes, I know blitzkrieg and Amazonian natives coming at you are two totally different things. But that's what happens in your uterus. Worlds collide and bond. It's harmony and terror all at the same time.)

Anyway, the super nice security guard at the ER doesn't even ask us what's wrong. He immediately stands up and says, "This way" and leads us to Labor and Delivery. About 30 seconds into his walking tour I politely excuse myself and say, "Sorry. I have to stop for a minute," and bury my head into my boyfriend, because these contractions you cannot walk through. And yes, I said "politely" and I meant it. For some reason I wasn't rude or yelling or anything. Not even at the end. In between later screaming contractions (more on that later) I even apologized to the Doctor and the nurse for being too loud. I didn't cuss and anyone, I didn't get mad or mean, just very concentrate-y, which was the opposite of what I thought I might be. I thought I'd be a demon. Turns out, I'm very nice during birthing. Who knew?!

I mean, at one point I did try to bite the man who impregnated me, but that's only because his hand was Right There. I would have bit a poisonous eel if it had been in front of me, just to get through the next thirty seconds.

So, we made it up to Labor and Delivery and the nurse behind the check-in station also doesn't even ask what's up. She just gets up and says, "Come with me." I didn't think I looked so bad, I thought in between contractions I was phenomenal, but apparently not. Apparently anyone who saw me coming within a thirty foot radius was pretty sure of what was going on. That could just be because I was a pregnant lady walking into the hospital at 1am, it was probably pretty clear I wasn't there for a midnight tour.

She got us in the room, and I gave a pee sample (almost impossible by the way when you can't see anything down there and have to pray you're not going to pee all over your hand AGAIN), and then she immediately checked to see how dilated I was.

Three.

Not bad. Not great. She was calm, and took her time hooking me up. But I knew. I KNEW it was not going to be three for hours like she was thinking. She let the doctor know, everyone was very nonchalant. I proceeded to groan and moan and then very quickly the pain went from moaning-pain, to - I kid you not -screaming like some sort of jungle creature at the top of my lungs pain.

I did not think I was a screamer, but it was so uncontrollable I couldn't . . . uhm . . . control it. I screamed so much I was hoarse the whole next day. And then I found out why.

After the nurse took her time hooking me up and what not, about 30 minutes after we got there, I had to push. And I mean I had to push like, my body was pushing and I was trying not to and when I could talk I told my boyfriend to get the nurse because I WAS PUSHING. She came rushing in and checked me and said, "Oh my gosh, you went from 3 to 7 in half an hour. But don't push!"

"Then you have to give me an epidural because I CAN'T help it!"

And I was serious. I did not want an epidural. Not at all. Not even for the pain, what I wanted it for was to make sure I didn't push because I knew it was going to happen with or without the doctor telling me it was ok.

"You told me not to let you have one," my boyfriend very calmly said. "But whatever you need."

"I just don't know if I can stop it."

The nurse leaned over me so I could see her and said, "I can call the guy but it'll take a half an hour for him to get here and you won't need it by then."

Those were the most magical words I could have ever heard. EVER. Suddenly, (as my boyfriend tells it, I don't know since I didn't open my eyes really after this point) the room exploded. The nurse wasn't so nonchalant any more, and the doctor wasn't just hanging out. Things were being wheeled in, outfits were being changed. Apparently 3 to 7 centimeters in a half hour is serious. I COULD HAVE TOLD THEM I WAS SERIOUS.

Serious as a German banshee in the Amazon.

Ok, the rest of it will be later. Now I have to go feed my little lady. Feed her til it hurts.

Part 1 Labor and Birth!

Ok, first things first:

When you have a baby, your body does not immediately go back to it's original non-pregnant state.

Do not be alarmed!

Do not be sad when you still look five months pregnant even though baby is now out of your body and currently attached to your boob!

I mean, I knew this was not the case. I read books, I have friends who've had babies, I know things. And yet, I really wanted to look down when I got up from that delivery table and see my old body. Instead I saw what I can only describe as a mashed up birthday cake.

Anyway. . .

Me and the little lady enjoying the garage.

The Labor and Birth! Part 1!

So, Sunday August 14th I was 38 weeks. Sundays we usually try to go for a slow hike, or out to breakfast, or vacuum. You know, something fun. But instead of sleeping in and taking it slow, I woke up at 6:30 in the morning with a very uncomfortable feeling in my lower abdomen. And then again. And again. Until I realized these uncomfortable feelings were coming about every ten minutes.

"Uh honey?"

"Mnh."

"Honey loves?"

"Mnnnnh."

"Wake up."

"What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"Mnnn."

"I think I'm having contractions."

"What?"

"I think I'm having contractions. Maybe."

*DING*

Suddenly we're both wide awake, staring at each other, curled up knee to knee.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Then we stayed there for a while. Staring and counting minutes. Still about ten minutes, and they were contractions for sure, but they didn't hurt very bad. I mean, they were like really bad period cramps for thirty seconds and then they went away. And I've seen movies, I know that things do not go this smoothly or pain-free, so we got up and got on with our day.

We walked the dog. We did some stuff around the house. I suggested we put the car seat in the car, just in case. Just in case. I didn't actually think we'd need it, but - eh, better safe than sorry. We went out to lunch, and did some shopping, and some more dog walking, I did some work, and through all of this I would stop every ten to fifteen minutes, put my head down and breathe through a contraction. That's it, just breathe. Ain't no thang. I actually remember thinking, "This is labor? Except they come closer together. Psh. I can handle this shit."

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaah!

That's the sound of post-labor me, laughing at pre-real-labor me. Except in real life the laughing goes on and on and involves pointing, and sticking notes on my back that say, "DUMB".

So, after about 12 hours I called Labor and Delivery, and the Doctor told me what I thought she would - don't come in, we'll just send you home. Fine by me. When I asked what I should do if this was still going on the next day she said, "It won't. It'll either get worse or it will go away." Which again, was fine by me.

So, I went to bed and fell asleep thinking tomorrow everything would be gone and I'd just be normal ol' pregnant. But about a half hour after I fell asleep, my boyfriend got into bed and suddenly those teeny tiny contractions had turned into HUGE contractions, and they were about five minutes apart. And they weren't something I could breathe through, they were something I groaned through. And yet, the boyfriend did not believe it. Who would though after a whole day of contractions that were harmless? So I gripped his arms and squeezed my way through a few more before he kinda started to take me seriously.

"Maybe I should make you a bath?"

"A bath?" (Are you f*&%ing kidding me?)

"Yeah, a bath might help. We need to delay as long as possible." (This we had agreed on. Neither one of us wanted to be in the hospital longer than we had to.)

"A bath?" (Do I look like I want to get in the bath right now?!)

"I'll just run it, you don't have to get in."

"You should pack a bag." (You get in the bath. I'm going to have a baby.)

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please pack a bag." (Pack a mother f-ing bag!)

"Ok."

(PACK A BAG!)

So, somehow (delirious from pain) he talked me into the bath. Where I stayed for about three contractions, yelling at him to get in here every time I had a contraction because I just could not go through it alone. Somehow, being able to push my head into his chest, shut my eyes, and groan through the wave of a contraction was waaaaay better than trying to do it by myself. With him there I could handle it. With him in the other room I was lost, unfocused. So, he'd go start to pack his bag until I'd scream at him to get back, he'd rush in and let me bury my face into his arm, then I'd yell at him to finish packing his bag, then yell to get back, and so on until I finally heaved myself out of the tub and talked him into getting the car started and this show on the road.

And still, he did not believe me. He thought we'd get there and they'd send us home. Me and my lower half? We knew better.

More tomorrow!!! For now here's a few pictures!

Long feet!

I'm not sure what sort of a ride this is, but I loves it!

Very concerned I'm actually going to nap during my nap.