I’m totally not complaining
OK. So after the last post of me slightly freaking out, I’m rewarded with:
- A five hour stretch of sleep last night
- nursing sessions every three hours today, rather than every two
- Owen having an increasing number of angelic moments to balance the devilish ones
I’m feeling much calmer today, and part of it is the sleep, and the other part is that I dug out my Harvey Karp book (Happiest Baby On The Block). I thought that I’d just remember some of what I learned reading it when Owen was a newborn but I overestimated my powers of retention. I read it again this afternoon and found a few wasy to polish up my soothing techniques.
It’s crazy, the emotional difference between readng Dr Sears’ Baby Book and Harvey Karp’s book. Last night I was reading about GERD in the Baby Book and was convinced that Cormac had it, and that he was writhing in horrible pain, and that I would have to give up chocolate, milk and caffeine to cure him. Today I read Karp’s book and am convinced that Cormac is just a regular baby and that I am perfectly equipped to calm him down and provide a lovely, nurturing environment for him.
Actually, I started getting a little worried that he was sleeping longer than two hours at a time today. But I think it’s just that his 10-day growth spurt is done. I dunno. I have a spectacular ability to worry about everything, anything and nothing! Go me!
Coming up for air
Holy shit, this mother-of-two gig is HARD. Even with Iain home for the summer. We can just about get it together enough to tag-team the parenting; usually he tackles Owen and Owen-related issues, while I am in the recliner nursing (and nursing. Oh, and nursing).
Cormac appears to have some sort of … “problem.” Flatulence, not to put too fine a point on it. He grunts and groans and twists and bitches quite a lot. I remember Owen having the kind of gas as a newborn that would keep me up nights, but I don’t remember him writhing like this. Of course, I’m finding that I have mentally blocked an awful lot of horrid newborn behavior.
Love the sinner, hate the sin, that’s my attitude to this newborn phase. There are people who would tell me to appreciate every moment, but honestly? I am counting the days until he’s a regular baby. Newbornhood is just too taxing.
As far as Owen is concerned: Well. Here are some new rules we’ve had to implement:
- No licking people
- No poking people without asking permission
- No throwing books
- No leaving the house without telling Mom and Dad
I find that when I get more than 3 or 4 hours of sleep he’s much easier to deal with.
OK. Baby’s stirring. What else? I got a haircut. The timing was perfect. The guy was pretty good and I’m going to go back to him for the next cut. He proved his mettle when he fixed the awful stupid hate haircut that the other lady gave me, the lady I had to divorce because she wouldn’t listen. And he convinced me to buy a flat iron with ceramic plates and something called Tourmaline. And he may yet convince me to have my hair colored, by an actual professional, although I’m not sold on that yet. I kind of like the color (it’s finally natural again, a medium brown, nothing so fancy as “chestnut” or “burnt chocolate”) and I’m beginning to really take ownership, to embrace, if you will, the wiry strands of grey that are leaping about.
Other news: We are going to travel to see our parents. If you live in the Ohio-PA-MI tri-state area and would like to get together, possibly at Pollyeye’s next week, let me know. We’re still putting plans together but maybe we can work something out. On the other hand, this may be the sleep deprivation talking. I’m still not sure how traveling 8 hours in a car with a newborn and a toddler is going to end in anything other than misery and heartbreak. But hey, let’s give it a shot.
Um. Anything else? I may not chime in here again for a while. My days are divided into two hour chunks, and somehow I always have my hands full.
Seeking Baltimore advice re: Truck caps
Halooo? Any a’ y’all Baltimoreans know where a gal can find a good fiberglass short-bed truck cap? To fit, say, a 4-door Dodge? I’d be much obliged: marybeth@supamb.com. Grazie.
I’d like to thank Snickers Bars and reality TV
Team Eastman is surviving! Very busy! Very little sleep! Emotional dials all turned to 11! Everyone having a bad hair day! But! All maintaining collective sense of humor!
Mac is still nursing successfully (I’d high-five you but my hands are full) and seriously, I’m going to write a post about that, swear to god. Just not today.
Owen is totally awesome with the big brother and the responsible little boy gigs (when he isn’t having complete meltdowns and earning multiple instances of Time (The fuck) OUT. We now have many pet fish and a new pet turtle and it is Owen’s responsibility to feed them and Jeezum Crow, you guys, he is awesome at feeding fish. I’m still terrified he’s going to catch the salmonella from that turtle, but he hasn’t yet, so that’s good.
We went out for our first four-person-family outing on Saturday, 8 days post-partum, to the grocery store and not a single panic attack was had. I would high-five myself but, you know, hands full. We tried to go to the park Monday, all four of us, but it’s a little too far away and 92 degrees is a little too hot for me and I forgot that I’m not supposed to resume normal physical activity yet and so nearly passed out on the front stoop of a very nice old person’s rowhouse. But I didn’t pass out, I just turned around and walked the baby home. Made it in time to leak all over my shirt and the baby and the couch.
And Tuesday? Dried my hair, put on lip gloss and we, all four of us, did go together to CVS. Big day out, I’m telling you. And it was Iain’s last day of school and now school’s out for summer, and we, all four of us, have a good eight weeks to get to know each other better. So.
Yay! Zzzzzzzzzzz.
If Mama isn’t happy, nobody is happy
Thanks to my friend Christarenee, the sentiment is now available in mug form!
Also: T-shirts.
Especially this onesie that sums up pretty much every gleeful 4 a.m. awakening (gleeful on the part of the baby, of course) and this t-shirt: if you’ve got a hunger for Banana Pancakes, I can tell you where to go.
So! We might not get much sleep here Chez Eastman but we’ll be damned stylish in the meantime. Now you can be, too! T-shirt twins!
one more thing
Cormac smiled yesterday, eyes open! Hand on heart! He’s an early smiler!
One week
Hey! Just like that annoying Barenaked Ladies song I’ve got stuck in my head!
So Cormac is one week old today. We’re doing pretty well as a family of four. My blogging time is about negative a hundred minutes a day, meaning I have a deficit of nerdery going on here, and also a deficit of sleep, and that’s why this sentence is not making any sense.
So, without further ado OR further, uh, confusingness, a brief bulleted list of highlights. And lowlights. And you know what? This is reminding me that I really need a haircut.
- Nursing! Is working! This deserves it’s own post because I am OMFG so excited about this. I mean, there are bloodstains on my washable nursing pads from when I tried with Owen, if that gives you any indication of the utter lack of success I had last time. This time? OK, it’s not “fun” or “comfortable” exactly but it also finally doesn’t hurt or make me cry or want to die or run away. He eats and I think — I certainly hope — that he is growing. So I’m psyched.
- Best postpartum recovery ever. I can’t like run a marathon or anything but I am feeling very good. No stitches. A prescription for Percoset. No more pregnant belly. I can sleep like a log. Things are good in the My Body arena.
- Um. We have fish? I had forgotten. There are three left. Their names are Not Dead Yet, Still Alive, and That Other One.
- Iain totally and completely rocks the house as a dad.
- Owen, for the most part, is a totally awesome big brother. He likes to touch the baby’s feet and is actually quite possessive at times: “DON’T TOUCH my BABY,” he will tell me. Quite bossily, if you can’t tell. But at other times you can tell he’s not really liking things. This morning he came into our bed at about 6:30. Mac was in there sleeping next to me. I was trying to nurse him laying down which was a big stupid mistake (things do not line up well in that position) and Owen was thrashing around. Eventually he turned sideways in the bed, looked me straight in the eye and put his feet on the baby’s head. I don’t know why except that he very much was rather sick of the whole thing at that point. I don’t blame him, the little dude. I was the oldest child, too; I know what it’s like to be pushed out of the limelight by a new sibling. Hopefully he doesn’t try to knock this one off a great height — literally — as I did with my sister. Sorry, Em!
- Sleep. I am getting a little. Mac nurses every couple hours from 6 or 7 a.m. until about 5 or 6 p.m. Then it’s every hour until midnight. Then a three or four hour break, til about 3:30 a.m., then up again at 6 or 7. I usually get one nap, but all that broken sleep — whew. I forgot how torturous that is. And also, that the majority of the time Owen is home and awake I am stuck in the recliner with a baby on my tit. Poor Owen.
- Also. Today is his last day of school. Daycare. Whatever. His last day ever, due to money reasons and the new work schedule I will have when I go back. I am glad I am not allowed to drive yet and therefore not the one picking him up or dropping him off because I would be a wet sobbing mess of emotion. So much heartache and joy went into that, me bringing him to school, him learning new things from new people, making friends, socializing. OK. Seriously. Crying now. I’m glad to have him home with me now but I will miss him having “school” to go to.
OK. That’s about all I have time for. Also, the Cosby Show comes on at 1 o’clock. Also, I’m still hungry. Also, Baby Mac will be waking up soon.
If I don’t post again for another week you’ll know why: My hands will be completely full.
cormac louis
The end is nigh
Well! Iain came with me to see the doctor today. Lost another pound (how?!). No progress otherwise. Non-stress test went surprisingly smoothly; Nurse Knowledgable, this time, instead of Nurse Nincompoop. And having Iain for company was awesome. Had an ultrasound, which showed the water levels are fine.
So. Flipper’s all right. Stubborn as a mule, but doing OK.
Conferred with the doctor and have agreed to give Flipper a wee bit of a nudge tomorrow. It’s cheating and I said I wasn’t going to induce but you know what? Induction scheduled for 6:30 a.m. He’s had 9 days. As Xiobhan said, he ain’t payin’ rent. Heh.
Hope to have a new babe in arms by the end of the day. My doctor estimates this will go quickly, which is good.
You know what else is good? New washing machine. Ours crapped out today while I was trying to clean Bruno, the doll Owen threw in the nasty germy outdoor garbage can yesterday. That’s some bad timing. But fortunately Iain is a go-get’em guy. He took the whole damn thing apart. The motor was shot and blah blah other mechanical stuff. So we ran out to the Sears outlet and were able to resume laundrical activities within an hour and a half. Not the way I like to spend $500 but hell if I’m taking all that new-baby dirty laundry to the Suds-O-Mat. And am kind of working on a deadline here.
Also good: New pet fish. They need names. One died already. But they’re our first pets and I love them.
So to recap: New fish and washing machine today, new baby tomorrow. Wish me luck.
You’re sick of hearing about it, but not as sick as I am of being it
My entire world has narrowed to the confinement of the couch. I have several pillows, my laptop, the remote, a novel, and my crochet work-in-progress. I am too sore and tired to do much of anything else.
My stretchmarks have breached my bellybutton and are conquering the area beneath my ribcage. I actually have a few small spots that are bright red — the skin stretched so taut, so quickly, that there will be a scar.
I got an e-mail today from babycenter.com, the website with weekly progress e-mails. This one’s subject line: “Your one-week-old.” I am flipping the bird at it.
I have very little space in my brain for anything other than the choo-choo train of “I’m still pregnant. How am I still pregnant? I’m still pregnant.” I’m only a week overdue, but am looking forward to my O.B. appointment tomorrow. Surely the doc will schedule an induction. Surely Flipper must be ready by now. I get the feeling he’s not coming out without a fight, anyway — after all that “false labor” hoo-ha from yesterday I could count today’s contractions on one hand.
In other news … surely there is other news? Things happening, both inside my house and outside in the world , to talk about? Yes.
Owen continues to call me sweetpea, which just kills. At Target over the weekend, as I was carrying him on my hip (for three minutes at a time) he took my face in both hands and said sweetly, “You done your Target shopping, sweetpea?” He knows how to push my comedy buttons.
Yesterday he woke up at 6:15 a.m., rubbing his eyes and practically sleepwalking, saying, “Dump the trash, Mom. Time to dump da trash.” And then proceeded to empty each of the household wastebaskets into the kitchen garbage can.
Last night he hunkered down in front of my belly button and yelled sternly, “COME OUT, BABY!” I gave my belly a poke and said, Flipper, you listen to your older brother.
The sentiment is getting old, I know, but I just gotta say, it’s a good thing I’ve got him to take my mind off the torture.
As far as the world at large: I don’t have much. I’ve been watching “So You Think You Can Impersonate A Celebrity” or whatever the fuck that show is called. I’ve also been watching All My Children, General Hospital, some show called Haley’s Hints, and Oprah. Television pretty much sucks but it sucks a hell of a lot more if you watch it in the daytime and don’t have cable.
I’ve also been flipping through a few magazines: Adorn and Blueprint. I know there’s a copy each of Wired and Discover laying around here somewhere, too, but I’ll be damned if I can see them from the sofa. Therefore, for my purposes, they don’t exist.
I’m naturally a very lazy person, but Friday will mark the end of the second full (wasted) week off work. Pre-maternity leave, is what this is turning out to be. I’m not precisely bored — I will always have projects to dream up and possibly work on — but I am definitely reminded that it’s best if unemployment and I remain distant acquaintances. I am a better person if I am required to go somewhere and do something slightly productive on a semi-regular basis.
Well then. Was that as boring to read as it is to live through? For your sake, I hope not. I’m also hoping that Flipper is still doing well in utero, but especially hoping that he’s amenable to vacating the premises sooner rather than later. Each day he chooses “later” feels like it’s three weeks long.
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