A Toast to 2014

I'm a little behind on my blogging.  I decided that I needed to spend the last month of my maternity leave savoring every moment with my little cupcake and celebrating the holidays with my family.

But now, here I am on New Year's Eve.  I put Ezra to bed two hours ago, made some cookie dough for my husband, and started another load of laundry.  I'm currently sipping a Coke Zero, trying to warm my feet under a fat Chihuahua, and reflecting on what an amazing year it has been.  Tonight marks one year since I sat on the edge of the bath tub, holding two pink lines in my shaky hands.  Rejoicing.  Forgetting to breathe.  Finally.  I cried, I held the test to my chest, I jumped up and down, and then I cried some more.  I felt my pulse in my wrists and my ankles, and heard my heart beating in my ears.  Finally.  It feels like just last week.  But a whole year? 

What a year.  I have been the happiest I've ever been in my entire life.  Incandescently happy, a la Mr. Darcy. 

My pregnancy was wonderful.  I grew fat and swollen, but felt the most beautiful I've ever felt in my life, even as I dripped chocolate ice cream on my bare belly.  I loved every minute of being pregnant and feeling the little guy kick.  And then he was born and my whole life changed.  I used to roll my eyes when people said things like, "You'll understand when you're a parent," or "Just wait..."  And I make a conscious effort not to say that to my childless friends.  But OH MY GOD.  It's really the most undeniably life changing thing.  There's a whole part of your heart that you don't even know is there.  It's unreal.  

I'm have so much to be thankful for.  I thank God every night, every morning, every sixth minute...  My favorite moment of the day is when Jason, who has been up with Ezra for two hours, quietly tip toes into the bedroom and places a snuggly baby on my chest.  What a way to wake up in the morning!  A smiling, giggling, happy Ezra.  And I thank God. 

Now I promise--I'm going to stop gushing about how happy I am to have gotten pregnant and to have had a baby.  Officially.  This is it.  But I'm not going to stop gushing about Ezra, though, because he's so damn cute.

Speaking of Ezra, he's kind of the best baby ever.  He's officially 16 weeks on Friday.  He smiles all the time, sleeps through the night, and amazes us every day with his new games, expressions, and abilities.  He recently learned to grab onto things, specifically his Captain Calamari legs, and pull them into his mouth.  He can entertain himself for longer periods--at least 15 minutes at a time, but on a good day 30-45 minutes!  He likes to pull his feet up to his face and has definitely discovered his voice, and boy is it loud!

So what's in store for 2015?

Well, Ezra and I will be counting down the last four days of my maternity leave before we head back to work.  I'm so fortunate to work at a preschool and have the most amazing friend and employer, who has been so accommodating--with both a 20 week maternity leave and allowing Ezra to chill out in my office while I warm up to the idea of relinquishing any moment with him.  I plan on bringing my Ergo and a bouncer and his play mat, and sweet Ezra will get to hang out with me all day.  But he also has a very coveted spot in our Infant classroom--with teachers (and friends!) that I adore.  All in all, it's a really great set up.  I shouldn't be sad or sick at all about going back to work, but I can't help but feel a pang of both.  I'm going to miss hate-watching The View, drinking a pot of coffee, and snuggling the best baby all day.  I'm going to miss being a staircase away from my husband, who I can kiss and love-pinch whenever.  I'm definitely going to miss sweat pants, slippers, and messy buns.  So, there's a pang.  But I know it's going to be okay.

On the home front, I'm really going to make an effort to beautify our little townhouse, Number 8.  Our furniture is dated and too big for our space, never mind not very pretty or comfortable or functional.  I've been pinning and pinning and have some great ideas.  Jason and I plan to make a few small updates each month and I'll be sure to update our progress when I can. 

The big projects I want to tackle first are our living room.  I'd like to get rid of our sofa, and coffee table, and end tables--which are metal and glass, and huge and just not our st
yle (and I can just see Ezra cracking his head on them when he becomes more mobile).  I like a light blue, grey, silver color scheme and plan on bringing in lighter and brighter accents.  In the spring, I'd like to beautify our front yard.  It's small, but definitely needs some love.  I picture flower pots and a new light fixture and a fun welcome mat.  If I'm feeling frisky, maybe a wind chime!

Anyway, it's time for me to push the laundry through, fill up the sink to wash some bottles, get under my heating blanket.  Happy New Year!  I hope 2014 was amazing for you and your family, and that 2015 brings you health, wealth, and happiness. 

Dog Guilt and Sleeping Through the Night

Ezra Grey is 2 months old.  The idea of that is unreal to me.  That my little man has been in this world for two whole months.  It feels like he's only been here a few days.  But he is wonderful and lovely and perfect.  Yesterday, he gave me the gift of sleep, by going 11.5 hours straight.  What more could a new mom ask for?

In other news, Ezra has also survived his first cold and his first round of immunizations.  The cold was passed around and we thought Ez would make it out unscathed, but just when we started to let out our sigh of relief, his nose started dripping and his voice turned raspy and my happy baby turned into an inconsolable mess who just couldn't get comfy.  As luck would have it, the doctor's office called to confirm his appointment later in the week and made room for him in their schedule when I mentioned his cold.  They gave me the go-ahead to give him Tylenol, which as it turns out, is a miracle drug for babies.  It turned my frowny, drippy baby back into the smiley, lovey, sleepy baby I once knew.  That, coupled with his new humidifier and baby Vicks made him fresh as a daisy.

By Friday, he was well enough for his immunizations.  I stood over him and held his little hand and we were playing a little cooing game.  He had a huge smile on his face when they stuck him with that awful, long needle and his sweet little smile slowly transformed into a scowl.  His little lip came out and he looked at me like I had betrayed him.  He totally thought I stuck him!  And he got two more in the other leg, which he screamed through, and they were covered with Bugs Bunny band aids.  I held him and rocked him and he arched his back as if to say, "Get off me, you mean woman!"  :(

A bottle later, he forgave me enough to let me hold him, but not enough for squeezes and kisses.  The next day, he mostly forgot about the whole thing.  Little peanut.  A friend advised that next time I turn away and after it's all done, go and pick him up--because then I'll be the savior.  Not the jerk who held him down.  Little buddy!  Lesson learned.

In other news... poor Bev.  Jason remarked the other day, "You used to tell Bev that she was an angel from God.  Now you don't even look at her."  Prior to Ezra, I worried about the introduction of a baby into the family for Bev's sake.  The books and blogs I read suggested that I prepare her by practicing ignoring her.  So sometimes I'd leave the house without saying goodbye to her.  Or I'd sit on the couch next to her without acknowledging her for a few minutes.  I laugh at myself now, thinking that's what ignoring her was. 

She used to be the apple of my eye, the love of my life.  Now I go whole days without even talking to her, weeks without touching her.  Ezra has replaced her in every way and the hardest part is that she knows it.  Sometimes I'll catch her looking at me longingly.  But then the baby will cry or the laundry will need to be put in the dryer and another day passes without giving her any love or attention.  Jason tries to fill in.  He makes a point to play with her and hug her, but it isn't enough. 

All of that is to say that I feel tremendously guilty.  I still love her but I just don't have time to love her.  I was her best friend, and I abandoned her.  I'm trying to be better, but this is definitely one part of motherhood that hasn't gotten easier with time.  I'm hoping it will in time.  And I'm hoping that as Ezra becomes more mobile and can flick food off his plate to her, they'll become best friends too.  Being a dog mom and a baby mom is a hard thing to juggle.

That's what's going on around the Vacuza homestead.  We're preparing for Thanksgiving and getting our home Christmas ready.  Hoping all of you have a lovely holiday!

Love,
Ashley

The Californian Fishes in the Athens Pond

My mother and father in law recently made their visit to Athens to meet baby Ezra.  They've been to Athens twice before, but it was so long ago, we were tourists ourselves.  Now with 6 years of Athens under our belts, we made it our mission to show these Californians what Athens is all about.  Before they came, Jason and I made mental lists (and iPhone notes) of places we knew we wanted to take them and then narrowed what would be feasible during their visit.  Most locals would probably scoff at our list, as Jason and I rarely venture downtown.  We don't like the traffic or the parking, so everywhere we planned to visit barely grazed downtown.  So Athenians--don't bark at me! 

They arrived late Thursday night via Groome transportation and due to Ezra's strict bedtime routine and a delayed airplane taxi, we didn't get a chance to see them.  But Jason went early Friday morning and met them for breakfast at their hotel.  Then they got the full UGA student experience: they hopped on the Family and Graduate Housing bus and headed to campus where they sat in on Jason's lecture.  Five years ago, Jason would have never let this happen because his nerves would be shot--but as a seasoned professor, guests are no big thing for him.  I heard he got a round of applause, too. 

Finally, they arrived to our house to meet baby Ezra.  Our parents are very different from one another and Jason and I always dreamed that Ezra would learn to laugh and cuddle from my family and learn good manners and the value of hard work from Jason's.  But when he was in their arms, both of our parents loved him the same way.  They gushed over his little toes and cooed over his beautiful eye lashes.  They both commented on what a lovely baby he was and told us how lucky we were to have such an easy going baby.  They both wanted to hold him and feed him.  And truly, they both loved him the moment they laid eyes on him.

We celebrated that love with lunch at our favorite little Mexican restaurant, La Parilla.  If there's one thing I know about the Vacuza side of the family, it's that if they could eat refried beans and tacos for every meal for the rest of their lives, they absolutely would.  So naturally, La Parilla was a hit.  In our opinion, it's the best Mexican restaurant in Athens.  We've yet to have a single poor experience.  It's quiet enough, has nice ambiance, the service is always wonderful, the lunch specials are great, and it's kid/baby friendly (a hard quality to find in a lot of Athens restaurants).  Jason always enjoys their quesadilla (he rants and raves about their gooey, melty cheese) and I usually get their lunch fajitas.  This visit did not disappoint.


My inlaws have a lovely little farm where they grow pistachios and apples and pomegranates and grapes which they sell at their local farmer's market.  So when I tried to think of experiences I'd like for them to have during their visit, the Athens Farmer's Market at Bishop Park was on the list.  Saturday was a chilly and Ezra is so hot natured, I thought it would be a good day to try out our Ergo for the first time.  So like a true Athenian, I strapped my baby to my chest and marched into the little market of local produce and wares.  We bought delicious focaccia bread and a hunk of cheese.  And for breakfast I picked up some yummy pastries.  My mother in law got to meet a local celebrity when she spotted the 3 Porch Farm folks at their booth.  She had followed their blog prior to her visit and was excited to meet them and talk farmer au farmer.  And Ezra just slept on my chest like a sweet little personal heater.  Success.


On Sunday, Jason insisted his parents get the Waffle House experience.  This greasy spoon of a restaurant is not a California find.  Which is funny, as there is one on every corner in Georgia, so we have plenty to spare.  And even though I can think of 7 Waffle Houses in a ten mile radius (no exaggeration), a new one just opened up on our side of town.  But it being Sunday, we couldn't get a seat so we had to go to a less popular one.  The experience is the same, I imagine.  Fast service from women who appear to have had very hard lives, while country music blares on the jukebox.  Greasy hash browns piled next to bacon and eggs which were cooked on the same unsanitized flat top as the eggs prepared five years ago.  You know, about what you'd expect.  Don't think about it and gobble it down. 




On Monday, we enjoyed an Athens favorite: Mama's Boy.  I'm proud to say that at one point, we were considered "regulars" by the waiters.  To even get a seat at Mama's Boy is a feat.  To be a regular is a major accomplishment.  Ezra enjoyed the geometric wallpaper and mason jar chandelier, while those with fully functioning digestive tracks enjoyed biscuits with jam and eggs and pineapple bread with caramel rum sauce and never ending cups of coffee. When we left, our bellies were full of a true taste of Athens and our fists were full of York peppermint patties. 

Jason and his dad had a few fix it projects around the house, so his mom and I took Ezra and the dogs to the dog park at Memorial Park.  I've been a few times before, but it was never as busy as it was at this visit.  There must have been 25 different dogs.  There were three giant Great Danes and an adorable little Chihuahua named Calvin.  Tammy and Beverly had a wonderful time sniffing and socializing and chasing one another.  The park is so lush and expansive with wooded area and a central mostly dusty dirty area where dogs like to chase and dig.  The best part is that the whole acre and a half fenced in so everyone stays put and dog owners can socialize instead of giving chase. 

  
For dinner, we went ate by candlelight at Big City Bread.  Known for their delicious pastries and twinkle light garden dining, Big City Bread was also voted one of the most child friendly restuarants in Athens, which is a fact I like to tell all non-locals as it seems rather surprising when you look at it.  But in the day, there are buckets of chalk and adorable elementary school art on the walls and sidewalks.  Whenever I've dined at Big City Bread for lunch on a weekend, I will almost always spot a family from my school.  Anyway!  The food was delicious and the restaurant was quiet and peaceful. 






On Tuesday, we started our morning by heading to the Georgia Museum of Art.  The feature exhibit was Emilio Pucci's fashions from the 50s and 60s.  Mannequins sported bright patterns and orbish hats and girdles with butt padding were displayed in glass showcases.  We all agreed that my sister in law, Jason's sister, would have enjoyed the exhibit.  Jason and his mom seemed to really enjoy the portraits, while his dad enjoyed the landscapes.  I've never cared for landscapes, and I like the portraits just fine, but my favorite is the collection of silver dishes.  I like the filigree and all the different place settings.  I get that from my mom, I think.

 

Bear Hollow Zoo at Memorial Park.  It was the perfect time to go.  All of the leaves were perfect shades of orange and gold and we mostly had the park to ourselves.  We saw the bears taking their naps and Dill Pickle, the alligator basking in the sun.  I didn't see my favorite little owl, Radar, but we did see a vulture, some tortoises, and the deer.  I have always felt so conflicted about zoos.  Caged animals, solely for the purpose of human entertainment doesn't sit well with me.  So I took my first tour at Bear Hollow with trepidation.  I was comforted by a guide who told me that all of the animals were rescues--that they were injured or kept illegally by residents and were unable to be released back into the wild.  That, coupled with the care and beautiful habitats make me feel good about spending my time on the trail.

My mother in law celebrated her birthday during our trip and just like her son, the perfect night consisted of pizza at home.  So we ordered pizza in and had salad and wine by candlelight, followed by a game of rummy with rules that consistently change in favor of my father in law who cleaned the floor with us. 


On Wednesday, we met for breakfast at the hotel and to say our goodbyes.  We had a lovely, packed visit and I think they got a true taste for Athens and got to spend a lot of quality time with their new grandson.  But even with the good times, it's always hard to say goodbye.  Being 2,000 miles away and months from our next visit makes the goodbyes even harder.  So we'll be counting the days until we can be together again but will be satisfied with our good memories for now.  :)

Sleeping in Heavenly Peace

Athens friends... steel yourselves.  What you're about to read is going to make you gasp.

Athenians get an education the second they drive through Normaltown and see the parents with babies strapped to their chests, toddlers in tow with lunch boxes filled with organic kale chips, stopping to breast feed both the three month olds and the four year olds.  The community board at Earthfare is plastered with Mommy & Me Yoga classes, natural birth doula recommendations, baby sign language meet ups, Italian immersion play dates (no really, it's a thing), and the La Leche League dates and times.  I have a secret.  I wear Ezra only occasionally--like when I need to blow dry my hair or mop--and neither of us care much for it.  I hate kale chips.  We've officially given up on breast feeding.  I sometimes buy chocolate croissants from Earthfare.  I can touch my toes and that's as much yoga as I care to do, I had a very medicated birth from jump, I don't speak Italian or care much about learning sign language, and the La Leche League's name alone frightens me.  The real secret: I am not an attachment parent.  In fact, I am kind of the opposite of an attachment parent.  Here's the doozy--are you ready?  We started sleep training Ezra at 3 weeks.  I know.  I know.  I am a disgrace to Athenians.

The story actually starts with my girlfriend, Lindsey.  We reunited at our 10 year high school reunion.  I was 6 months pregnant and her youngest of three was somewhere passed the 1 year mark.  She took one look at my belly and said, "You need to read Baby Wise."  It was the first time I had heard the phrase "sleep training."  I scoffed and I actually said, "No, no.  I plan on following a more attachment method."  And she wafted me away.  When I got home, I told my friend, "This crazy girl at my high school reunion actually sleep trains her infants!  Have you ever heard of such a thing?"  And together we balked at the idea.

Then Ezra was born and I was a mess.  I don't know what I thought having a newborn entailed, but I clearly didn't think it through.  The first night home from the hospital, I rocked my wailing baby.  He cried, and he cried, and so did I.  As we rocked and cried together, I wondered aloud, "What have I done?"  I was tired and emotional and horribly depressed.  Something had to give.

The next day, I was browsing Facebook and stumbled upon Lindsey's blog update.  In her post, she said that her daily goal was to get to 8:01, where the kids were in bed and she could listen to the air conditioner cooling her home.  While very funny--it also gave me hope.  I read her blog, All Things Babywise from finish to start and admitted defeat.  Attachment parenting, what?  Lindsey, if you're reading this, I was wrong, wrong, wrong.  Of course she knows this already as I have annoyed her to no end.  I am so grateful to her for being a constant ear and a wonderful, supportive friend during one of the hardest times of my life.  Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I bought the Baby Wise book on iTunes and read it on my phone during my 10:00 p.m., 12:00 a.m., 2:00 a.m., 4:00 a.m., 6:00 a.m., and 8:00 a.m. feedings.  Then I reread Lindsey's blog.  And then my husband bought Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, and I read that.  And then I harassed Lindsey.  The day Ezra turned 3 weeks, I kicked him out of my bed and into his crib.  That night, I slept like a log and he slept for 3 and a half hours consecutively for the first time ever.  I wasn't waking up to every little hiccup and he wasn't waking to my constant jostling to make sure he hadn't died of SIDS.  But then the challenging part came:  letting your baby put himself to sleep, and... gasp... cry it out.

I read lots of things online and quickly learned that this approach was horrifying to most moms.  Horrifying.  Horrifying to my closest friends and even my own mom.   Accusations on message boards fly around.  Phrases like "child abuse" and "horrible parent" and "absolutely disgusting" were very common when describing this method.  And so I weighed it.  Many of these moms so outraged and horrified by crying it out (especially as a newborn) were self proclaimed attachment parents and were probably my neighbors.  While I appreciate the thought behind the method, two days in convinced me that it wasn't for me.  I felt like an all access vending machine who was needed every second of every minute of every hour of every day and the pressure to be the perfect, always available mom was too much.  It scared me that I sympathized with moms who strapped their babies in their car seats and drove the whole family into a lake.  That I could see and understand why they would feel so much pressure (from themselves, their families, their husbands, their friends, and hell, even internet strangers!) and want to end it all.  So ultimately, I decided that I wouldn't feel an ounce of guilt when it came to sleep training my baby or acknowledging that my needs are valid and important.  If sleep would get me to a good place, then sleep is what we'd work on.  Parent led scheduling gives me the freedom to take a shower, sit down to eat, and have my selfish me time.  It also gives Ezra a predictable routine, the ability to soothe and put himself to sleep, and teaches him that sleep doesn't come attached to me.  So I trusted my instincts and did what I felt was good and right...  Hard, but right.

The next day we practiced laying down for naps awake and learning to self soothe.  It was not a success.  Ezra cried.  Jason and I stood outside the door, our hearts racing and aching.  We went in every five minutes and spoke softly and reswaddled him after he kicked his way out.  He would calm for a second and then when the door clicked closed, he would cry again and our hearts would race and ache again.  I spent the five minutes googling what a horrible mother I was.  And after an hour of five minutes in, five minutes out, I picked him up and rocked him and he fell asleep.  I Facebook chatted Lindsey and she assured me it would get easier.  The next nap was easier.  This time we left for ten minutes and after thirty minutes, he fell asleep on his own.  The next nap was bed time and he cried for four minutes and didn't require our help at all.  And the next nap he made a few noises, put his fist in his mouth, and drifted off into dreamland before I could leave the room.

At four weeks, he slept four hours.  At five weeks, he gave me five hours occasionally.  And at six weeks, we're touching six hours sometimes.  I attribute all of it to following the Babywise, Eat, Wake, Sleep routine and allowing Ezra to learn self soothing.  I'm a better mother for it, and Ezra is a much better sleeper.

That said, I definitely encountered many moms on three different internet forums who were horrified by all of it and disgusted that I would do it with a three week old.  As with my previous post about sanctimommies, there are many.  So I'll say again that I trusted my instincts.  And I'll also say that I acknowledge that it's controversial and that it's not for everyone and I was not (am not!) soliciting advice on the subject (nor am I suggesting that anyone do it for their families... you do what's right for you!).  But in the interest of being candid, I'm officially out of the closet.

So Athenians, I'm sleep training my baby and I have no regrets.  (Yet)
Judge on!

____________________________
Sleep Training Resources

On Becoming Baby Wise

Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child

Lindsey's blog, All Things Babywise

Chronicles of a Babywise Mom

Autumn

Autumn is a magical time for everyone I know.  I don't think I have ever met anyone who didn't enjoy the fall.  Fall means cool weather, fabulous color, flannel scarves, knee high boots, coffee with heat you can see wafting in the cool air, and finally, finally, a fire in the fireplace.  Anyone who knows me, knows this is my favorite time of year.  It used to be for all of the reasons above, and maybe it still is a little, but mostly, fall means the opening ceremonies to time spent cherishing your family.  It's really unlike all the other seasons. Summer--that's an ode to the self--darkening your tans, vacationing on the beach, finding the perfect bathing suits, cocktails and June brides.  Spring is about newness and fresh starts--with warmer weather and cherry blossoms (a beacon of light after the seemingly never ending cold), spring cleaning, gardening, and if you're like me--some Allegra-D.  And winter is about introspection.  Resolving and spending lots of time indoors, finding joy in solitude, good books and old movies.  But fall is different.  Fall is Halloween, gushing over your neighbors' kids.  It's about Thanksgiving--gathering together and loving one another, knowing it isn't always going to be this way and to cherish every second of it.  Fall is about Christmas shopping. Making a list of all the people you love, and finding a token to represent that love.  Fall is about festivals and travel plans.  It's about screaming when your team scores a touchdown (unless you're me--because I hope every team loses).  It's about gathering kindling while you push the stroller, pointing out squirrels to the baby.  It's about crunching in the leaves with your dog at the dog park.  It's grandma's pictures of her cat, Muriel.  It's about warm pie over the sink with your mom.  It's about the pumpkin you carve and attempt to thrust your unhappy baby into (sorry Ezra) before he kicks it off the counter.  It's about the spice scented candle your husband lights in the bathroom so you can enjoy your warm shower by it's glow.  It's about that extra latte you buy for your coworker.  Fall is about everyone else.  And it is so, so magical.

This year, we celebrate with our Ezra.  He is surrounded by so many people who love and cherish him.  His being punctuates what I have been feeling for the last several years: a sense if urgency to enjoy this time. To savor it, hold on to it, appreciate it.  Though it is painful to think of, I know it won't always be this way.  The people we love won't always be gathered around our Thanksgiving tables.  The voices on the other end of the phone won't always belong to healthy, happy loved ones.  There is going to be sadness one day.  I know that.  So this year--and maybe all years--I'll enjoy the cozy fire, flannel scarves, and hot coffee, but that's not what it is really about.  It will be about extra hugs, extra cuddles, and another piece of pie over the sink.

Things I've learned in the first month of motherhood

I often wonder how I'll look back on this first month.  Will I recall it wearing rose colored glasses?  My sleepy baby snuggled in my arms, or cooing at me from across the room, or smiling at me for the first time.  Will I think on it with a sense of dread?  My very awake baby, inconsolable and screaming at me, or that tired ache in my chest when I hear his cry at 3 a.m.?  Regardless--here are the things I've learned in the last month of my life.

Breastfeeding:
Maybe you've heard that breastfeeding is hard.  Maybe you've heard that in passing or maybe someone told you of their personal woes.  But of course you read all of the literature, took a class at the hospital, and set a plan to nurse for at least the first 12 months.  You're prepared.

What you won't be prepared for is when you are partnered with a newborn who just doesn't get it.  He won't latch or he won't suck or he will fall asleep approximately seven seconds in.  Or he'll be jaundiced or underweight and you'll have to give him a bottle and he will never even attempt to latch again.  Or you'll get a mastitis (don't google that).  Or your nipples will crack and bleed, or maybe they're flat and there's nothing to latch on to.  Or your new baby will want to scream at you for 30 minutes before every latch, and your resolve will buckle at 2:30 a.m. and both of you will just cry and cry until you finally peel back the seal on that sample can of Enfamil you got in the mail.  Or maybe you just won't enjoy it.  You just hate it just because you hate it.

Breastfeeding is hard.  But not hard like running a marathon or carrying a king sized mattress up three flights of stairs.  It's hard like waterboarding a sleep deprived, injured, hormonal woman.  It's a mental game.  You read everything telling you that this is the best and really, only way to nourish your baby and you'll dread the sanctimonious looks (or comments!) from other moms as you shake that bottle full of formula.  And even if they only silently cast their judgement, you'll want to justify yourself and scream, "I tried!  I really tried!"  And every time you grab that little plastic scoop, you'll feel a pang of guilt and failure.

But the truth is, once you release yourself of that pressure, once you realize that it is not worth your sanity or the tears, it gets so much better.  You are not alone.  Formula is not going to doom your baby to a lifetime of half formed brain cells and a constant struggle to problem solve.  Your baby is going to be wonderful, if not better, for having a mother who realizes she can only be the best mother when she knows when enough is enough and when it's just not worth the heartache anymore.

Sleep Deprivation:

One of you will get to sleep quite well.

 

I thought I was prepared.  That's the first thing people talk about when you tell them you're pregnant.  "Oh, sleep now," they say.  "You'll never sleep again."  While that isn't true, those first few weeks are a complete nightmare.  Babies eat every 2.5-3 hours, for at least the first two weeks.  Your pediatrician may give you the go ahead to let your baby sleep 4 hours if they want to at three weeks.  But damn.  Sleeping, even in four hour increments, is rough, rough stuff.  It gets better.  I don't know if your body just gets used to it, or if you learn to sleep differently.  But it gets better!  Take a few deep breaths, pass the baby off when you can, and just get through those first two weeks.  It gets better.


Your baby is the best baby:
Everyone thinks their baby is the best baby.  Your baby is a special snowflake.  And when you have him in your arms, you'll realize, without a doubt, that your baby is the best, cutest, smartest, funniest, most charming baby that was ever born.  It's just the way it is. 

Jason and I both gushed the first time Ezra kicked his little legs to propel himself forward during tummy time.  So, so smart!  And when he rolled over for the first time at two weeks, I explained to Jason how simply amazing it was.  When he smiled for the first time, we both squealed and told our parents.  Even coming out with a full head of hair was the most amazing thing that ever happened.  And when I style it one way or another (I like to make him look like Rush Limbaugh), we force everyone to see and gush and tell us just how adorable he is.  Every accomplishment is a mountain climbed and your baby will be the best. 

Sanctimommies:
Strap on your boots, mommy!  When you encounter these gems, it's going to floor you.  If you thought, for one red second, that you have the right to parent your child how you see fit, you've got another think coming.  Breast feeding, formula feeding, baby wearing, front facing car seats, crying it out, pacifiers, daycare, cloth diapering, making your own baby food, sleep training, vaccinating, co-sleeping, crib sleeping, screen time, organic baby soap, baby sign language, Montessori education, public schooling, private schooling... chances are, you are going to meet a mom who feels so strongly about at least three of the items listed above, and she is going to accuse you of child abuse and imply that she is obviously a better mother than you, because she breastfed her baby until he was 2.  And sometimes they travel in packs!  Lay on the mommy guilt.  Every decision you make is wrong, and if you aren't walking around for the first three months with a baby strapped to your chest, literally trying to re-create a womb for your baby's fourth trimester, you should never be allowed to reproduce again.  Because really, how dare you?

How to combat this?

This is the look you should give a sanctimommy

Step 1:  Don't become a sanctimommy.  You are allowed to judge silently.  You're allowed to have an opinion about child rearing.  But if there's one thing I know about babies and children, it's that they're all different.  What works for one might not work for another.  As much as you think you've mastered the art of baby raising, you have not.  You're a jackass if you try to make another tired, hormonal, struggling mother feel guilty and like less of a mother.  Believe that everyone is doing the best they can and acting in the best interest of their kids.  Okay?  It's not hard.

Step 2:  When you encounter a sanctimommy, be unapologetic, but graceful--and disarm them immediately.  You don't have to justify yourself to anyone.  Have an arsenal of phrases at hand and be prepared to be caught off guard by someone with an unsolicited opinion.  Here are some that work for me:

"I'm glad that worked for you.  That's just not my style, but thank you."
"I'm not currently looking for a solution to a problem I don't have.  I'll be sure to find you if I do have a problem, though."
"I'm not one to debate my parenting choices.  My husband and I feel very comfortable with our decisions and aren't soliciting advice."
"That is an interesting fact!  I'm confident we could both search the internet and find a study to support our parenting choices.  I appreciate the advice, though."

Or simply, "No, I'm not doing that."

Step 3:  Don't be an innocent bystander.  When you see a sanctimommy, or worse, a pack of them, isolating a mom, intervene.  When you rip off that sanctimonious facade, you'll find just another insecure mom worried that she's failing her child--just like the rest of us.  Shut down those conversations and find a way to be encouraging to a worried mom.

Being a sanctimommy and engaging in mommy wars is one of the most damaging thing we women do to one another, short of that time that middle school clique stole your clothes while you showered after gym class in the 7th grade.  Don't be an asshole and don't tolerate assholes. 


Postpartum Recovery:
I cannot testify to cesarean section recovery as I did not have one.  But I did have one of the most horrific vaginal deliveries a person can have.  My mother in law reads this, so I don't care to detail my injuries exactly, but it wasn't awesome.

Peeing your pants
Alright--so you have no pelvic floor and won't be able to control your bladder for a while.  You'll get home wearing a gigantic pad inside of a gigantic diaper and you'll turn on the sink to get a glass of water or wash your hands or boil a hotdog, and the running water will trigger your bladder, which you have absolutely no control of, and you'll haul ass to the bathroom only to have urine filling your diaper.  Big sigh.  Quick shower.  Don't worry--in a week, you'll be able to make it to the bathroom.  In two weeks, you'll have your pants around your ankles in time.  Four weeks out, I still have to go to the bathroom before I get a glass of water.  Not sure when that will get better, but I'm doing my kegels. 

Tending your wound
Don't look.  Nothing good can come from looking.  Just wash with the peri bottle, spray that epi-foam, line your underwear with those tucks pads they give you, and don't think about it.  It's awful.

Romance after baby
No. 

Your Pediatrician Might be a Jackass
Alright, so you get home with this tiny wiggling baby, and everything is wrong.  There are no nurses to tell you what to do and the internet basically tells you that you've doomed your baby and he's probably going to die tomorrow.  Sweet.  So you call your pediatrician, panicked that his circumcision is still bleeding, or that he's crying and just won't stop, or that he won't eat.  His response?  "Ah, whatever.  Come see me in the morning."  And gives you an appointment time.

Actual conversation with my pediatrician:

Me:  We had such a hard night.  He's so stuffy and he cries all the time and It seemed like he was rubbing his ear.  Does he have an ear infection, you think?
Dr. Tact:  *rolls eyes*  A baby. does not. rub his ears if he has an ear infection.   And--we always check a baby's ears when they come in for a visit, so I'll always tell you if he has an infection.
Me:  Okay.  Well... he won't eat.  And I read online that sometimes babies get really upset and lose their appetite after they are circumcised.  Is that true?
Dr. Tact:  *rolls eyes*  Does it really matter?  Your job is to keep feeding him.  So keep feeding him. 


Alright, jackass.  I've been a mom for approximately five minutes.  Can you cut me some slack?  I spend the majority of my day in tears, trying to keep this tiny person alive.  Throw me a bone, I'm struggling here.  Can you be nice to me?  Jesus!


At least in my town, a pediatrician who accepts new patients is a miracle from the Lord.  So you might be stuck.  So you'll have to suck it up for the sake of your sweet baby who needs some silver nitrate rubbed on his gross looking umbilical cord. 


Daytime Television
It is kind of the worst thing ever.  Kelly & Michael are the most unintelligent people on television and I can't believe they actually have an audience.  Today with Kathie Lee and Hoda?  Kathie Lee is intolerable.  The View, The Talk, The Chew.  What people watch these shows? 

I suggest you illegally download all of your favorite shows now, because 6 weeks is a long time to have to endure Robin Roberts and Rosie O'Donnell. 

Month One
Motherhood is terrifying.  But it gets better, or you get better at it, or you just get a routine that works. Whatever it is, I hope I remember these days fondly.  I hope I remember the first time he rolled over.  I hope I remember laughing as my husband changed his first diaper.  I hope I remember how much Ezra loved to look at the fan or the blinds.  I hope I remember the nights spent rocking my sweet baby, and watching him sleep.  I hope I remember the evening hours on the couch with Jason, were we remained awed by our son and thanked God to be here--recalling a year ago where we were desperately trying to conceive.  I hope I remember these days as they are: beautiful. 

The First Two Weeks: Baby Blues

We left the hospital on a Sunday.  I wanted the morning to slow down.  The hospital felt safe.  Everyone knew what they were doing.  And though Jason and I had tried for Ezra for two years, I still felt ill prepared to bring my baby home.  I wanted to stay there and have nurses bring me juice and pain medication and take Ezra to the nursery if I was tired.  But the morning went by quickly.  Ezra was circumcised and 30 minutes later, we were released.  We packed all of our bags and passed families in the waiting room, took the elevator down three floors, and popped Ezra in the back seat and that was it.  We drove home slowly, awed that we left home as two people and returned as three.

Nothing can prepare you for having a newborn at home except experience.  People will tell you that you'll never sleep again.  Or that you should sleep when the baby sleeps.  Or that breast feeding is difficult.  Throw all of that out the window.  It doesn't mean anything.  Until you experience it, those words mean absolutely nothing.

A thousand things worried me on the first night.  Ezra had no interest in latching.  He was fussy and angry and not the baby I had in the hospital.  He had been circumcised that morning and also diagnosed with jaundice.  All around miserable.  When I called the nurse, she suggested I give him a bottle.  And there is where I ruined my breastfeeding relationship with my baby.  He didn't sleep, I didn't know what to do, and as I rocked him in his nursery, I wondered out loud, "What have I done?  I have made a HUGE mistake.  I am not meant to be a mother."  And I cried.  And he cried.  And we rocked like that for an hour.  The hours of that night seemed like days and I came down the stairs in tears the next morning.  And that afternoon.  And that night.  Everything set me off.  I couldn't do anything right and my baby surely hated me, my husband thought I was a failure, and CPS was going to come take my baby from me. The first 24 hours were the worst.

On Tuesday, I went to a lactation class, and cried through the entire thing.  They were helpful and had lots of advice.  But Ezra was a show off and pretended like we didn't have any problems, but the second we got home, he wanted to fight.

On Wednesday, I cried all day.  Jason hugged me and told me he loved me and that I was doing a good job, but I just couldn't get it together.  I cried.  And I cried.  And I cried until I was exhausted.  And then I made an appointment with my midwives to talk about the baby blues.

On Thursday, I met with the midwives while Jason watched the baby on his own.  I cried on the way there.  I cried in the waiting room.  I cried when they weighed me and took my blood pressure.  I cried when they had me fill out a survey.  And I cried through the whole appointment.  She patted me and told me that every mom feels this way.  Every mom goes through this emotional phase while the hormones are leaving your body.  What is making me sad, she wanted to know.  Everything.  I feel like failure.  I feel like because it took so long to get pregnant, I'm not allowed to feel anything but positive about it.  I feel scared that I'm doing things wrong.  I feel horrible that breast feeding isn't going well.  I'm tired.  I want to know when it will get easier and no one knows.  I cry because I cry and I'm embarrassed.  I just feel sad and hopeless.  I left with a prescription for Zoloft.

On Friday, I decided not to fill the prescription and to wait it out and see if it would get better.  Antidepressants seemed like a big trigger to pull.  We celebrated one week home and the hardest week of my life.

On Saturday, we started the new week.  I talked to Jason about the possibility of giving up exclusively breast feeding.  The stress, the pressure was too much.  He hugged me and told me he would support whatever I felt was best.  And I cried big, big ugly tears into his chest.

On Sunday, we stayed home.  I felt like I turned a corner and only cried once.  Ezra and I spent the day on the couch and the pressure seemed to lift.  I took deep breaths and loved my baby.  His umbilical cord fell off and totally grossed me out.

On Monday, my mom came back and we gave Ezra his first bath.  He enjoyed it for about a full minute, and then he did not enjoy it anymore.  I kissed him and loved him and he slept beautifully.

On Tuesday, we went to the doctor and Ezra was cleared of his jaundice but now had a blocked tear duct.  He got some eye drops and a visit to The Fresh Market where everyone in the store cooed over him.  He also had his first blow out in the Walmart parking lot.  I didn't know someone so little could produce so much poop.

On Wednesday, we went to a pumpkin patch.  It was hot and Ezra was a good sport for about 10 minutes.  And Ezra did not sleep well that night.

On Thursday, I went back to the doctor and told them about how Zoloft wasn't for me.  I cried throughout the appointment and the survey indicated that I was still in the worrying range for baby blues and gave me another prescription.  But I was too tired from my late night to fill it.  Jason changed his first poopy diaper.

On Friday, today, we celebrate two weeks.  Ezra and I have turned a corner and have reached a mutual understanding. 

They say it gets better and you won't believe them--but it does.  Nothing prepares you for a newborn.  But once you let go of being perfect, you can focus on being enough.  One hour, one diaper change, one feeding, one night at a time. 

The Arrival of Baby Ezra

I wrote this two days after his birth while we were still in the hospital. 

Ezra's Birth Story

Labor was intense and a lot different than I expected. We tried all of the tricks, and I finally started contracting on Thursday, September 18th at around 8 a.m. A few hours later, we made the call to go to the hospital. I was 3.75cm and having contractions every three minutes. The midwife asked if I wanted her to make it continue--as in, if I wanted her to give me pitocin and break my water if things started to slow down. To which I replied an emphatic yes. And so they did.

I am fuzzy on the time details, but I got pitocin a around 11. It was nice, but contractions slowed even as they upped the dose.  My parents arrived around 9 p.m. and that's when Jason decided to go get a cheeseburger with my dad. While he was gone, the midwife asked if I wanted her to break my water, which would surely bring my contractions closer together and harder. I agreed, though I immediately wished Jason were there with me again. I wanted him with me every time something happened. She opened me up (only 4cm), stuck a long crochet hook in me and poked around for about a minute (it wasn't painful at all) and then there was a huge gush. The midwife cleaned me up and left, and I was fine for a few minutes and then Oh. My. God. I made my mom go find Jason because the pain was unbearable. The contractions got worse and worse by the minute. Jason finally came to me and held my hands and rubbed my back and my head and whispered sweetly into my ear--and five minutes later, a nurse popped by and I asked for my epidural NOW. I had to wait 45 minutes for a bag of fluids to go through my IV and for them to order the epidural and that was the worst 45 minutes of my life. Literally, the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. I was crying and shaking and Jason was there, solid as a rock, knowing exactly what to say, petting me and loving me and getting me through each contraction, which were seconds apart and minutes long.

The epidural. 

I have yet to hear a positive story about getting an epidural. Almost everyone (everyone?) said that having it put in was miserable, having it work was miserable, the whole thing--miserable. That was not the case for me. My anesthesiologist was no nonsense. Jason and a nurse had me lean forward and tell them when I was contracting so they could tell the anesthesiologist. She pushed on my back, told me I'd feel a pinch and some burning, and maybe that was the worst part, but it was about as bad as getting my IV (which was nothing). Then she told me I'd feel the needle, the catheter, and then nothing. And it was nothing. 2 minutes later, my toes were tingling, then my knees, my hips, and then I couldn't feel anything below my breasts. From then on, a nurse would come and flip me into position, lift my leg here, lift my leg there. They spread me open like a baby getting a diaper change to put my catheter in. You can't have any shame when giving birth. Girlfriend saw everything. All up in my business. 

And then no progress. I was happy, feeling wonderful, but no progress beyond 7cm. I slept on and off throughout the night, when I woke, I made Jason get himself some breakfast.  He tried to fight me, saying he'd go hungry in solidarity, but I wouldn't let him.  I’ll allow him to be hungry or tired, not both. By 28 hours, I was starving and so tired and nothing was happening and I started to get emotional and tired and hormonal--and my midwife came in and gave me a straight talk about a c-section. And I burst into tears and lost it in front of everyone. The midwife said we'd try a few things, but the baby's heart rate was dropping after each contraction, and his head was turned the wrong way, making it hard for him to get out of my pelvis. So she got me a giant inflatable peanut and had me lay on either side for an hour, hoping he'd turn and de-stress. During that time, the OB came in to introduce herself and again, give me a straight talk about the csection. Which I cried and cried through. My family seemed to really support the csection and my mother, after everything, said she really wished she would have fought harder for the csection. I’ll get to that later. While we were waiting for some change and some hope that I could push, I sat upright in my bed and just cried. They would ask me what was wrong and I would tell them that I was scared and sad and hungry and tired and anxious and I’m not sure if I’m really ready to be a mom and I’m scared and sad that things aren’t going how I wanted them to go, and anxious because I want Ezra to be okay. And Jason would hug me and kiss me and comfort me, the nurses would tell me it was going to go exactly how it was meant to go, and that I’d end with a beautiful baby, no matter how he was delivered, and everyone else just kind of looked at their feet—uncomfortable with me crying (because it’s happened approximately 7 times in two decades, and now the waterworks wouldn’t stop).

They were still nervous after all of my positions and moving, but at 100% effacement and 10cm, they decided to let me push and see how it went. Up until the very last minute, I spent the whole time thinking they were going to go “NOPE,” and wheel me into the OR. I was so tired from 30+ hours of no food, no sleep, and just being emotionally drained, but I would have gone 30 more hours if it meant no csection. So they grabbed my ankles, I’d have a contraction, and they would push my ankles towards me, and I pushed as hard as I could, while holding my breath, to the count of ten, three times each contraction. I asked for a light at the end of the tunnel and the midwife said I could be pushing anywhere from 3-5 hours and I said, “Oh hell no.” And after every other push, I gave it everything I had. My whole body was shaking, I was crying, and I was later told that my lips and face would turn blue and veins were popping out of my neck and face. Time went by so quickly. Each push seemed like hours, yet minutes when they were done. They filled me full of apple juice until I thought I might throw up, so I traded for ice chips instead. My mouth and lips were so dry and the ice was something to focus on in between contractions. Sometimes Jason and a nurse would hold on to my legs while the midwife put her fingers into my cervix to see where and how Ezra was coming out (was his head turning the right way?). I’d push and she’d look deep into my vagina and nod. I finally had the courage to ask her if he was face down like he ought to be and she said, “No, I wish you wouldn’t have asked that. He’s posterior,” (meaning sunny side up. Babies are supposed to be born face down, and being posterior means for a longer, harder labor, more tearing and hemorrhaging for moms, the head may have a hard time, if the ability at all, to leave the pelvis—and many doctors will only deliver posterior babies via csection because of the complications that can arise.). “But it’s okay. You’re pushing perfectly.” And that was the only commentary I got on the subject. The midwife wanted me to calm down and stop asking questions and just know that it was going perfectly and when it wasn’t going perfectly, she’d let me know. I think that was really good for me. I needed to stop worrying, though I knew I wouldn’t until I saw him. So I pushed. And I pushed. And I pushed. And after an hour and a half of pushing, they were no longer feeling inside my vagina—just looking inside of it and nodding. Then the midwife and the head nurse gave one another a knowing look, the nurse disappeared and reappeared with a team of at least 8 people. They brought in tables and scales, they laid out blankets and suction cups and tape measures and ink pads. One of the nurses began dressing my midwife. The nurses put on glasses and everyone was covered in blue plastic gowns and snapping on gloves. I gave it another push and the midwife looked at me and said, “This is it! Two pushes away.” I was flat on my back and the nurses lifted and pushed on my legs so I was at a 90 degree angle. The midwife put her hands on either side of my vagina, the nurse put her hands going the opposite side, almost like a # around my vagina. She said “Slow push” and lightly pushed on my vagina (his head came out), and then “BIG PUSH” and the two women said “1, 2, 3,” and with all of their weight, pushed down on the sides of my vagina and the baby popped out like a poptart (and though I didn't feel it, my worst fear came true.  I tore.  A lot). So many things happened simultaneously. Jason and my mom gasped, the nurses and midwives shouted "TIME!  TIME!  5:01!," I felt like my whole insides were just flushed right out of my body, Ezra screamed his little cry, and I let out a huge, long cry, followed by sobs from relief, fear, happiness, and a thousand other emotions I didn’t know I could feel. They held him up in front of me—he was blue and sticky and had a long white umbilical cord, and he was pulling all of his little limbs as close to his naked body as he could, just screaming his heart out. The only thing that came to my mind and out of my mouth was, “He looks like he’s from x-files!” Jason and I had just recently watched an episode with alien babies in jars of blue liquid. They asked again if I wanted him on my chest, but I wasn’t ready and I just wasn’t myself so I said no and sent Jason to see him while my mom held my hand and talked to me. I don’t even remember what she said.

The next 45 minutes were terrifying for everyone in the room, I think. I looked between my knees and the OB and my midwife and turned a shade of white and were whispering to one another in worried voices. One would nod and run out, and two would come back with this that and the other. I delivered the placenta almost immediately after the birth. And then I shouted that I was going to throw up. Jason and my mom switched places—him at my head, my mom with the baby and a bag almost didn’t make it to my face in time and I threw up everything. All of the juice, all of the ice chips, fluids I didn’t even know I had in my body—just flying out of my mouth. And while I was doing that, I felt huge gushes coming out of my body. Every time I wretched, another half-gallon of liquid would flow down my legs and butt. The OB whispered, “It’s not working,” and left the room. I started convulsing a little and I wasn’t thinking straight anymore. Jason asked the midwife if I was okay—that my face was white. She nodded. The OB came back and said, “Ashley, you’re hemorrhaging. I’m going to insert something into your rectum to stop the bleeding.” I was so light headed, I don’t think I even responded. My mother would later recount that she thought I was dying. She looked over and saw the amount of blood, and then saw my face, and and really thought they were going to lose me. Jason kissed my head and told me about our son. That he was beautiful and that I was a mother and he was a father and he was so happy, and a nurse moved out of the way and he pointed to my mom and Ezra in one of those clear bassinets. They were stamping his feet and Ezra had my mom’s fingers gripped in each of his hands and was just staring at her. He kept whispering that he loved me and he was proud of me and I just cried and cried. Mean while, the nurses and doctors slowly regained their color. They sprayed me with some solution and then the needle came out and they began sewing me up. I didn’t feel anything but sensations of warmth and cold. And then my mom brought a bundled up Ezra to my chest (at this point, it’d had been about 30 minutes and I still hadn’t held him) and I burst into even bigger tears. I don’t know what happened to my vagina after that. I just looked at him and he looked at me and I cried in his beautiful little face and loved him instantly. Then, my mom picked him up so the nurses could sit me upright. I suddenly had stitches, underwear, and the room was emptying. The midwife held my hands and told me I had done amazingly. The head nurse got me some water and asked if I wanted my family to come in. I told them I wanted a minute with the baby. My mom left to tell everyone in the waiting room, and I tried nursing him while Jason sat beside me. He latched immediately and we had about 10 minutes of an attempt before we let people come in (they had all waited a long time and really wanted to see Ezra—and my dad had to leave soon). So I leaned back in my bed and everyone passed around my new son. They all loved him, and looked at him so sweetly and rubbed his face. For 30 minutes, I let everyone love my baby and I felt so happy that Ezra gets to be around so many people who have waited for him for so long and who love him so much.

I didn’t get to hold him again before the nurse said it was time for Ezra and Jason to go to the nursery so he could get measured and get his vaccinations. They left at 6:15ish. And then they moved me to my recovery room. I had to switch beds which was so painful and difficult and was wheeled down the hall to my new room. All of the nurses congratulated me on my way, told me how beautiful my baby was, and that they were sorry my labor was so long. My new room was smaller and I still couldn’t move. My head hurt from the drugs wearing off and I was still on an IV of Pitocin to keep my uterus contracting. Holy hell, those postpartum massages… I got about 8 of them, and screamed every time. But when they were done, the pain was gone instantly. I laid in my bed and my family watched the nursery from a window down the hall, and my mom helped me settle in. Jason (and everyone) reappeared at 6:45 because the nurses were having some emergency meeting and kicked everyone out. He said they’d bring the baby by in about 10 minutes. In the meantime, Jason entertained us with all of the things he saw. How the nurse told him he didn’t have to watch as the baby was having blood drawn (which he said was the saddest thing ever!) and him getting a shot, and measuring his feet and arms. And how Ezra glared at the nurse who measured his skull. By 7:45 and we still didn’t have the baby. I called the nurse and she assured me it would be another 10 minutes only. I sent people to see what was happening, and they would come back with a report like, “he’s having a bath” or “warming under a heat lamp.” His cart came in at 8:15 and I burst into tears. Big, ugly, uncontrollable tears. I didn’t realize how much I missed him and I just couldn’t keep it together. They couldn’t put him in my arms fast enough and I just exploded with tears and melted to mush holding him. I felt like it was the first time. He was all mine and instantly became my everything. And he just stared at me like he knew me. We were both in awe of one another.

And since then—Jason and I have just been weak kneed and starry eyed at his every blink, every coo, every whimper. My heart feels like it’s three people. I didn’t imagine being able to love and be loved and feel so MUCH love. My love isn’t divided, but just gotten bigger. I love Jason more than I have ever loved him, or anyone, in my life. And loving this baby is just unimaginable. I can’t even think about it without crying. The sheer amount of love just moves me to tears.
Motherhood is everything I thought it would be and so much more. I’m so happy. Jubilant. And I can’t wait to do it again.

Ezra was 8lbs even, 20.5 inches long, born September 19th at 5:01 p.m.  He came out crying and so alert, and with a full head of hair. 

39 weeks: Home stretch!

36 Weeks--the very last bump picture.

In some ways, it's hard to imagine that we're finally here in the final days of this pregnancy.  It has been beautiful and lovely and everything I've ever wanted out of a pregnancy (okay, minus the 90+ degree temperatures) and I feel so honored and blessed to have had such a fantastic 40 weeks.  My sweet husband has been everything to me and this year would not have been as amazing without his constant love, doting, positive reminders, and excellent saving abilities which allowed for the maternity leave of my dreams.  I will always fondly remember our last dates as a family of two, the before bed conversations wondering what our baby will look like, the early mornings when neither of us could sleep so we spent it having a candlelit breakfast awing over the concept of parenthood.  If I'm being honest with myself, I'm absolutely terrified of this new life we're about to have.  For five years, it's been just us and so quickly, it's all about to change.  But all of that anxiety melts away when I picture the man I love holding the baby we made.

Bev did not enjoy being put in the Moby. 

The end of August marked the beginning of my maternity leave.  The last few weeks really proved incredibly difficult and I have so much respect for women who managed to work right up until their epidural.  By 3:00, my back ached and I could barely stand upright.  My swollen feet could barely fit into my shoes, and my eyelids were heavy and ready for a nap.  Jason's excellent saving allowed me to ring in September with extra sleep, feet up in the air, and a mini-vacation before this baby comes.  No complaints here.

Now we're just playing the waiting game, and I'm the ticking time bomb.  I've packed our freezer with crock pot meals, washed and folded all of the baby clothes, put together all of the baby gear and it doesn't feel like there's much left to do except take another nap, catch up on Real Housewives, and awe ourselves with the idea that any week, any day, any hour could mark our baby boy's arrival.

Swole.  Ready for baby to come on.  39 weeks.

I hope to get another update in with pictures of his nursery.  Maybe in between naps.  :)

Love,
Ashley



Her Stats
Weeks pregnant: 39
Weeks to go:  1
Baby size: Watermelon
Fundal height: 40cm
Baby's heart rate:  145 last Tuesday
Cravings:  Mashed potatoes!  Cheesecake!  Pickled things!  Shrimp cocktail!
Food aversions:  Hotdogs.
Feeling:  Sleepy and very swollen.
Missing most:  Wearing my wedding rings.  Bending over.  My feet being a normal size.
Loving most:  Being ready.
Most excited about:  Being able to sleep on my stomach again!
Most worried about:  Labor.  Going into labor.  Pain.
The nicest thing someone has said to me while pregnant:  "I hope I look as great as you do at 9 months." 
The worst thing someone has said to me while pregnant:  "How many fathers have you narrowed it down to?"
When our baby grows up, I think he'll be a:  MMA fighter.

His Stats
Patience level:  Level orange.
Cravings:  Fish and mashed potatoes.
Food aversions: Greens.
Feeling:  Level orange.
Most excited about:  The baby and Tammy's first face to snout meeting.
Most worried about: Projectile bodily fluids.
The hardest part about this whole pregnancy was: Sympathy hunger pangs.
The best part about this whole pregnancy was:  Ashley throwing up in the Walmart parking lot.
The best advice I've gotten so far: Don't throw the baby out with the bath water.
When baby grows up, I hope he becomes a:  A warrior priest.