Wake Up, Seabass!

6 Jul

Arcade Fire

When Jake and I first discovered we were pregnant with our precious C, we immediately started discussing which song would be perfect for his birth slide show.  The unanimous choice was Arcade Fire’s “Wake Up” for its epic grandiosity.

And here we are, nine months later, with a slide show of C’s birth that Jake set to Arcade Fire.  How time flies.  Enjoy – and crank the volume!

Note to the squeamish: As this is a BIRTH slide show, be aware that there are a few shots taken in the hospital that include blood.  Booooooaah-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Good Stuff #2: Miracle Blanket aka “Back in the Swaddle Again”

5 Jul

A mom in my moms’ group recently shared that she was having a hard time getting her newborn baby down to sleep.  “I have to walk laps and laps around the house to get her to calm down.  I’m running out of energy.”

“Have you tried the Miracle Blanket?” one of us asked.  When she replied in the negative, we accosted her with exclamations on the benefits of a tight swaddle for getting baby to sleep.  A little shell-shocked, she shared that her baby didn’t like being swaddled.

Once again, a cry arose from our group.  “No, no, no,” we wailed.  “It only looks like she doesn’t want to be swaddled.  Give it another chance.”

Miracle blanket?  Swaddle?  What the heck is she talking about? For those of you unfamiliar with these lofty terms, the Miracle Blanket is a special blanket that bundles baby up so tightly that his/her arms and legs are kept from moving or escaping the tight wrap, or swaddle.  This is critical during the early months when baby insists on hitting him/herself in the face for no apparent reason.

When I was registering for baby stuff months ago, a friend advised that I include the Miracle Blanket in my list, though I didn’t really know why I should.  I had rarely ever held a baby – much less swaddled one – so I simply didn’t understand the genius that is those magical flaps inside a long oval of jersey knit.

When we brought li’l Seabass home from the hospital, our first attempt at employing the Miracle Blanket was less than impressive.  We bent over the crib, frantically alternating between looking at our wailing baby and the instructions for the blanket.

“It says the flap goes here.”

“No the flap goes here.”

“Are you sure?!?  Look at the DIAGRAM!”

And I admit, it didn’t always look like C was too thrilled to be in his little baby straightjacket.  But once Jake became really proficient at swaddling him up, our sweet baby became perceptibly calmer inside it.  I guess it has something to do with his being accustomed to close quarters in the womb.  Upon seeing C swaddled up like a mummy, visitors often remark that he must be claustrophobic in there.  (Ah, the opinions of others.  How they cut to the quick!)  I even had one visitor come over and ask to hold C, only to unswaddle him behind my back while I ran (RAN) to the restroom.  Her logic?  “He can’t be comfortable.  There’s just no way.”

But he is.  Swaddled is Seabass’ sleep style of choice, and thus, his Miracle Blanket is already starting to show some wear and tear.  If ever it gets soiled, there is a panic in the house as to how quickly we can launder it for C’s sleeping pleasure.  And we’re so cheap that we’ve only just begun to consider buying a second blanket for $39.00.  Seriously, they’re that expensive.  And seriously, they’re worth every penny.

Happy Feet

4 Jul

Watch these tootsies go!

Crying and Peeing. Together.

2 Jul

A lot of new moms are shocked by how hard it is to recover from childbirth.  No one tells you that you’ll fantasize about walking for the first month, or that the real “little bundle of joy” you’re taking home is a bag full of adult diapers and Tucks pads that the hospital gives you.  No one tells you that you’ll be shifting in your seat on a very very very sore behind while nursing the new baby for hours on end.

And no one tells you that you’ll pee your pants.  Perhaps more than once.

At this point, some of you – particularly those of you who are male – may be clicking on that little red box with an ‘x’ inside the upper right corner of your screen because you simply don’t want to know this about me.  But those of you who have had a baby or are sickly fascinated with what it’s like will enjoy the following narrative immensely.

***

Once again, I am up with Seabass at 3am.  He’s probably about 2 weeks old, and I am dutifully changing his diaper.  But when I stand up, I vaguely notice that my bladder is full.  Huh, I think, I’ll have to visit the bathroom when I’m done here. This is pre-pregnancy, normal person thinking.  I bring Seabass over to the changing table and – whaddya know? – he starts to cry.  Really hard.  As I remove his diaper, a surprisingly acute stream of pee arcs from his body to the wall.  (Whenever this happens, it always takes me a second to realize what’s going on, and by that time, something – whether it’s me, the wall, or C’s face – is completely soaked.)  Something about the stress of covering Seabass’ little willy while attempting to quiet him at 3am causes me once again to consider my full bladder.  Wow, I really have to go, I think.

Only this time, as I’m thinking it, I’m actually peeing.  Never mind that my brain is telling my body to hold it.  That simply doesn’t seem to matter anymore.  So I start to cry.

If we’re looking for a silver lining in this story, I can tell you that it was wonderful to connect with my son as we were both crying and peeing together.  Really, a lovely moment.

But since then, I have learned a number of very important lessons:

  1. At the first inkling of a tinkle, run to the bathroom.  Do not mosey. Do not tempt fate.
  2. When everyone tells you to practice Kegels during your pregnancy, do not blow it off as a mere suggestion.  The practice of Kegels could mean the difference between a happy, fulfilled motherhood and the loss of all dignity.
  3. A wet bottom is just a sneeze away.  Beware.

Good Stuff #1: HUSBAND

1 Jul

I have a single friend who recently revealed that she is thinking about having a baby via a sperm bank donation.   At the time she told me, I was still pregnant.  I hadn’t yet experienced any of parenthood’s highs and lows. I think my response to her at the time was nothing more than a hearty good luck and a smile.

Just two weeks into motherhood, though, I called her up and had her come over under the guise of showing off the baby.  My real motive, however, was to exhort her not to go forward with the sperm bank plan.  And why?  Because having a baby without a father is downright kamikaze.

Although I’ve always believed that children need the love and security of both a mom and a dad, practically speaking, if it weren’t for the love and security Jake has shown toward me, lil Seabass may have ended up on someone’s doorstep by now.

Hyperbole, of course.  Mostly.

I’ve had Seabass alone during the day for about three weeks now, and I can’t describe the sense of relief I have when Jake comes home from work.  The sound of his key in the lock at 5:30pm heralds the first full breath I take all day.  It means that the baby will calm down in new, different arms and hear a new, lower voice.  It means there will be fresh energy restored to our home.  It means there will be a shoulder to cry on when I’m bouncing on the exercise ball and trying to breastfeed but Seabass just refuses to eat.  And it means there will be new ideas to try when every response to “WHAT NOW?!?” has been worn to the nub.

So, I gave my whole opinion to my crazy friend, half expecting her to look at me askance and ask when I’d become June Cleaver.  But she didn’t.  She sincerely thanked me for the tip.

It may have had something to do with the fussy, grunting, back-arching Seabass in my arms.  Just a guess.

Lactation Lamentation

30 Jun

Breastfeeding is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, hands down.  Never have I heard so much advice and theorizing from well-meaning people.  Who knew my chest would ever be the topic of such heated discussion?

Seabass has never been a champ at the breast.  First he was too sleepy, which diminished my milk supply.  So the lactation consultants got us into a regimen of putting him on the breast as much as possible before eventually pumping and bottle-feeding the remains while simultaneously taking a milk-supply-enhancing herb supplement that made me smell like maple syrup.  Exhausting.  I was like a sleep-walking pancake breakfast.

And oh, the shame!  Not only was I spending up to 90 minutes feeding my baby before starting again an hour later, but I felt less than a woman for not holding up my end of the baby/mommy feeding agreement.  I envied – and still do envy – those for whom it all comes naturally.

Then Seabass woke up and started eating more, all of his own accord.  Yay!  At the same time, he also started screaming bloody murder between feedings, sometimes to the point where he couldn’t calm down enough to eat.  Boo.  Lactation consultants:  “It has to be something you’re eating that’s irritating him.  How about you go off of corn, wheat, dairy, soy, nuts, chocolate, caffeine and most fruits and vegetables?  And if that doesn’t work, we’ll try taking you off water and oxygen next week.”  Me: “Youbetcha, that sounds perfectly reasonable!”

And alas, it isn’t anything I’m eating that’s making him the fuss monkey, colicky baby he is anyway.  It’s just him. It’s not my diet.  Not the detergent we use.  Not his sleep schedule.  Not the weather.  Not the stress I’m under or the way we SHUSH and SWADDLE and SWING this little guy.

When he is eating well, I love love love nursing.  I’ve never had a symbiotic relationship like this before, and it truly is a gift from God…when it works.  It’s beautiful to stroke C’s little neck, rock back and forth and sing little weird made-up songs to him while he chows down.  It feels ancient and pure.  And I guess it makes up for all the times that he is a tomato-red howling banshee coming on or off the breast, sending me into tears and tempting Jake to fetch a pen and the adoption papers.

No, in this new economy of parenthood, whatever’s best for C is worth the trouble.

All-Natural Dog Treat

29 Jun

C’s third week in this world is a blur to me now, but one moment does stand out.

It is 3am and I am nursing our little guy in a sleep-deprived idiot stupor.  I finish up, dim the lights (with the handy remote control dimmer my smart husband installed) and get up to put C down in his crib.  Something falls to the ground with a *clink,* but I can’t see it and frankly, at 3am, a bomb could go off next door and nary so much as an eyebrow would have raised.  The only things that matter: Sleep.  Bed.  No more consciousness.

The next morning, I am sitting in the rocking chair nursing C again and I spy something black and twisty on the floor.  It is C’s umbilical cord, which had been hanging by a thread on his belly button for a lot longer than expected.  Well good, I think.  It’s about time that thing fell off.  I’ll pick it up when I’m done here.

Just then, our dog Murphy (who had been shell-shocked since the arrival of this new, screaming demon) sniffs in the direction of the umbilical cord on the ground.  “No, Murph!” I snap, probably a little too harshly.  He slinks out of the room and I return my attention to nursing.

Minutes tick by.  C is still eating when I notice that Murph is back in the general vicinity of the fallen umbilical cord, and he is chewing.  And chewing.  Something very rubbery is in his mouth and he appears to be enjoying it thoroughly.

“Drop it!” I yell, but it is too late.  The dog has unceremoniously eaten our son’s umbilical cord.  We are now officially one with our dog.

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