Ten Weeks

When Sam was just a few weeks old, ten weeks was often the magical number floated around in conversations about sleeping and eating and crying. People tried millions of different things to try to get their children to sleep, to stop crying, to nurse better; the list of options was a mile long. But almost everyone said "it got better around ten weeks."

The past couple of days were beautiful--warm, sunny, the smell of spring just starting to tinge the air. We spent lots of time outside playing. Sam huffed and gasped and cooed as the breeze blew on his face.

At some point during the weekend I was holding Sam while Jeff and Charlotte explored the backyard (one corner of which has been dubbed "the woods"). I looked down at the little guy on my lap who was looking around with a bright and pleasant look on his face and thought, "ten weeks. They were right."

He sleeps well. Some nights he's still up more often than I would like, and occasionally he'll resist going back to bed after his 3 a.m. feeding, but those are exceptions, not the rule. He naps well, and longer than his sister ever did. We can usually count on at least one nap that lasts longer than two hours every day. He eats well. Charlotte always seemed to be nursing, but Sam is a quick and efficient eater. He rarely cries, although he is still not a fan of diaper changes or baths. His gas is still an issue (and I know babies's gas isn't supposed to stink, but MAN, Sam didn't get that memo) but he seems less perturbed by it and it almost never interrupts his sleep.

So: to all you new moms out there, hold on. Ten weeks is just around the corner.

15 Albums/Artists

This meme has been floating around on facebook, and I thought I'd duplicate my posting here, too.

The idea is to post about fifteen albums or artists that have influenced your life in some way. Here goes:

1. The Annie Soundtrack: This is one of the first records I remember owning, and I loved the songs as much as I loved the movie. My cousin Amy and I would put on our own performances singing and dancing along with Annie and the other orphans. My favorites at the time were "Hard Knock Life," and, of course, "Tomorrow." Now I realize how amazing any song featuring Carol Burnett as Mrs. Hannigan was; "Little Girls," for example, is hilarious and so well-done.

2. Amy Grant, Age to Age: I had this one as a record, too, and when I just now checked the song list on Amazon to make sure I was thinking of the right album, I not only recognized all the songs, but could sing most of them again. I played the heck out of this one, most likely soulfully closing my eyes and swaying as I sang along with "El-Shaddai." Amy Grant was also my first concert experience; I went with a group of girls in my class (I think this was fifth grade?) to celebrate Livija Shannon's birthday. It was rad. I think I wore something totally killer, like stirrup pants.

3. Mozart: If I were really being honest, I would put down Warner Brothers cartoons and a rickety old Hooked on Classics albums as being my real introductions to classical music, but I think it's fair to trace my interest in classical back to a tape my parents had of Mozart. It was a pretty standard $3.99 at the checkout style assemblage of Mozart's better-known stuff, but it knocked my socks off when I listened to it again and again on my walkman (probably in the dark, while thinking sadly about how no one understood me...this was junior high, after all). Of course I liked Eine Kleine Nachtmusik like everyone else, but my absolute favorite was the Lacrimosa from Mozart's Requiem mass. When I was in high school, I had the pleasure of singing this one with our choir and choirs from other Christian schools around Iowa...singing en masse one of the creepiest, most mournful songs I knew was pretty amazing. I also went to a performance of Mozart's Requiem at the Radcliffe Camera in Oxford, which was phenomenal. I got chills when I heard those first strings of the Lacrimosa.

4. Cranberries, Everybody Else is Doing It, So Why Can't We: Of all the standard top-forty stuff I listened to when I was in junior high and high school, I remember being blown away by the (relatively) crazy sounds of the Cranberries. I just thought her voice was so haunting and the songs seemed to be about something really important, like war and love and strife. I still occasionally listen to this one, along with No Need to Argue.

5. The Beatles. Is it cliched to like the Beatles? Probably. The oldies station out of Des Moines would broadcast a show called the Beatles Brunch on Sundays. It was always on when we got home from church, and I would tune in on my stereo in my bedroom and listen as I changed out of my church clothes and waited for Sunday dinner to be ready. The show featured not only songs but interviews with the Beatles and clips of news stories from the time periods when the songs were released. I think it was during this time period (junior high and high school, again) when I was listening to Beatles Brunch that I decided I really should have been a sixties kid (not really knowing what that meant, of course).

6. Simon & Garfunkel: I "discovered" Simon & Garfunkel midway through high school. I was familiar with the two most-played radio songs, "The Boxer" and "Mrs. Robinson," but the Greatests Hits tape I bought had all these amazing songs that I had never heard: "Homeward Bound" and "America" remain two of my favorites. I listened to my tape on my walkman on our family vacation to the Ozarks and on the long bus ride to Rhode Island (for the CRC convention) and still associate the songs with traveling and road trips.

7. Bob Dylan: My freshman year of college, I took on the task of educating myself in two areas to impress a boy. The first was baseball; I memorized some stats and learned the differences between the American and National leagues and watched games and generally learned to appreciate the sport. The second was Bob Dylan. This boy was going through a period of Dylan obsession and was actually writing a research paper on Dylan for his history class, so I thought it important to familiarize myself with this musician. I can't say that my original interest was pure, then, but my love of Dylan grew into something separate from my relationship with the boy who (SPOILER ALERT) I would later marry.

Writing about Dylan could be its own entry, so I'll keep it brief. I can't name a favorite song, although if forced at gun point I'd probably say "Like a Rolling Stone," which is a little cliched, I know, but really it's such an amazing song. But what about "Mr. Tambourine Man," and "Love Minus Zero/No Limit" and "Visions of Johanna," and, and...oh, it's too overwhelming. The whole Desire album! I can't stop!

Dylan is also the only musician I have deemed to see in concert multiple times. I don't go to a lot of concerts, but I've seen Bob live four times (with Jeff every time).

8. Cat Stevens: Another college discovery. I think my love of Cat began when Jeff and I listened to his brother Steve's greatest hits CD whilst necking at his parents's house early in our courtship. (Sorry for the details there). This music became the soundtrack of my early relationship with Jeff but also seamlessly became the backdrop for so many other experiences: traveling to England, working late at night on my old Mac computer at our house in Grand Rapids, etc.

9. Dar Williams, The Mortal City: When I was in high school, I tuned in somehow to the public radio station broadcast out of the University of Northern Iowa. The signal was weak, and I could only hear it in certain parts of the house or particular areas of town if I was driving around, but this is where I was introduced to folk artists and lesser known world musicians for the first time. I heard Dar Williams singing "Iowa" live (from Iowa City, I think) during the summer before I left for college, and her music became emblematic of the kind of new, independent woman I thought I would become while studying at college. I still love her music although I now realize how embarrassingly hippie-chic it is.

10. Elliott Smith, XO: One night while I was in college I saw this shaggy guy performing a moody, melancholy song on Late Night with David Letterman. That song was from the Good Will Hunting soundtrack, and that shaggy guy was Elliott Smith. I bought the album XO not long after and played it to death. My favorite song from the album was "Waltz #2 (XO)" which I put on every single mixed tape I made in college. When Smith killed himself a few years ago, I went back and listened to the album and realized how dark and depressing it really was, but when I think about these songs I get happy, because I associate them with some of the best times of my life.

11. Moby, Play: I'm kind of embarrassed by lots of the entries on this list, and Moby is one of them. Look, I realize that I'm not really hip regarding musical artists; I don't keep up with who's new and cool or who's indie and undiscovered. It seems like a lot of work to me. I know Moby isn't real techno or whatever, but I loved his music and can't hear this CD without thinking of my time in England, when I bought it at a Virgin megastore. I have a very strong memory of listening to "Porcelain" on the bus trip to Hampton Court Palace and knowing I would remember that moment forever. Ack! It sounds so lame when I write it!

12. The Jazz Station: This is a set of four CDs I bought from some random vendor at the Portabello Road market in London. It was ridiculously cheap, like 15 pounds or something, which probably meant it was an unlicensed compilation. I didn't know much about jazz (and honestly still don't) but this collection was the perfect intro for a newbie. Dinah Washington, Miles Davis, Etta James...a song or two from each of the big names. Another one I can't think about without thinking of England.

13. Patty Griffin: Another artist I discovered via the public radio station in Iowa. I heard her song "Sweet Lorraine" the summer before Jeff and I got married, and sat in the parking lot of the store I was going to to listen to the rest of her live set they were playing. I was late for something but the little slip of paper on which I scrawled "Patty Griffin" once the announcer said her name was more important. I have several of her CDs and am never disappointed. This woman can belt it out.

14. Beastie Boys: I was a late-comer to the Beastie Boys, never listening to them during their heyday in the eighties and nineties. Jeff was a fan, and I became one after their 2004 album, To the 5 Boroughs, came out. One of the best times of my life was their concert we attended in 2004. General admission, one row from the crush barrier, within spitting distance of MCA. The story of how I threw a punch at a frat boy with a neck-head and sustained a cracked rib as a result has become legendary. If Ad-Rock ever shows up at my door asking me to come away with him, I can't be held responsible for the result. I'm sorry, Jeff.

15. Neutral Milk Hotel, In an Aeroplane Over the Sea: Jeff brought home this CD in late 2005 when I was early in my pregnancy with Charlotte, and wanted to play it for me right away, but I was constantly nauseated and tired and wasn't giving him the reception he wanted, so we had a big dumb fight about it and I forgot about the amazing CD he couldn't stop talking about for months. It wasn't until spring that I happened to pop the CD in on my own, and holy cow, what was this insane, amazing music? When Jeff was gone over spring break and I was writing my final papers for school, my laptop edged out of my lap by my growing stomach, I listened to NMH almost constantly. When I listen to the songs on this album, I think of that amazing time in our lives when anything was possible and so much was on the horizon. The title track is quite possibly my favorite song of all time.

Whew! That's it, although I thought of more I could have included as I wrote.

Charlotte is playing outside on the patio as I order garden seeds online (I'm right by the patio door, so it's safe, don't worry). The neighbor boy comes around the fence.

Charlotte: I was waiting for you to come over! I was calling your name when you weren't here! I kept calling and calling, and then you came! Hello! I like the picture on your shirt!

This boy is five, and the sun rises and sets on him as far as she's concerned. That feeling of my heart in my throat? Yeah, I'm feeling that regularly around here.

I don't get out much with just Charlotte these days. If I'm out of the house, it's either with the whole family or just by myself. Today I had a meeting at school I had forgotten about, and to give Jeff a break, I brought Charlotte with me. It was a lunch meeting, pretty low-key, so I knew she wouldn't cause much of a disturbance.

I need to set up more mom-and-daughter dates because I had the best time. When we're all together as a family, I have to admit that I probably don't pay the most careful attention to Charlotte at all times. I certainly don't catch everything she says, and I most likely miss her first (and second, and, let's face it, third) request that I read a book to her, put together a puzzle with her, get her a snack, take care of this huge booger on her finger, etc.

But in the car on the way to lunch, I got to give Charlotte (and driving, of course) my full attention. I think it took her a minute or two to realize that it was just me and her in the car. Then she launched into a long-running commentary/story/song that lasted the entire ride. I don't think she took a breath. Occasionally I was called upon to respond (a simple "wow" or "really" or "cool" would suffice) but then she was off on the next tangent. Subjects covered included: books, and why they are amazing; birdies, and how they get up there in the trees and the sky; why there was a picture of a pig on that restaurant and why we should go eat there sometime; the library, and why it is the best place in town; poopy diapers in the context of Sam and others; why Charlotte's original songs are better than covers (her terms, I'm serious); how she's growing to be so big that soon she won't fit in the car. And that list is by no means exhaustive.

The last one, about how she's growing so big, is true in a way that makes my throat catch sometimes. Just seven months ago she was still sleeping in a crib. She still wore diapers. She ate in her high chair. We still had to put her to sleep via an intensive, hands-on process every night. (Every. Single. Night. HORRORS!) She was too short for most of her 2t clothing.

In the six months we've lived in Lawrence, she's transformed into a little girl, a baby no longer. She sleeps in her big-girl bed, wears underpants, eats at the table in a booster seat, and goes to sleep on her own with nary a complaint. She's still a little on the short side for her age, but she now wears most 2t pants without us having to cuff up the bottoms, and is even wearing a few 3t pants. She's outgrown most of her 2t shirts. Her size-six shoes are starting to pinch.

But in addition to all those things are the less tangible signs of her growth. She's just...bigger and older and less baby-like. She interacts like a child, not a toddler. She asks insightful questions and observes things I wouldn't expect her to notice. It's all amazing to me, and yet so commonplace.

Mister Cheeks

Also answers to Senor Mejillas, Lord Chauncy Jowls

I had plans to write a long post today but Sam had a terrible night of sleep last night and is boycotting naps today, so I think this picture will suffice instead.

Sorry about leaving the creepy eyeball photos up there for so long!

I'm just back from Sam's two-month check-up. Over the past few weeks, I've noticed Sam getting...cheekier. Plumper. Downright fat. I was right: 14 pounds, 2 ounces and 24 1/2 inches tall--94th percentile for both. And his tiny head is growing, too: up from the 10th percentile to the 30th this month. Whew.

Two nights ago, I came home from my night class around 10 p.m. Sam had been in bed for an hour and a half. I did some work on my computer for a while, and then headed up to bed. But instead of sleeping, I stayed up talking to Jeff and reading. I was anticipating a midnight wakeup, you see.

Finally, around 1:30 a.m., I gave up waiting for Sam to wake up and went to sleep. I woke bleary-eyed and achey-chested (sorry!) and rolled over to see the clock: 4:45 a.m. What!? I lay there for a moment before hearing him sigh a little over the monitor, saving me from having to get up to go check on him. The next time I woke up it was to Sam crying. This time it was 6 a.m. He had slept through the night, something his big sister didn't do until she was nearly 7 months old!

Of course, that feat was not replicated last night. But still!

I hope to post some pictures of my giant baby tonight. But for now, duty calls!

I've been thinking about eye color lately as I've watched Sam's eyes shift and change. I have a feeling they'll eventually turn more like Jeff's eyes, and I wanted to document that muddy baby-blue color they are now. So here are all of our eyes for your perusal.

I find it interesting that even though I would say Charlotte and I both have blue eyes, they are pretty different shades of blue. Mine have more green in them, while Charlotte's are more of a true blue.

Also, if you asked Jeff what color his eyes are, he'd probably say brown. But doesn't it look like he has just as much green in his eyes as brown? They're really tri-colored: a ring of darker blue-green around the outside, then the greenish-gold, then a nice golden brown in the middle.

It was one year ago last week that I drove up to our house after school and saw, leaning against our front door, a fed-ex envelope. The envelope was from the University of Kansas, and inside was an acceptance letter from the graduate school.

This year is, of course, presenting its own challenges. Juggling parenting a toddler and newborn with getting my PhD is difficult, of course. Add to that my desire to get back into shape, keep my house relatively clean, and on occasion cook a meal and you've got a busy, sometimes hectic and stressful schedule.

But I would take my life right now over what I was going through a year ago a hundred times over. The anxiety, the daily, stomach-churning, ego-ripping anxiety of waiting to hear back from grad programs was one of the most intensely stressful periods of my life (probably second only to the process of applying to grad school). When I got my first acceptance last year, I felt enormous relief, in part because that meant that no matter what, I'd be going on to get my PhD somewhere, and that meant I would never, ever have to go through the process of applying again.

No more standardized tests! No more filling out online applications with redundant information! No more anxious emails to graduate secretaries trying desperately to clarify the requirements for applying! No! More!

Of course, in a few years when I complete my PhD, I will have the stressful experience of having to find a job. But let's not speak of that!

I plan on writing more about the whole process I went through last year a bit more in the coming weeks. Suffice it to say that I'm very, very happy with where I ended up, and ultimately with how the entire process of applying, visiting, and selecting a school went.

This is too good not to share. Another Charlotteism:

Charlotte: I tooted, mama!
Me: You sure did! Whoa! Where did you get such stinky buns?
Charlotte, whispering: God made my buns.
Me: *laughs*
Charlotte: He did! God made them stinky like that!

Seven Weeks

We're all smiles around here, and not just Sam. I heard things would get easier after the six week mark passed, and so far that's mostly true. Yesterday Sam turned seven weeks old, and in the past two nights he's slept really well. Friday night, he went to bed at 7:30 p.m., woke to eat at 11:30 p.m., went back to bed and slept until 3 a.m., and then ate and went right back to sleep until 8 a.m. Last night wasn't quite as wonderful (he woke up three times total and didn't want to go back to bed one of those times) but overall he seems to be understanding that the night time is the right time for sleep.

And of course we're loving the smiles we get from him. I remember feeling so rewarded by those first dopey smiles when Charlotte was a baby, and the feeling hasn't changed the second time around. I see that big toothless grin and I turn into a cooing moron. "Ohhh, who's a sweet little man?" I ask. "Sam is!" I answer myself needlessly. And so on.

He's also growing like a weed. Last week I had to box up all the 0-3 months clothes and bust out the 3-6 months outfits. The little owl outfit you see in the picture above is a 6 months size, and won't fit for much longer. Charlotte's been stalled out in 2t for so long now, I've forgotten what it's like to have a child who grows! He has his two-month checkup in a couple weeks, and I'm curious to see what he weighs.

Nothing to report otherwise. Charlotte is sleeping well, and generally behaving like a toddler (read: annoying sometimes, adorable others, delightful always). Jeff's hair keeps getting longer and longer, which for him means his leonid 'fro keeps getting more and more gigantic. I clipped a barbershop coupon for him, but so far he hasn't taken the hint. I might have to resort to publishing incriminating photos here.

Happy Valentine's Day!

More tomorrow...

Some Charlotteisms:

Charlotte is doing a little dance. Jeff asks her about it.
Charlotte: It's a promitized dance about a funny toy store with lots of candy in it and ice cream in there too.

Jeff is feeding Sam a bottle.
Charlotte: Heidi needs her bottle too.
J: Heidi needs some milk, too?
C: No, water. I pump for water, too. (Baring chest) Milk on this side, water on this side.

While we were listening to NPR on the radio, Charlotte suddenly belts out from the backseat: Budget crunch!

After dining out today:
Charlotte: We went to Applebeast, Sam!

Six Weeks

Everything is supposed to get easier after six weeks, or so I've read. I'm hoping this is true. Although to be honest things are usually manageable, really. I just would like a bit more sleep, and to know Sam will nap regularly during the day and sleep at night without being cradled in the loving (yet tired) arms of a parental unit, preferably the one with the mammaries. But that will all come with time, I know.

Today was another beautiful day in a series of sunny, warm days. We had the windows open and were all enjoying the fresh air sweeping out the scent of stale diaper. While I was changing Sam's diaper in his room with Charlotte acting as wingman, the wind picked up a bit and suddenly I heard a terrible crash. I turned around and, well, this is what I saw:

Yes, that's the window in Sam's room, and that's his bouncy seat, and, WHY YES, that IS a gigantic shard of glass positioned right where a baby would be if he were in the seat! After I checked Charlotte and Sam and myself to make sure we didn't have any errant pieces of window sticking out of our jugulars or anything, we cleared out of the room. Jeff called the landlord and left a message intended to convey the urgency of the situation. To his credit, the landlord responded promptly, and sent our maintenance man over to clean up the mess and replace the window. We plan on having the other windows looked at, too, to make sure we aren't positioning ourselves under potential guillotines every time we sit near a window.

The other big adventure of the day was that we started Sam on cloth diapers. I wanted to wait to start these until he wasn't having twenty bowel movements a day. Lately he's been pooping only once a day, maybe even every other day. I neglected to think about the fact that it had, indeed, been a while since his last poop when I donned the first fuzzi bunz diaper this afternoon. He quickly pooped just a modest amount in that one. I changed him, and was disappointed only an hour later to feel a bit of wetness seeping through his jammies. When I went to change his diaper, I blacked out momentarily. Not only was the entire diaper chock full of poo, his entire left pajama leg was brimming with it. As a result, Sam celebrated his six-week birthday with a nice, full-immersion bath.

Nothing like poo stories to bring in the readers!

It's 6:22 a.m., a time of day I normally would not choose to be awake. But the past three days have found me awake at around this time, sometimes earlier, and to be honest it hasn't been terribly unpleasant. It's quiet at six in the morning, and still dark. I get to peacefully drink a cup of tea at my desk while Sam half-sleeps in his swing for a half-hour or so.

We're falling into a bit of a routine here, a routine I know will change as the weeks go on and Sam's habits transform. But the routine we're in right now isn't bad. It's manageable, and in a comforting way predictable. For the past few days, Sam's been napping every few hours during the day, usually for an hour, sometimes for more, in his crib in his bedroom. Usually these naps take place around 8 or 9 a.m., noon, and 3 p.m. Sometimes he'll take another evening nap around 7 or 8 p.m. At night, he's been settling down between 11 p.m. and midnight, sometimes sleeping fairly quietly for a couple of hours. It's from 4 a.m. on that gets a little rough. He's still very noisy and grunty, and those hours seem to be a no-go zone for sleeping anywhere except on someone or in his swing. So I've been getting up after feeding him, putzing around downstairs while I wait for Charlotte to wake up. After I get Charlotte up and dressed and get her a little breakfast, Sam's usually ready to eat again. When he's done, I wake up Jeff to take over and head back to bed for a couple hours.

This works well if I don't mess around and try to go to sleep right away at night when Sam falls asleep. That way I can get a few hours earlier in the night, which, cobbled together with my morning nap, usually sustains me through the day. It's not the way I'd like things to be permanently, but I know this isn't permanent, so I'm not bothered by it.

One way we seem to have dealt with the evening fussiness/colic was by my giving up the idea of getting any work done after Charlotte goes to bed. This was difficult to let go of, as my evenings post-Charlotte-bedtime were always my time. But something about being downstairs, being held while I pecked away at the computer or tried to read on the couch, drove Sam nuts. When I gave up one evening a few nights ago and just went upstairs into the quiet, dim bedroom, Sam relaxed and, eventually, fell asleep. Sometimes I sneak back downstairs during that evening nap and do a few work-related things. Other times I just make some dinner or chat with Jeff.

I can't overstate how wonderful it is when Sam naps in his crib during the day. I know this is a basic thing, but it's something we didn't hit on with Charlotte until it was too late and she was ruined for naps: you can set your child down! Really! You don't have to hold them 24/7!

Now, sometimes this doesn't work. We lay Sam down and he wakes up and cries. I try not to freak out about this, but to just try again in a half-hour. Usually it takes, eventually. And then I get an hour to play with Charlotte, do my workout DVD, shower, etc.

I wish I had a tape recorder right now to capture the noises he's making in his swing. The grunts and groans are just unearthly. I can tell you right now that this kid is moving into his own room much earlier than Charlotte did (four and a half months, if I remember correctly).

But despite his insane sounds and occasional crying spells, Sam is turning out to be pretty okay. He has started smiling, and nothing lifts my heart more than that ridiculously cute toothless grin. He's most likely to share his smiles with his sister, by whom he is absolutely captivated. When he hears her little voice, his head swivels and he tries to hone in on her location. When she pays attention to him, he grins and opens his eyes as wide as they'll go, trying to take it all in.

And that's what I'm doing these days, too...just trying to take it all in, to remember all of this as the days pass and he gets bigger.

Monkey See...

Me: What are you doing, Charlotte?

Charlotte: Pumpin' some milk for my baby.

Ah, of course. Naturally.

Charlotte has been very into telling stories lately. Sometimes these stories are a mishmash of her day's events; often they incorporate bits and pieces of the books we read to her. We decided to capture the experience for you on video. Here it is:

Charlotte's Story Time (featuring a cameo from Sam!)

One Month

Sam's one month old today. We celebrated by decking him out in an actual outfit for the second time in his life. Normal it's fuzzy sleepers around here, day or night. And not just for Sam! (I'm only partly kidding. I'd totally wear a snuggie.) Then we went to the doctor for his one-month check-up. Sam weighs 10 pounds 12 ounces and is 23 inches long. 75th percentile for weight, 90th for height. His tiny head was in the 15th percentile. I guess he doesn't take after his gigantic-headed father. ("It's like an orange on a toothpick!" Name that movie.) I compared notes when I got home, and found that Charlotte was almost the exact same size at her one-month: 10 pounds 10 ounces, 23 inches.

My doctor weighed in on the colic/fussiness issue, and pretty much confirmed everything I had read. She also added some interesting information about the maturation of the digestive system that helped me think about all the work poor Sam seems to have to do just to pass gas. But the conclusion is still the same: only time will really cure this issue.

So, let the countdown to 12 weeks begin! (Of course, many of you have been kind enough to suggest that the light at the end of the tunnel might arrive sooner, but I'd rather be pleasantly surprised, so I'll aim for 12 weeks).

Also, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has taken the time to email me or leave comments with helpful suggestions, things that worked for you, etc. I read and appreciate each and every one, and just knowing how many people have been through this is helpful, too.

More pictures if you click the flickr link to the right, too.

So, it's not me, it's Sam. After several days of an exhilirating diet of plain rice, potatoes, canned peaches, and broiled chicken, Sam's gassiness was, if anything, worse than before. I reread the chapter in Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child about fussiness/colic, and have come to the conclusion that that's our issue here--not diet or allergies, not sickness or anything else, just fussiness.

The good news was that I could go back to eating like a human being. The bad news was that there's really not much you can do for colic. The three things the author of this book says helps are swaddling, sucking, and swinging. Sam doesn't seem to be a huge swinging fan, but swaddling helps a bit, and he's certainly devoted to sucking. So, for now, that's what we're doing. I'm also giving gas drops a try, and have ordered something called Colic Calm Gripe Water (which Jeff said sounds like Brother Tompkins' Patented Snake Oil Cure All or something equally 19th century). We'll see.

We don't know what causes colic. There are some interesting theories, including one about the temporary imbalance of serotonin and melatonin levels in babies, an imbalance that coincidentally resolves itself right around the time (3-4 months) colic usually ends. One in five babies experiences colic or unexplained fussiness. Somehow I don't take comfort in those numbers, other than knowing there's a brigade of parents out there who've lived through this experience as well. I suppose that is, in a sense, comforting.

So for now we're making do. We're taking shifts in the evenings, which are particularly taxing. I seem to be up with Sam every night/morning from 3-6 a.m., so Jeff compensates by taking him after that so I can sleep a bit more. I'm so lucky to have a flexible schedule and a husband who stays home. This would be infinitely harder without those things.

It's not ideal, but it's doable, and it's temporary. Sam's already four weeks old; that means (if the books are correct) that we should have another three or four weeks of intensifying fussiness followed by improvement, possibly as early as ten weeks of age. By April he should be over the worst of it. I just have to make it through spring break, I guess.

More (with pictures) tomorrow!

I'm starting to realize that Charlotte really wasn't a bad baby. I've been reading up on baby sleep habits (two books: Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child and Good Night Sleep Tight) and have come to the conclusion that all of Charlotte's "bad baby" behavior during the first year/18 months comes down to the fact that Jeff and I had no idea how much sleep a baby really needs, and did little to help foster good sleeping habits early on. The Charlotte who cried inconsolably when she was four, five, six months old was an overly tired, sleep-deprived baby, not an intrisically fussy baby.

All this is to say that I'm worried that Sam is, in fact, that fussy baby. This might be premature, and it could be that my restricted diet will clear up any and all fussy behavior in just a few days (please!), but some of his crying just seems to be crying...not crying from pain, or hunger, or poopy pants. It's crying that I can only console by constant nursing (not really nursing, just hangin' out on the boob, since he's not actually hungry) and allowing him to sleep on me. Sometimes Jeff, but usually me. It's exhausting.

I called my friend Carrie, who is a lactation consultant, to ask her advice regarding Sam's other issue, the gassiness. She said I would have seen some improvement this long after eliminating dairy, which indicates dairy is probably not the culprit. "But don't start eating it again quite yet," she cautioned. How did she know I had a forkful of butter halfway to my mouth?

The upshot is that the best way for me determine what (if anything) in my diet is causing Sam gas pain is by taking out all potential allergens. That leaves me with a severely reduced diet. Essentially you make a list of anything you'd like to eat, and then only eat things not on that list. Fun!

The good news is that I should know relatively quickly whether diet is the culprit here--a week or so. Then I can begin adding items back in one by one, week by week.

Until then, I am trying to remember to take this one day at a time, or even one hour at a time. If I don't sleep well one night, I remind myself that Jeff can watch both kids for a few hours in the morning so I can nap. If Sam wants to nurse for four hours straight (I'm not kidding), I just try to think of it as a good opportunity to get some reading done. And I try to appreciate the little successes, like the fact that right now Sam is actually napping semi-quietly in his cradle.

Baby won't sleep STOP Baby won't stop crying STOP God laughing at my hubris STOP Please send reinforcements FULL STOP

Three Weeks

Our little dude is three weeks old today. He spent most of the day flailing around and farting, which is how he "celebrates" every day, really. Huzzah, Sam! At three weeks, he's getting more and more alert. Today he was awake for a couple of hour-long stretches. His facial bruising (from his rather speedy delivery) is almost entirely gone, although he still has the tiniest remnent of bloodshot eyes. Now his skin tone is more evident: a nice clear tanned-ish complexion like his father's (and utterly unlike pale-as-milk Charlotte and me). His totally awesome hair (seriously, this kid has sweet hair) looks dark brown in some lights, reddish-brown in others. Time will tell.

This week I went off dairy. Sam's grunting and thrashing got worse, especially at night, and occasionally devolved into shrieking in pain. Along with a bit of congestion, this seemed to spell a dairy allergy. I'm not terrible happy to be off dairy (I LOVE MILK PRODUCTS) but I am certainly eager to help Sam get over his gas. So far it seems to have made no difference, but I know you have to wait a couple of weeks for all the dairy to clear your system.

The other big challenge this week was a plugged duct that rapidly turned into full-blown mastitis. I went from "huh, my boob is a little sore" to "KILL ME NOW" fever and chills in no time. I had mastitis once with Charlotte, when she was quite a bit older, and it also snuck up on me then. I think I'm over it now (the fever's gone at least) but I guess I need to be more diligent with my chest-related monitoring.

Apologies to my more sensitive and/or male readers for that last paragraph.

One of my readers (Miz Jean!) asked how I managed to get Charlotte to behave so well at bedtime. After I picked myself up off the floor from the dead faint I experience when I realized someone was coming to ME for sleep advice (HA HA HA!), I pondered. In truth, we did a number of things the experts advise you NOT to do. For one, we switched Charlotte to a big-girl bed from her crib just a couple of months before Sam was born, and immediately after a big move, two large changes that should have affected her sleep negatively. However, in Miss C's case, the big-girl bed was a catalyst for all kinds of good things. Once she was in her bed, she no longer required us holding her/rocking her to sleep. She climbed up, was tucked in, and eventually fell asleep while we sang. I honestly don't know how we got so lucky as to get her to fall asleep on her own. It was a combination of bribery ("Big girls who fall asleep on their own get to go to SCHOOL!") and persuasion (we used the book "How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight" to set an example). And it just worked. She's woken up once or twice, and occasionally spends a bit too long singing to herself in her room after we've left, but for the most part it's been smooth sailing. My gut says the timing was just right.

School started this past week, although I don't have meetings until this coming week. I will have another post on that topic soon.

Aaaaand, pretend there's a nice tidy conclusion here! Good night!

Some bullet points, because I lack the coherence to write a real entry:

• -It's a New Year's Miracle! Those of you who have followed Charlotte from the beginning know we've always struggled with her sleeping issues. I'm sure I've written about it more in depth elsewhere, but I'm too lazy to look it up right now. In short, girlfriend has never been too great about going to sleep or staying asleep. She fought naps from the beginning (something I now realize is likely related to her not getting enough sleep and our not sticking to a schedule) and now doesn't take naps at all. Until this fall, she had to be held, rocked, sung, and pacified (with our fingers as the pacifier) to sleep. Well, friends, those days are over. Not only does Charlotte fall asleep without being physically restrained, but as of this week, she goes to sleep on her own. Let me repeat: she falls asleep ON HER OWN. As in, we tuck her in, sing a couple of songs, say goodnight, and leave the room. And then she goes to sleep! I know that for many of you this is a given...your kids have always gone to sleep well, or at least learned to eventually. Charlotte is 2 1/2 and until this week required active adult intervention to fall asleep. I can't tell you how amazing it is for bedtime to take ten minutes as opposed to thirty, forty-five, an hour. Hallelujah.
• -We're settling into a sort of rhythm here. Sam is a good kid, other than the ongoing gas issues. He seems to have fallen into a schedule of sorts, one I'm sure will change and adapt as he gets older. But right now I'm actually carving out something close to a full night of sleep almost every night/day, and I feel pretty great as a result. Sure, it's two hours here, three hours there, but it's better than only two hours total.
• -I'm very happy with how my body has bounced back after this pregnancy. Much, much faster than last time. I was weighed at the doctor this week, and am down to the weight I was when Charlotte was over a year old already. I'm not back in my pre-baby clothes, but am into the second-wave transition clothes that it took me six months to fit into last time. That's nice. As a result, I'll begin posting over at TigBlob soon. I plan on revisiting the Couch-to-5k program, hopefully finishing in time to run the Klompen Classic in Pella at the beginning of May. I also want to introduce some kind of cardio/strength-training video into my routine...any suggestions?
• -I've decided to give up dairy for a few weeks. Again, my hubris was mocked after I wrote the last entry. That very night Sam began crying out in what had to be pain during some of his grunting gas bouts. That did it; the next day I quit dairy. Let me tell you, I'm not terribly happy about it. Do you know how much I like dairy? And do you know how much stuff contains dairy products? Pretty much everything. I picked up some soy milk so I could continue to drink my morning tea (milk and sugar in my tea is not optional), but I had to scramble for other eating options since I seem to rely on milk products for almost every meal. On that note, I'll be posting some of my go-to non-dairy options over on TigEats soon.

Yesterday, Sam turned two weeks old. As if to celebrate, he seemed to really "wake up" for the first time, spending more than five minutes here and there with his eyes open. Last night, he was awake and alert for more than an hour, content with just looking around, bright-eyed and expressive. Of course, this was when he normally would have been sleeping, and I was eager to go to sleep myself. But I'm learning that there really is no "normal" when you're talking about a newborn and sleep.

Sam is still squawking and grunting a lot, and following it up with epic flatulence. I'm not eager to cut out dairy until I get evidence that he's in pain. Right now, it's just a lot of noise. He actually seems to sleep through it most of the time. The problem is that I don't. We've hit upon a solution, though. For the first part of the night, Jeff takes Sam and rests with him on the couch. This guarantees me at least three hours of sleep in a row, as Sam somehow sleeps more soundly in Jeff's arms than in his cradle, and Jeff sleeps more soundly anywhere than I do. Then Jeff brings in Sam for the post-midnight feed and diaper change, after which we all try to settle in for a couple more hours of sleep. Sometimes this doesn't work too well, especially when Sam is extra noisy. But it's a good compromise--I'm getting some rest, and Sam's sleeping in his cradle at least part of the night. We'll probably stick with this plan until he's about six weeks old, at which age he should be sleeping in his cradle/crib almost all of the time, not in someone's arms (one of the mistakes we made with Charlotte that made it difficult to get her to sleep on her own).

Charlotte is adjusting, too. The past few nights we've tried to get her to bed a bit earlier to counter the late-afternoon emotional breakdowns she's been having. It seems to be helping a bit. She's still more clingy and needy than she was before, but that's to be expected with a new baby. I mean, it's pretty obvious what's wrong when she comes up to me on the brink of tears as I'm nursing Sam (again) and says "I need to cuddle!" I know to her it seems like I'm cuddling Sam all the time...I mean, he is nursing non-stop, so in a sense it is that way. But I try to hand him off to Jeff whenever possible, or set him in his swing, so I can have some hands-on time with Charlotte. It's helping, a bit.

Today is my due date. I am so grateful that I have a two-week-old instead of a 40-week belly. My friend Kristen (who, you might remember, was present at Sam's birth) came over today and we spent some time reminiscing about the delivery. It seems already like it took place so long ago.

So, here's the old boy, and one of my two kids. Two kids! Jeff and I are getting a kick out of talking about our "children." It's weird.

My, what big eyes you have! They look pretty blue here, but there's a little ring of hazel/goldish color around the pupil that makes me think he'll end up with Jeff's eyes.

Sam was tired of wearing pajamas all the time, so we dressed him in tiny man clothes today. Apparently in every shade of blue that exists. And my daughter in pink...I promise I'm not trying specifically to reinforce gendered stereotypes! Sam looks a little thuggish here, flashing his baby gang signs.

Very Funny, God

Two of the constants I mentioned in my post yesterday, two of the things that were keeping me sane, went flying out the window last night. The first: Sam sleeping. Instead of sleeping, he's decided to embark on a nightly melodic recital of pterodactyl grunts and bellows, heralding the soupy-waterfall sound of him filling his diaper or ripping farts like a trucker. The baby is gassy, and not terribly happy about it. I can sleep through some baby sounds, but constant intermittent (every ten minutes) upper-decible grunting is not one of them.

The second: Around 3:30 a.m. this morning, when I finally seemed to have gotten Sam settled and slightly more quiet, Charlotte woke up. Screaming. Wailing. Inconsolable. I went in, hugged her, sang her a song, and then told her to close her eyes and go to sleep. "I will," she promised. Twenty minutes later she was up again, screaming. This time Jeff went in. "NOOOO!" she wailed. "I don't want you!" Then followed hysterical hyperventalating and further protestation. Eventually I took over again, climbing into her bed with her until she settled down. I again wrangled a promise from her to fall asleep, and this time it took. By then it was nearly 6 a.m. and Sam was waking up for another feeding.

The only sleep I got was two hours this morning when Jeff mercifully took both kids downstairs.

Any advice about dealing with a gassy baby is much appreciated. And makeup recommendations to cover undereye circles would also be welcome.

Sam at eleven days old is an old soul who has settled in remarkably well here at home. He's eating like a champ, pooping every hour (I call him the percolator), and sleeping like a newborn (which is to say, most of the day and some of the night). He lost his umbilical cord stump (Charlotte called it the "bilicord") today, and appears to have an outie of sorts. He's back up to his birthweight, and probably a couple ounces more now. His bruising is all but gone save for around his eyes, giving him a winning "prizefighter" appearance. As a result, his complexion has toned down from "grape ape" to "south of france tan." His mysteriously dark brown hair is lovely and fuzzy and spiky, especially after a bath (which he hates). His fingers are long and tapered and beautiful. His eyes are dark blue-gray, and I think will turn hazel like Jeff's. His nose is decidedly like his sister's. His cheeks are starting to round out more, and his dimpled chin is even more distinctive with the added ounces. He is adorable in that squashy newborn way.

The rest of us aren't quite as adorable these days. I'm happy to be making a quick physical recovery from this pregnancy, but I'm afraid I've once again been hit with the baby blues. Every day around twilight I start to stare into the middle distance. This eventually devolves into weepy statements such as "I'm failing my daughter," and "I'm going to be a horrible mother of two," etc. This mood usually subsides after an hour or two, but I dread it every day (as, I'm sure, does Jeff). I'm not helped by sleep loss. While I'm doing a much better job sleeping in the same room as Sam than I did with Charlotte, there's no changing the fact that, like most newborns, Sam's up every couple of hours to eat. Feedings plus diaper changes can take up to an hour, so that cuts back on my sleep time. All normal, I know, but requiring adjustment. At least I can read while I nurse. I've gotten through four novels since Sam was born just by reading during feedings.

Jeff is adjusting, too. Yesterday he semi-jokingly asked if there's such a thing as post-partum depression for fathers. He might be sleeping better than me, but he's picking up all my slack around the house and with Charlotte, and that's taking its toll. Plus, I think we'd both gotten used to our wonderful, easy life with one easy-going child.

Speaking of Charlotte...well, a few times in the past eleven days I've wondered if someone swapped our delightful, self-sufficient, cheerful child for this defiant, moody brat who has come to live with us. She loves Sam (mostly), but obviously senses a dynamic shift she doesn't approve of. As a result, she's talking back, screaming, whining, throwing things, refusing to eat, refusing to use the potty...and sometimes melting into tears. She often insists on being swaddled in a blanket and picked up like a baby. I try to give her extra time and attention, but my attention is divided, obviously. One thing that hasn't been affected, fortunately, is Charlotte's sleep. She's still sleeping through the night, often up to twelve hours. Last night she slept from 7 p.m. to 8 a.m.

Today I wondered if Charlotte perhaps needs some evidence that there is life outside our house, life involving other children her own age. I'm looking into some early preschool options. Nothing huge, just a couple mornings a week. But I hope social activity with other whining brats, oops, I mean adorable toddlers will help her return to some semblence of old Charlotte.

I typed most of this post one-handed while nursing. I'm nothing if not adaptable.

Also, I have to give a shout-out to Uncles Mark and Scott (a.k.a Awesome) who are celebrating birthdays today. There's a special something coming in the mail for both of you. I promise it's not the umbilical cord stump. OR IS IT!?

Sam's Birth Story

Part Two

(part one is here)

The nurse left the room to give us some time to discuss. I turned to Jeff. “Uh, we’re having a baby,” I said. He looked a little bewildered. “Really? It’s happening?” he replied. After we had a couple minutes to process, we decided the thing to do was have Dr. McKeon break my water. I was loathe to take any drugs I didn’t really need, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep even with the morphine, I was so hyped up. We told our nurse our decision, and she went to call Dr. McKeon.

Between 5:30 and 6 a.m. we called our parents to let them know what was going on, and then called Kristen, my friend who would also be attending the birth. “It’s time!” I chirped on the phone. Suddenly, I was in a fantastic mood. I was going to have a baby! I was really in labor! I wasn’t an idiot!

Things seemed to go quickly at that point. Kristen arrived around 6:30 a.m. We all walked the halls together, talking about what had happened before her arrival. As we walked by the baby nursery, we spotted our friend Stephanie inside with one of her twin sons, Michael, who was born the week before. We visited with her a little bit while we waited for my doctor to arrive. We didn’t have to wait long.Dr. McKeon arrived at 6:45 a.m., and wasted no time breaking my water. Insert crochet hook (probably not the technical medical term), twist, and gush. Suddenly I remembered how disgusting I felt after my water broke with Charlotte. It’s like being plagued by constant ongoing incontinence. Dr. McKeon announced that the amniotic fluid was clear. I was happy to hear that, of course, but was more focused on how disgusting I felt.

As I lay in bed for the next half-hour, hooked up to the monitors, I could feel a distinct difference between pre-water-breaking contractions and the ones I was now experiencing. These were more intense, longer-lasting, and painful. I began to use some of my handy focusing techniques to get through the pain. With each building contraction, I pictured myself climbing up a sand dune. When the contraction was at its peak, so was I, getting a glimpse of Lake Michigan on the horizon. Then I could work my way back down. It was surprisingly effective, and something I employed when in labor with Charlotte.

After this round with the monitors was over, I got out of bed to move around a bit. Now that my water was broken, I needed some manner of protection. Instead of adult diapers, women in labor get these gorgeous mesh panties into which they insert gigantic maxi pads. Seriously, these pads put the “max” in maxi. We’re talking the size of paperback novels. I joked with Jeff and Kristen about how I hoped I’d get lots of mesh panties to bring home with me.

I thought about walking around a bit more, but the intensity of the contractions made me want to stay close to my room. Instead, we rolled out the birthing ball. The birthing ball was my best friend when I was in labor with Charlotte. I spent a good part of my active labor on that thing, and I think it helped the labor progress. I eagerly climbed aboard, managing somehow not to roll off gracelessly onto the floor.

Jeff popped in a CD. For the next fifteen minutes, I bounced and swayed and sang along…to Neil Diamond. I found myself thinking how happy I was that Neil would be a part of my memories of my baby’s birthday.

The next couple of hours found me cycling through the same routine: on the bed for some painful monitoring (the contractions felt much stronger when I was lying in bed), then back off the bed for more quality time with the birthing ball or time spent pacing the room, leaning on the bed and commanding Jeff to squeeze my hips (something I later learned is a genuine labor-relief technique). As the time passed, my contractions got more intense. Kristen wrote in her journal of my labor: “9:11 a.m.: Jana has a bad contraction. Her face gets red, and for the first time she has a look in her eyes that suggests she's absorbed by the pain and not really aware of what's going on around her.” I remember feeling very warm at the height of each contraction, so I’m not surprised my face was turning red. I definitely zoned out, and I’m sure I was making some interesting groans and moans. But at that point I didn't care.

At 9:45 a.m., the delivery nurse, Stephanie, came in to check my progress again. When she announces I’m still only 7-8 centimeters, I wanted to cry. I had been in the “sailor language” (a.k.a. cursing) portion of my labor for some time now, and I only had one lousy centimeter to show for it? “Is it too late to get in the tub?” I asked pitifully. Might as well relax if it’s going to take all day, I thought. Stephanie thought the tub sounded like a good idea.

So, once again, I was back in the Jacuzzi tub. This time felt very different from six hours ago. My contractions were horrible. I kept wanting to escape the pain, to go somewhere where it isn’t. I compensated by making noise and waving my arms around like a pentecostal. When I'd been in the tub about ten minutes, Jeff went to run an errand (I can’t remember why, but I did give him my permission). Alone with my pain in the bathtub, I lost track of time. I also fell asleep between contractions at a couple points—I hadn’t slept since the night before, and that was an abbreviated night’s sleep anyway. I managed not to fall face-first into the water, thankfully.

Jeff came back between 10:20 and 10:30 a.m. and helped me out of the tub. As I used the toilet I felt an incredible urge to…well, to poop. My research had told me this might be the pushing urge, so I was excited, at least until the next contraction hit and I went to my special place to deal with the pain. I was checked again, and told I’m 8-9, but again “really stretchy.” I hadn't yet inquired how I should feel about being stretchy, but the nurses seemed to think that was a good thing. The nurse told Jeff that the baby was right there.

Kristen came back from getting coffee at 10:45 a.m., and found the room bustling with doctors and nurses. She’d been gone just a half-hour but so much had happened. Jeff filled her in as I suddenly bellowed from the bed “I NEED TO PUSH!” The urge was so intense, something I never felt while in labor with Charlotte. I had the feeling that if I didn't push RIGHT THEN my body was going to split apart. Something about my tone got the message across and suddenly it was delivery time.

In the next five minutes, the bed was pulled apart, the stirrups pulled up, and the table full of delivery accoutrements wheeled over. The baby nurses readied the bassinet and heater thing. “With the next contraction, go ahead and push,” Dr. McKeon instructed. Up to then I had been moaning and crying, feeling completely overwhelmed by the intense pressure and pain. But the go ahead to push was all I needed.

As soon as I started pushing, I could feel things happening in a way I didn’t with Charlotte (I pushed her for three hours). I didn't wait for contractions, but just pushed and pushed, barely giving myself time for a breath between pushes. One of the nurses started off counting, but quit when she realized I was on my own schedule. And that schedule was: fast! Three pushes and my doctor told me to reach down and touch my baby’s head. I did, briefly, but then gave another push or two and saw his head emerge.

“Look at all that hair!” I exclaimed. It was thick and dark and looked curly. I paused at Dr. McKeon’s command, but was relieved to push again. Two more and he was out.

Suddenly, there was a squalling purple infant covered in white goo on my chest. Jeff was talking to me; his tone sounded excited and giddy, but I didn't hear his words. I was completely captivated by this tiny person who just minutes ago wasn’t there. “Sam!” I said. “I’m so glad you’re here!” At the sound of my voice, Sam stopped crying and nuzzled into my arms a bit.

It was 10:58 a.m. on December 27, and my son had just been born.

Sam is one week old today. In honor of the occasion, I'm posting his birth story. It's pretty long, so I'll probably split it into at least two parts. Be forewarned: I will use such terms as "cervix" and "placenta" in these entries, so if you're squeamish about such things (Scott!), you might want to just ask me for the abbreviated version someday.

Sam's Birth Story

Part 1

After being sent home from the hospital early in the morning of December 26, I was extremely frustrated (as I wrote about here). I vowed I wouldn’t let that happen again. I had already had a baby, for crying out loud. I couldn’t believe I was one of those people who went to the hospital mistakenly thinking she was in labor. Not again.

So you can imagine my feelings when the contractions started up again at 11:30 p.m. December 26. “Not again,” I groaned. I dutifully had Jeff begin noting the time of each. They started off three minutes apart almost immediately. And I could tell from my breathing with each one that they were different from yesterday’s. Stronger. More intense. More real. But I wasn’t about to be fooled.

For the next two and a half hours, I paced the floors of our bedroom, reading my book as I walked the twelve or so feet back and forth. Every time I’d feel a contraction, I’d call out “time” and Jeff would jot it down. Every time I had a contraction I was convinced it would be the last one. I tried laying down on my side. On the other side. Squatting. Hands and knees. More walking. Nothing seemed to stop the flow of contractions, which remained steady at three minutes apart. But nothing really seemed to make them more intense, either.

Somewhere during that time Jeff decided to try to sleep a little, so it was just me, pacing the floor in my dark house. Finally, I knew I needed to do something. It was 2 a.m. when I woke Jeff up. My instincts told me we needed to go to the hospital again, but I had decided not to trust my instincts. “What should I do?” I asked a groggy Jeff. He, too, wanted to avoid another false run. Eventually we decided I needed to walk some more, but I needed more than a bedroom-sized track. It was still over 60 degrees outside, so we got dressed and headed out for a walk around the block.

I remember two things about that walk: first, my contractions stayed steady, but got more intense. I had to stop walking and crouch a little, hands on my knees, for most of them. The other thing I remember is the way the wind suddenly picked up. Huge gusts shook the trees around us. Christmas decorations clattered and clanged in the wind. It was so strong Jeff commented that it seemed like tornado weather. “There aren’t tornadoes in December,” I scoffed. We would find out an hour later that we were in a tornado watch at the time.

We made it home without being swept away to Oz, and decided we had to head to the hospital. As I threw a few things in my bag (not much to pack, since it was still packed from the night before), I felt foolish. But I knew how much more ridiculous I’d feel if we waited too long and ended up delivering the baby on the side of Iowa Street. In a tornado. So I told my parents we were off for our nightly errand to Lawrence Memorial, and we headed out.

We got to the emergency room entrance at 3:30 a.m., just as the rain started coming down. The same guy who checked us in the night before was there. I felt my face turning red. I hoped he wouldn’t recognize me, but then I realized that I was wearing the same clothes as the night before. Plus, a nine-months-pregnant woman is a little distinctive, I guess. He was kind enough not to mention anything about it, fortunately.

That deja-vu was repeated when we arrived up in the maternity wing. The nurse from the night before greeted us in the hallway. I covered my face in shame, but she brushed that off. “Better safe than sorry!” she said. At least we weren’t in the same room as before.

I changed into my gown and climbed into the bed for monitoring. I had been feeling the contractions all the way to the hospital and the monitor showed they were coming every three minutes. They also appeared more intense than last night. That was a relief. The nurse checked my cervix. “Hmmm…” she said. I could tell it wasn’t good news. “Same as last night. 5-6 cm.” She must have seen my expression, because she typed it in the machine as 6.

“I’d like you to try the tub,” our nurse suggested. “Are you feeling a lot of pain in your back?” I told her I was. “I think he might be posterior,” she said. “That might explain why your contractions are regular and painful, but aren’t having an effect on your cervix.” She suggested using the tub to relax, and also getting on hands-and-knees to encourage the baby to turn over. I was more than happy to comply, as using the Jacuzzi tub was one thing I really wanted to do while in labor. On her way out of the room, our nurse turned and said, “And try nipple stimulation, too.” Jeff looked at me with surprise. I had to explain what that was as I undressed for the tub.

I was in the tub for about twenty minutes, trying to relax, leaning forward as best I could in the confined space. The contractions continued to come, but I felt better able to handle the waves of pain as I floated in the warm water. I felt a little silly tweaking my nipples, especially with my husband seated on a stool just a couple feet away, but at that point I was willing to do just about anything to get this show on the road.

The nurse returned to monitor my contractions. She suggested we walk around a bit before she checked my progress again, so once again Jeff and I were strolling the halls at 4 a.m. After our brief constitutional, we returned to the room and she checked my progress. “Six…” she said. “Maybe six to seven. But really stretchy.” I think I might have started crying in frustration. I know I felt like it. “So, what do we do now?” I asked. “Well, I want to call Dr. McKeon,” the nurse said. “We’ll see what she suggests. I think you’ll probably have the same choice as last night.” Go home in defeat, or stick around longer just to be sent home later? Great.

I’m sure I wasn’t a very pleasant person to spend time with during the next ten minutes. I spent the time cursing my stupidity and my cervix. But when our nurse came back, everything changed.

“Dr. McKeon wants to keep you here,” she said. She went on to tell us about our two choices: first option was for me to have a little morphine to try to sleep a bit. A nap could accelerate my progress as I relaxed, and would give me a chance to get my strength up before delivery. The second choice was for my doctor to break my water. “She thinks once your water breaks, you’ll go really fast,” the nurse explained. It took me a minute to understand what she was saying, that we were staying in the hospital, and that we’d be having our baby today.

To be continued…

End of the year wrap-up

(2006 is here, 2007 is here)

1. What did you do in 2008 that you'd never done before? Started a Ph.D. program; had a son

2. Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year? My new year's resolution probably related to getting back into running and shape after the holidays; it didn't really happen due to my thyroid problems and pregnancy. I think I'd like this year's resolution to be to get a handle on my health and to continue to try to get into shape.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? Me, once again. My cousin Lisa had a baby boy, Eli, in March, and my cousin Amy had a baby boy, Jack, in June. Other friends have had babies this year, too. Good year for offspring!

4. Did anyone close to you die? I have been touched by some deaths this year--my friend Bryan Graham comes to mind. I worked with him in Grand Rapids.

5. What places did you visit? Again, Iowa and Michigan. Also visited Massachusetts, Kansas, and Georgia to see schools. Went to Chicago in February for a conference. And San Diego in September for a reunion with my college roomies.

6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008? A clean bill of health.

7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? December 27, Sam's birthday. May 10, the day I found out I was pregnant. June 23, Charlotte's second birthday.

8. What was your biggest achievement(s) of the year? Getting to make a choice about what graduate school to attend.*

9. What was your biggest failure? I can't think of anything, but then I am sleep-deprived!

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? Hyperthyroidism, diagnosed in June (but probably going back quite a while). No injuries!

11. What was the best thing you bought? This is kinda dorky, but I love that we have a dining table now. Family dinners are very nice when you aren't hunched over your plate on the couch.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration? My husband's. What a spectacular father. (Same as before, but it still stands.)

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? That girl ahead of me in line at Wal-Mart today. I'm emotionally sensitive right now and she was a jerk.

14. Where did most of your money go? Moving, rent, and visiting schools.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? Eventually, about being pregnant again. About getting my Ph.D. About moving to Kansas.

16. What song will always remind you of 2008? Anything by Kansas, for obvious reasons.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? Both--happy and thrilled about my family of four and my successful first semester of my doctoral program, but sad because of general post-partum blues. b) thinner or fatter? Fatter, but I just had a baby three days ago! Cut me some slack!

18. What do you wish you'd done more of? Reading and sleeping.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of? Throwing up while pregnant this summer, primarily.

20. How did you spend Christmas last year? On the road between Iowa and Michigan.

21. Did you fall in love in 2008? Yes, and his name is Sam.

22. What was your favorite TV program? Haven't watched much TV this year.

23. What did you do for your birthday in 2008? Once again, I had class. My friend Mindi came to visit that weekend, though.

24. What was the best book you read? This one is hard, as I've read lots of great books this year. I just finished Wally Lamb's latest, and liked that a lot.

25. Who was the best new person you met? So far, Sam is pretty rad.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery? I'm late to this one, but I love the Decemberists.

27. What did you want and get? A healthy baby. Admission to grad school.

28. What did you want and not get? Ummm, more sleep?

29. What was your favorite film of this year? Again, haven't seen a lot of movies. Jeff and I watched Stranger Than Fiction last week and liked that a lot.

30. Did you make some new friends this year? Yes. The people here at Kansas are great.

31.What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? I wouldn't have complained if this pregnancy had been nausea-free.

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008? Stretchy pants.

33. What kept you sane? Reading and writing. Looking at my daughter's face.

34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? I don't think I'm going to go into politics right now.

35. What political issue stirred you the most? The election, like everyone else.

36. Who did you miss? I missed my Grandpa Deur this year. I also miss my Ohio friends.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008. With enough work and effort and determination, you can make your dreams come true--even lame academic dreams. :)

*This isn't about me, but Jeff: this year marked the receipt of his Ohio Arts Council Individual Creativity award for poetry. I haven't written much about this here, but I think I might soon, so watch for that if you're interested in Jeff's doings.

I have so much to say about Sam, about this delivery experience, about how enormous Charlotte suddenly seems, but first I really want to take a nice long bath in the huge jacuzzi tub in our hospital room. I promise to write more in the coming days. But I know you're all most interested in photos. In addition to the one above, you can find many more posted to flickr.com (link at right). His facial bruising from his super-quick passage down the birth canal has gone down quite a bit, so he's less purple than yesterday. He's also eating well, as evidenced by his milk mustache in several shots. Enjoy!

Sam's Here

Samuel Scott, born December 27 at 10:58 a.m. 8 lbs 4 oz, 21 1/2 inches. Perfect in every way. The rest of us are doing well, too. More pictures in days to come.

I tried to think of a couple of ways to make this post funny and clever, but to be honest I'm so grumpy and discouraged that I just really don't care. Sorry.

Last night, just hours after I posted the "status quo, still pregnant" message here, I started to have contractions. Jeff and I timed them for an hour; they were coming every 5-7 minutes and were uncomfortable enough that I had to stop talking and breath through each one. After a hour, we called my doctor; she recommended heading to the hospital to have them check me out.

Fortunately, my parents and brother arrived last night, so we didn't have to scramble to find a place for Charlotte. That's the only fortunately I can find in this, though. Ugh, I'm so crabby about it it's annoying. Sorry.

Anyway, we got to the hospital between 1:30 and 2 a.m. On the drive there I realized I wasn't really noticing contractions anymore. I started to think about how moronic I'd feel if I wasn't really in labor.

We spent a couple hours in the family birthing center. The first thing they did was check for contractions and the baby's heartrate. I was experiencing some contractions, nothing really regular, and some I couldn't even feel. Then they checked my cervix and found I was 5-6 cm dilated. That at least made me feel less like an idiot. After they checked me, we walked the halls for about forty-five minutes to see if my contractions did any work to change my cervix at all. I could tell as we were walking that not much was happening. Sure enough, at 3 a.m. I was checked again--no progress. They gave us the option of sticking around and walking some more or going home, and I decided we might as well go home and try to get some sleep.

At this point I really thought I'd be going into more active labor soon. Or soonish. Certainly, by this time. Well, we got home and after some tossing and turning, I managed to fall asleep. When I woke up, near 10 a.m., any signs of labor were gone. And so far, that's how things have stayed.

I'm so irritated right now. I feel like an imbecile for going to the hospital when I did. And I feel like my body has somehow failed me by pretending to go into labor, then, ha ha JUST KIDDING stopping. I don't even have a pithy little phrase with which to wrap up this entry. I'm that upset. Booooo.

Just to reassure you all that I'm not in labor, a post. Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas eve, everyone!

I'm about to enjoy a rare movie night with Jeff, so I leave you with this:

Charlotte's Christmas Serenade!

I don't have much to say today. I'm tired out from a day filled with baby-room-cleaning activities. Fortunately, now the space is much closer to being usable.

Today, Charlotte turned 2 1/2. Jeff thought this would be an auspicious day for the boy to make his appearance, but so far, no dice.

I'm a little sad that there are only a couple of days left on our advent calendar. It's become a fun nightly tradition for us to count each little door up to the door that represents that day. I think Charlotte's counting has improved as a result. And when Christmas is past, I won't get to hear her adorable rendition of "advent calendar": "elephant candle." She loves doing the advent calendar; the anticipation is sometimes too much and she starts to freak out about it. Or perhaps that's just how she feels about her nightly chocolate fix. (I stocked each little compartment with a hershey's kiss, reese's peanut butter cup, or rolo).

Tomorrow is Christmas eve. What?! How did that sneak up on me? I guess we're ready, so it's not a big deal. I think part of the problem is that I grew accustomed to OU's schedule--getting out of classes before Thanksgiving and then having a huge long break until January was luxurious. The winter break is much shorter here, but we do finish up mid-May instead of mid-June. It's a trade-off.

Now I'm just typing to fulfill my promise to write every day, so I'll quit. Tomorrow I'm going to try to post a video of Miss C and her holiday song extravaganza.

One of the things I had jotted down on my seemingly endless to-do list was: bookshelves? Just like that, with the question mark and everything. The use of that particular punctuation mark seems a bit ridiculous. It'd be more accurate to write: bookshelves. Or: bookshelves! Or even: bookshelves... Because there's no question about it: we need more bookshelves.

I guess the question mark is a gesture toward the slight embarrassment I feel when I look around our living room and count seven bookshelves. Up in Jeff's office there are three more. Charlotte's room has a shelving unit that has become the book depository. And still we have stacks of books everywhere: on our dressers, desks, dining table, floor.

Each of the kids' rooms got a new bookshelf today. Just a cheap-o three-tier particle board bookshelf--nothing to get too excited about. But Charlotte did get excited about them. "Ooh, my new bookshelf!" she exclaimed as we set it up in her room. And then, without a hint of sarcasm (she is only 2 1/2), she said "Let's put some books on it! How fun!" Then she went to find her pocket protector and hiked her pants up to her armpits. I'm raising a dork.

I need no genetic testing to tell me that this is my child, and Jeff's. One childhood memory that has stuck with me is that of visiting the public library, and getting to check out a paper grocery sack's worth of library books on a weekly basis. That towering stack of books that I'd pile up next to my bed seemed like an endless repository of adventure. I loved to read. Loved. I devoured books. I'm still endlessly grateful to my parents for nurturing this love of reading, as it has led to my ability today to read voraciously, tirelessly, and quickly--a great skill to have as a graduate student.

Jeff's love of books is more that of the aesthete. He is not a speed-reader (and is sometimes very resentful of the fact that I am). His pace could best be described as plodding. But he savors the words he reads, slowly absorbing them and computing and finding depths of meaning in texts that I might miss.

Charlotte has inherited my voracious appetite for books, and Jeff's attention to details and words. She loves to be read to, and will ask anyone she meets to do so. Every week or so she has a new favorite book, one that she'll want to have read repeatedly, even though I know she knows it by heart. (This week's book is "Snow" by P.D. Eastman; yesterday, I heard her "read" most of the book, fairly accurately, to herself. Nothing is cuter). She has learned about rhymes, and will call out when something rhymes (hence another new favorite, "There's a Wocket in my Pocket" by Dr. Seuss). She'll listen to the language and pays attention to the illustrations, noticing emotions on the faces of the characters, or when the dog from the previous page is missing, for example.

One of the things she promises the baby is that "she'll read him her books." I have no doubt she'll make good on that promise. And that's one of the images that made me confident that I wanted a second child, no matter how unpleasant pregnancy might have been: the picture I had in mind of Charlotte and a younger sibling reading books together on the couch. That's about as utopian as I can imagine things.

This morning, we dressed Charlotte in her Christmas dress just in case we don't make it to the Christmas Eve service. Besides, this outfit was too adorable to only wear once. I took advantage of the opportunity to take our family Christmas picture.

Not pictured: Me waddling over to painfully grunt my way to the ground every time I set the self-timer function on the camera; the dozen or so pictures with Jeff's eyes closed (the family curse!); me promising Charlotte a cookie just as soon as the pictures were done...no, not yet, just one more, please, sit still ARGH.

Merry Christmas!

Today I finished my final seminar paper for the semester. Immediately after I realized I was done (save final copy-editing, printing and handing in), I announced the news to Jeff and Charlotte. We celebrated by dancing to some Guns N Roses (I'm serious). Not long after, I crashed. I didn't realize I had been riding an anxiety high for the past...oh, two weeks? I'm exhausted. I need a good night of sleep (not likely to happen at nine months pregnant) and a day filled with anything but analysis of primary sources and critical texts. I need to go to bed at night without the names of the characters about which I'm writing running through my head. I need to spend some time with my family of three before it becomes a family of four.

Now that I'm done, I have feelings of both overwhelming freedom and anxiety about all the non-school-related stuff I've been postponing. I need to prioritize what really needs to happen in the next couple of days and what can wait, so I can actually find some time to relax. One thing I plan on doing is updating this blog every day until the baby's born. It might not be a big-deal post, but you can count on something here from now until the birthday (whenever that might be).

Some reflections on my first semester of my doctoral program:

In many ways, this semester was easier than any quarter I had during my time in my MA program. Primarily this is due to my fellowship, which frees me from teaching this first year. I was free to focus only on my own studies--no course planning, no lecturing, no grading. That was a huge relief.

In other ways, though, this semester was difficult. Because of my fellowship, I took three graduate classes this semester (a normal load with teaching is two). Three grad courses makes for a lot of reading, writing, and class time. At times it was overwhelming, and I didn't think I'd be able to get all the work done. I think I'm most proud to say that I completed every assignment, and that I did so in a way that I can feel confident in.

I'm also really pleased with the final projects/papers I put together for each of my classes. The seminar paper is one of the more difficult tasks a graduate student faces. It becomes more and more difficult to find something original to say about a work of literature, something that engages what has already been said but poses new and interesting questions or ideas about the topic. More than once I thought I had a great topic for one of papers only to find out after further research that Dr. So-and-so already published a paper on that topic in 2004 or whatever. Great...back to the drawing board. But this painful process forced me to come up with what I think were really innovative ideas about the texts, ideas that I can truly call my own. I think that's one of the benchmarks of a scholar--truly original ideas.

Of course, I haven't gotten any of my final papers' grades yet, so we'll see if I revise my feelings about my papers later.

I'm sure I have other things to say about my first semester here, but my brain is on shut-down mode and I think chocolate might be required.

Stasis: Noun. sta·sis Pronunciation: \ˈstā-səs\

1: a: a state of static balance or equilibrium: stagnation b: a state or period of stability during which little or no evolutionary change in a lineage occurs

Well, it would be hard to convincingly argue that I'm in a state of stability during which little change in lineage is occurring considering my status as an incubator for a little person. But other than that, things around here are in a state of stasis. Status quo. Holding pattern. Etc.

In addition to continuing to bake a tiny baby in my Dutch oven (uh, metaphor! Not a cannibal!), I also am trying to summon up enough academic creativity and willpower to finish these last two papers. I'm constantly distracted by each little twinge or thump. Last night I spent an hour timing and panicking over what turned out to be indigestion. Then, exhausted by that, I went to bed at 9 p.m. An entire night of writing lost due to my wacky bowels.

To be honest, the task ahead seems impossible. Perhaps that's why I'm so easily distracted. 35 pages worth of coherent academic argument in 3 days? Wait, it IS impossible. Crap.

Things I promise to bring to my faithful blog readers once those 35 pages are under my belt: obligatory pictures of our Christmas tree; video of Charlotte singing Christmas songs; some new Charlotte quotes; more stories about my digestive system. Stay tuned!

In the last week, I have:

Assembled and frozen six casseroles for baking post-baby
Purchased and put up a Christmas tree (with Jeff and Charlotte's assistance, of course)
Put up my other Christmas decorations (nothing too elaborate, just the mantel)
Researched and narrowed down topics for three final papers
Nearly finished one of the three papers
Pre-registered at the hospital

Oh, and:

Managed not to have a baby.

Whew. Next up:

Write the other two papers (by next week)
Finish Christmas shopping
Wrap Christmas presents
Bake cookies
Clean my poor neglected house
Wash the baby's clothes that haven't been washed yet
Finish packing my bag for the hospital
Post something more substantial and entertaining to my blog!

Word of the Day: Panic!

Sonogram and doctor's appointment this morning. Sonogram revealed the baby weighs about 6 pounds, 6 ounces. That's how much I weighed when I was born. (Yes, I know weight estimates are notoriously off at this late stage, but still...my intuition tells me this is at least close to accurate as I am feeling GREAT with child).

Then, my doctor checked me (you know, pelvically) and told me I was three centimeters dilated. Uh, beg pardon?

Now, I know this doesn't necessarily mean anything. I was 2-3 centimeters dilated two weeks before Charlotte was born. And it's normal to dilate a litte bit earlier with subsequent pregnancies. So it's not like the baby's gonna fall out at any moment or anything (oh, if only it were that easy!). But my doctor did say she'd be very, very surprised if I make it to January.

Dear Santa: please let me make it until after December 16, when my last project is due for school. Twelve days...that's not too much to ask, right?

Now I have lists running through my head...things I need to buy and do and get and make before the baby arrives. I'm off to devote those things to paper since my brain is a sieve.

Oh, and everything else looked fine with the baby. He obligingly turned his face toward the screen and gave us a nice profile shot. He was also more than happy to give us an obligatory genital view. Still there!

Oh, poor Jeff. Let's get that last entry off the top of the page, shall we?

It wasn't my intention to leave it up there that long, but Thanksgiving weekend travel and school work intervened. Yesterday I flipped open my little pocket planner/calendar thing, and noted that it was December. Then I saw all these deadlines (final papers, exams, presentations, last day of classes, hospital tour, CHRISTMAS) coming up. When these dates were safely on another, unseen calendar page, everything seemed doable. Now, all these really important things are suddenly tomorrow! Or next week! Oh, and did I mention I'm 34 weeks pregnant? That means my due date is NEXT MONTH. Gulp.

But let's not worry about that now! I mean, you don't have to worry about it at all. I'm the one who needs to worry. I guess what I mean is, how about I don't burden you with my panic right now. Agreed? Great.

Instead, I'd like to offer a brief, partial, and belated list of things for which I am thankful: our nice cozy home here in Lawrence; my really awesome classes and professors this semester; the friends I've made here at KU; the friends I miss from Iowa, college, Michigan, and OU; my family, close and extended, who are all really good people who seem to genuinely care about me (and not just because of Charlotte or the baby boy, either); Earl Grey tea; dark Belgium chocolate hot cocoa; cookie dough; the smell of woodsmoke in my neighborhood when I walk to the bus stop; stretchy pants; the smell of crayons and playdoh;

But most of all I'm thankful for these two clowns: