Stabs at Coherency

Averaging about 3 hours of sleep a night (and day--does a 10 minute snooze during Sesame Street count?) I realize that trying to compose a coherent blog post is . . . what is the word? Oh, yeah. Impossible (you should know it took three times to spell that right).

Let's just spill it . . .

Rainn Wilson. Funny. I don't even watch The Office. He was on Conan and his wit gave me weak knees. I found him rather sexy in a geek-love sort of way.

Baby still has no blog name. What she does have is a favorite sleeping position. On me, one arm tucked up under my armpit, her head wedged up under my chin, her body curled up on my chest. Best accessory I've ever owned.

Pajamas. I have no idea how to get out of them. Showers elude me. You can fake clean hair with baby powder.

Baby girl dreams. My sister-in-law once said that she thinks babies dream of breasts. Every time I see baby girl's eyes flutter I imagine she sees all sorts of boobs--all shapes and sizes. Some sporting wings and flying around performing air acrobatics. Others basking in the sun. A few swimming in pools of milk. It makes me laugh.

I wish I could wear a Onesie.

No. I don't. Neither do you.

I get to change the diaper of a toddler and the diaper of a newborn. I've never experienced such joy. Heard in our household last week:

Dad (shouts from JR's room--upstairs): OMG, L, you gotta see this. I see corn, raisins, and I have no idea. D-A-M-N. Massive stinkage.

Mom (me--shouting from the living room): Um, T. Sorta busy. I got stringy seedy stuff down here. Excellent shade of mustard yellow.

Dad: Man, if this is our idea of fun on a Friday night, I can't wait for Saturday!

Mom (reaching for another wipe and shoving a diaper under a tiny puckered butt): Neither can I. *sigh*

A mom from my mom's group brought a meal that contained a homemade cheesecake. I ate the entire thing. I told her I shared it with my husband. I lied.

JR has finally realized that baby girl is here to stay. He seems OK with that.

And so do I.

It Happened One Morning

I pulled back my shoulders and tucked my head down as I tilted my pelvis forward. I turned slightly and pushed myself up as I tucked one leg beneath the other. I squeezed my legs together and thought the happiest of thoughts. I turned around, pulled the IV around me, tucked both legs under, butt in the air and rested on my elbows.

Nope. Nothing worked. I push the button. "I need to pee." Unplug. Pull. Waddle. Flush.

Back in bed. I looked across the room to see the husband peacefully resting on the couch. I grit my teeth.

Lub dub. Lub dub. Lub dub. Her heartbeat, strong and quick, plays in the background. I watch the monitor as yet another contraction closes in.

Ouch. Er. OUCH.

OK. There was more to it than that, but I was only dilated to 1 cm. The good stuff was yet to come. Expletives didn't fly, but I'm certain I may have cast a voodoo curse on a clueless nursing student.

To think, all this started after a seemingly innocuous lunch at Bob Evans. A Wildfire Chicken Salad and a nagging little sister (a simple twinge and she'd ask, "Did you lose your mucous plug?" "Did your water break?" "Is my niece coming yet?" She badgered the poor baby right out of me.

Only hours later there I was, wrapped in lovely paisley hospital gown, awaiting the arrival of my daughter--three weeks early.

The birth went smoothly. Quickly. Hazily. And no, not from drugs but from the warp speed in which I went from a nearly unnoticed 1 cm to staring at my daughter's face. I'll skip all the in-between. Let's just say I became all that I never wanted to be. I screamed. I bruised (don't worry, he's healing nicely), I said "I HAVE TO PUSH" at the top of my lungs and "I AM BREATHING!!! STOP TELLING ME TO BREATHE!" even louder. It was chaotic. It was loud. It was crazy.

Until she came. And then, all was quiet.

My daughter. Wow.

I have a daughter.

She's no longer the kicks, prods, and pokes in my belly. She's no longer the packaged flowered Onsies sitting in a yet-to-be-decorated room. She's no longer just "baby girl."

She's not just a dream of what might be.

She's real. She's here.

Dark hair. Tiny rosebud lips. And eyes that drink in the world and more.

I'm a walking cliche. I'm mushy. I'm in awe. And I make no apologies for being madly in love. A little girl and my now BIG boy.

I'm blessed. I'm happy. I'm full. And yeah, it feels good.

And even if I no longer have an excuse for loading up on Slurpees and super-sized chocolate malts, I have a feeling that I'll survive.


Precious. Not even a day old. Baby girl was born at 6:45 AM on Tuesday July 7 (week 37).


Moments after seeing his new baby sister for the first time. Not quite sure what to make of her just yet. Though when we brought her home, she received two kisses from her eager big brother. We'll see how long the love lasts . . .