Thoughts on Thirty

Do you play the Sims?  If you don't, it's a computer game where you control a household of "sims".  Your sim won't do anything without you saying so. You make her go to the bathroom, go to bed, eat, pick a job, get to work on time.  The goal of the game is to fulfill your sim's wishes and aspirations.  In version three, Lifetime wishes are things like become a chess legend, or become a heart breaker, become president, or an epic gardener.  And you fulfill smaller goals to reach that particular wish for you sim, ideally before they die.  So if you're aiming to become president, you'll have to reach the highest level of the politics career path.  Or if you want to be fabulously wealthy, you need to have a net worth of $100,000.  My sim?  She always went with the life wish of being surrounded by family (have 5 kids and raise them from infants to teens).  Granted, she got there with some serious cheat codes (motherlode!).  Unfortunately, there are no life cheats.

I'm a big fan of five year plans.  I started making them when I was 10.  I imagined myself in high school, clutching my binder, wearing stylish clothes, and having a boyfriend and a locker (oou!).  When I was 15, I imagined myself in college.  I bought my own groceries and always remembered to bring my purse which had adult things like car keys and a cell phone (!!!).  I studied on a very green lawn and dated mature guys who bought me flowers and took me to nice restaurants.

As an adult, my five year plans matured a little more.  It was less about an image of myself in a "cool" situation, and more about concrete plans and goals.  Every birthday, I measured the success of the previous year by how near I was to meeting my image of my 5 year milestone. 

25 was a hard year and I didn't celebrate my birthday gracefully.  I was married, but Jason was no where near completing his Ph.D. and we were no where near ready to start a family.  We had no money, a too small apartment, and no end in sight.  I spent the week begging everyone to forget and spent that evening in the tub, sobbing and consoling myself with two bottles of wine.  It wasn't my finest moment.

But 30?  30 was good.  Understated in the celebration, but such a monumental year for meeting my 5 year goal.  In 5 years, so much had happened.  Jason and I weighed starting a family.  Then we spent two years unsuccessfully trying.  And then two pink lines.  Two beautifully, hard sought pink lines.  Then Ezra.  Beautiful, perfect, amazing Ezra--who has brought more love and more joy and more laughter into our lives.  And then... THEN!  Two more pink lines.  So I ushered 30 in with a pedicure, sesame chicken, and a 38 week pregnant belly.  And 30 felt good. 

The Birth of Elliot Elizabeth Grey

On Thursday, March 3rd, I ended the second day of my maternity leave with plans to visit the midwives' office and then to head to the Kindermarket consignment sale to pick up some summer clothes for Ezra.

I always wear the worst shoes on rainy days.  I had just bought these new leopard flats to replace the other leopard flats that survived one too many storms, and of course, a monsoon rolls in right as I pull into the office park behind the hospital.  There is only one parking spot, and the occupants on either side parked way too close to the line.  I tried anyway.  I wedged my way in, opened my car door, and the keys dropped to the ground.  It was that exact moment that I realized I was way too planet-like to wedge myself out of the car--and with my keys on the ground, I couldn't back out and try again.  The passenger side looked just as close and I couldn't crawl out the back because the two car seats were blocking the way.  I thought about calling for help, but didn't know who to call.  I managed to crawl my giant ass over to passenger side and with a lot of effort, and probably thanks to the lubrication from the rain, I managed to push myself out with only minimal damage to the Honda Pilot next to me.  And now, I was ten minutes late for my appointment, my shoes were soaked, and my keys were still under my car.

The appointment was uneventful.  I was approaching 42 weeks, so I had an ultrasound to make sure baby was doing alright.  She moved here and there, but mostly slept.  The tech commented that she had lots of little fuzzy hair and gave me two pictures that didn't look like anything to me.

Tanya, who was my centering coach with Ezra, was my midwife of the day and we hugged when she walked in.  She demanded I have the baby on Saturday, because that's when she would be on call at the hospital and I gave her my word that I'd try.  She checked my cervix and I measured 6cm.  Before I left, I was hooked up to some monitors for a non-stress test to make sure the jackfruit was doing okay.  She was.  So I left with the on call schedule of the midwives and instructions to call Tanya if the baby wasn't born and I wanted an induction.

I rushed out of the office at 5:05, late for Kindermarket (pregnant ladies get in free at 5).  Luckily, I was the only car in the lot, so I snatched up my keys, tossed my wet shoes under the heater, and headed up the street.  It was then that I noticed the contractions.  As I pulled into the lot, and had to park a football field away, the contractions were in full swing.  I walked, stopping here and there to breathe, determined to get my baby some shorts before my water broke.  It was crowded and the prices weren't awesome, and people seemed largely unaware that I was about to have an effing baby as they bumped into me or watched me kneel and squat over bins of baby shoes and linens.  $27 later, I was out the door.  I grimaced the whole way to the car and was relieved when I could finally sit.

Jason and Ezra were waiting for me with a DiGiorno pizza when I got home.  Jason could instantly see that I was in pain--probably because of my heavy panting.  But we were already well into Ezra's bedtime hours, so I told him I had no intentions of going into labor.  He told me he was going to skip his sleeping pills, and I told him I planned on sleeping in.  I took two Tylenol and a hot shower, but the contractions were still going strong when I climbed into bed.  My rest was fitful and interrupted by contractions that made me moan in pain--none of which woke Jason.  At 7:30, Jason brought Ezra in to say goodbye and they left for the day.

I hate watched Kelly and Michael, and texted Jason to see if he wanted to meet for lunch, before throwing in a load of laundry--all while occasionally bending over to scream in pain.  When I picked him up, I said, "Okay, I don't want to worry you, but we're having a baby today."  He promised he wasn't worried, but anyone who knows my husband knows that you can't tell him it's go time without him freaking out.  But we went to Sonny's BBQ anyway.  He commented that he couldn't enjoy his burger with me wincing and moaning like I was.  We had an enjoyable lunch all the same.  When we left, Jason let his coworkers know he was done for the day and we headed home.  I gave Jason a list of things to gather while I washed some dishes and folded some laundry.  He ran around the house, anxious and nervous.  And he was still anxious and nervous as we headed to the hospital (quick pit stop at Ezra's school to drop off a car seat and his favorite book).  Jason took corners way too fast and became everything he hates about Georgia drivers.  We made it to the hospital in one piece and headed up to the maternity ward at about 2:30.

We checked in, however there weren't enough beds so I had to wait in the waiting room while one was cleaned.  My contractions were about 2-3 minutes apart, and people stopped and stared, mortifying Jason, every time I screamed out in pain.  One well meaning worker stopped in the middle of a minute long contraction to ask if I was okay.  No, lady.  I'm not okay.  Jason successfully made me laugh by showing me videos of people flying off playground spinners propelled by motorcycles.

A bed finally became available and it was the same room where Ezra was born!  My nurses were lovely and my midwife, Angela, was one I had never met.  She measured my cervix and I was at 7cm.  I labored on my own for a about an hour and a half while I received two bags of fluids so I could get my epidural, which arrived at 4:15.  The anesthesiologist was nice and made a few jokes.  He explained what would happen and all of the risks, and then he answered all of our questions.  Jason held my hands as I hunched over.  The numbing shots hurt a bit, and I had to get some extra when I felt the epidural needle.  It only took a few minutes before he said, "Done!  It practically inserted itself."  I repositioned myself in the bed as he left.  The nurse stayed in the room watching the monitors and taking my blood pressure while Jason read out loud from his astrology book.

Jason was laughing about something he read and started to point it out to me as the nurse hmmed.  He was telling me about some potential trait Elliot would have as I asked the nurse what my blood pressure was. "70/40.  Are you feeling okay?"  My vision started to dull as Jason finally noticed what was happening and said, "That's a bit low, isn't it?"  The nurse hovered over me and said, "Stay with me!  Okay?  I'm going to give you some Epinephrine," as she pressed the syringe into my IV.  Jason looked worried and grabbed my hand.  I started to feel panicky and nauseous.  My vision came back almost instantly after the Epinephrine, but then dulled a few minutes later.  More Epinephrine, a barf bag, and Zofran, while Jason put his book away and held my hand.  I received Epinephrine a few more times, while my blood pressure slowly rose and the epidural kicked in fully.  Soon, everyone's worry dripped away and I felt okay again.  I had minimal movement in my left leg, and none in my right.  I was feeling pretty great when my parents arrived.  We joked and I endured political conversations way longer than I would have under any other circumstance.  The nurses asked me what my birth plan was, and Jason emphatically didn't want to cut the cord, so I offered it to my mom who jumped at the idea.  We waffled on whether or not my dad should be in the room, and ultimately decided that he should, because of anyone, he'd find it the most fascinating.

At 7:00, I was measuring 9cm, and was given some Pitocin and broke my water to get things going.  After breaking my water, Angela informed us in her calmest voice that there was meconium in my water, which, she explained, was common enough in late term babies, however there is a concern that the baby could swallow some and create some respiratory issues, so they were going to call in a respiratory therapist, who would be present during my birth and will check the baby. Also, my mom wouldn't be allowed to cut the cord, which would cause the baby to take her first breath and possibly swallow. We had lots of questions, which she answered calmly and matter of factly. Angela came in and out of the room, but the nurse stayed and slowly upped my Pitocin. At about 9:00, Angela began camping out in the room while nurses came in and out preparing the room. My legs were propped up high in stirrups and half the bed dropped down and everyone got into position.  Jason stood by my head and my mom next to him holding up one of my legs.  My dad sat in a rocking chair in the corner behind my head, out of the line of sight of anything compromising and one nurse held up my other leg, while the midwife positioned herself in the middle, ready to instruct and catch.

Everything seemed dramatically different than my birth with Ezra. Everyone was calm, fewer people were in the room, and there was no pressure. Angela asked, "Do you want to push? Okay, then push." With Ezra, it was a hard count of 10 and "PUUUUUUUSH!" I started pushing at 10:00 and Jason held my hand and patted my head and told me how much he loved me. And in under 20 minutes and maybe 8 good pushes, Elliot was out! She let out a very loud cry seconds after arriving and emotions overcame me. I just birthed a baby! There were lots of tears. Jason followed her to the clear cradle where she was wiped down and the respiratory therapist gave her a look over and then left without any of us noticing ("She's fine! Bye!"). I watched from the bed as she wrapped her little hand around Jason's fingers and he smiled at her and told her how loved she is. He came back to my side as I was being stitched up and told me how lovely she was. He pointed to her in the cradle and I noticed her chubby, rolly thighs. She was quiet and compliant and lovely and I couldn't wait to hold her. Jason snapped some photos while my mom trimmed down her umbillical cord. The nurse took her to the weighing station and Jason announced to me, "8 lbs, 1 ounce! Almost exactly like Ezra!"

And soon, everyone was out of the room and it was quiet and peaceful and she stared at us and we stared at her, mesmerized by this beautiful, amazing, chubby, tomatoey baby girl.

Elliot Elizabeth Grey was born Friday, March 4th at 10:19 p.m. She weighed 8lbs, 1oz, and measured 20 inches long.
As I write this, she is 2 whole weeks old. She sleeps like a dream, has gained all of her birth weight back, plus some extra, and has such a calm, easy disposition. We already can't remember what life was like before her.

Welcome to the world, Elliot!

Goodbye 2015, Hello New Life

So much has happened since my last post (7 months ago!).  So much.  This year, has been a whirlwind. 

Jason spent much of the summer unemployed, the stress of which was hard on the whole family.  In September, he started a job that he really enjoys. We are still a one car family, and getting us both to work takes some acrobatics and a lot of driving across town, but we're making it work.  Ultimately, we're just so thankful that Jason has a good job.

Ezra is huge! A whopping 15 months! He started walking in August and hasn't slowed down.  This is such an amazing age, and I could just cry thinking about how much my baby has grown.  He is long, and spills over my arms when I hold him.  He has a personality and interests and likes and dislikes.  He's social and plays and finds things funny.  His first word was "uh-oh" at about 8 months and now he has a whole list of things he can say: mama, dada, hi, bye, oh no, more, and as of this weekend, gentle (as a result of beating my face in).  He loves cars and trucks, and especially when his daddy makes the sound effects for them.  Speaking of which, Jason must feel like a celebrity whenever he enters a room.  Ezra thinks his daddy is the coolest guy ever, and rightfully so.  Jason is an excellent dad.  He's always on the floor with him, wrestling, playing cars, hiding, chasing.  He will be 37 soon, but for Ezra, he has the energy of a 12 year old. I always knew I was lucky to marry such a great guy, but seeing his relationship with our son is all the visual proof I will ever need.

The other big news is!! I'm pregnant.  Not a little pregnant.  A lot pregnant.  8 months pregnant.  I was probably pregnant while writing my last post.  It's a girl and we expect her arrival in early February.  We are shooting for an Aquarius.  It's funny how your second pregnancy is so different.  There are no bump pictures, no counting weeks, no constant journaling, no appointment anticipation.  It's just so busy when there's a toddler in tow.  The aches seem worse, I'm infinitely more tired (without the luxury of naps whenever I want them and sleeping in all weekend), and the pregnancy seems never ending.  I think I've been telling people I'm 8 months pregnant for the last 5 months, but I hardly know for sure.

I'm so excited to grow our family, but if I'm being honest, I'm incredibly anxious.

Tonight, as I came up the stairs, I heard Ezra crying.  Normally I'd ignore it and let him settle himself as he always does within a few seconds, but I couldn't tonight.  I opened his door and turned on the light and he was standing, smiling at me.  Just as relieved to see me as I was to see him.  I held him and rocked him and in seconds, he was asleep on my shoulder.  But I held him extra long, cherishing these last weeks together.  I even got a little teary thinking that it won't be like it is for long.  I'm not worried about loving her, or loving Ezra less.  Of course I'll love them both.  I'm worried about those early days.  I'm worried about Ezra not needing me or wanting me as much.  I'm worried that I won't be mom enough for him--even if it's only temporary.  I'm worried about my first nights away from him while we're in the hospital.  I'm worried I'll forget this time, like he will, and that I'm robbing us both of this beautiful time we are having.  I'm worried that Jason has no idea how much I'll need him, and how much I'll need him to help Ezra to still love me. I'm worried I'm not mom enough, not wife enough, not strong enough for another baby. 

But I also know it will all be temporary.  Just a few weeks until baby is sleeping, and we have a routine, and a new life.  

Even though it makes me anxious and scared, I have to remind myself of the brevity and how millions of mamas are doing the same thing, and I'm not alone.

So far I have very few plans for this baby. I plan to breast feed/pump for at least a month, and then formula feed.  I think.  I plan to sleep train early, but I have no idea how that will work in our two bedroom home. I plan to take 4 months maternity leave, but maybe 5 or 6 if money will stretch.  I plan to have an epidural and there is no wiggle room there.  We have a name and some diapers and a few outfits.  But the rest is up in the air.  

So that's that.  Big changes in 2016.  We are anxious and excited and uncertain, but feeling so blessed.  How are we so lucky?

Fatherhood

Jason and I have changed a lot in the ten years that we've been together.  I was still a teen, then, and interested in teenager things: boys, and college, and gossip, and friends.  And Jason was in his mid 20s, scrawny and anxious--floating like a feather through college.  We started living on opposite ends of the continent--me, a college freshman in North Carolina, and him, a student in Southern California.  Thousands of miles apart, and mentally on different planets.  At the time, it seemed like decades, but soon we were together, in the same state, in the same city, and eventually married and in the same tiny apartment, seething over the other's way of squeezing the toothpaste.  There are a lot of things I'd do over in our relationship if I could.  I look back on a lot of our life together and laugh at my naivety or cringe at my immaturity.  There are arguments I shouldn't have had, decisions I shouldn't have made, quirks I should have lived with.  We thought we knew what we were doing, but we definitely did not.  Now, at least, we know that we have no idea what we're doing.

And now, ten years later, and almost six years deep into our marriage, I'd say we're doing pretty well.  We're so, so, so different, but in all the right ways.

The summer after he turned 31, Jason started swimming,  And that was the summer he transitioned to manhood.  His shoulders widened, he walked more confidently, and he got laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.  He was less gullible and harder for my dad to prank and we had muddled through those difficult parts of marriage and had matured.  Truly, I've loved watching the change.  He's always be an wonderful guy, but the transition to manhood was a lovely thing to watch.

And now I see my husband, my partner, my best friend as a father and it's beautiful.

Sometimes it's easy for me to take Ezra into the shower with me.  If time is short, he'll just sit in the tub while I shower off and then I'll pick him up and scrub his slippery little body and it feels fun and natural and easy.  So when Jason mentioned that he was going to shower just before Ezra's bed time, I asked if he wouldn't mind taking Ezra with him.  I fully expected him to say no, but he surprised me.  I explained the details--like how he should sit him on a towel in the shower so he doesn't slip, and how I usually shower first, then shampoo him and hold him to my chest while I rinse his hair.  And I helped him get the bottle of baby soap and a few bath toys and then I left them to it while I washed some bottles and laid out jammies.

As I was coming up the stairs, I listened as they both giggled uncontrollably in the shower.  And I thought, "This is it.  This is fatherhood."  This is Jason as I've never known him.  He's attentive and gentle and frustrated but in love and so, so, so tender.  He is awed when Ezra discovers new things, like when I opened the container of puffs and showed Ezra that they were inside.  We both watched his gears turning, slowly reaching inside to get them.  And Jason looked pleased and proud.  Jason is joyful and young, yet more patient and cautious.  He's a father.  And that's the best way I've ever known him. 

I often hold Ezra and beg time to slow down.  He's getting so big and full and smart and I feel like there's never enough time to savor him as he currently is.  I look at him and kiss his soft cheeks, and magically, he's older and my heart aches.  But tonight my heart aches for Jason.  He's growing, too, and I'm not savoring it enough.  He's no longer a scrawny 20-something, naive new husband, or new father.  He's a man, a seasoned father and I'm missing it.   He's currently covering his face with our duvet, annoyed at the light from the laptop--and I want to fling off his cover and kiss his laugh lines before he's magically older and I've missed it.  So I will.  Goodnight.

7 Months

I went back to work in January.  It's now mid-April and I've only written three blog posts since then.  I'm sure you can imagine that working five days a week and then catering to every need of a baby in my "off time" keeps me pretty busy.  In the moments between Ezra's bedtime and my bedtime, I find myself engrossed in Orange is the New Black (I'm only on episode 5, so don't ruin it for me!), washing bottles, and scrubbing mashed avocado off of the edge of the bath tub.

Motherhood can sometimes feel all consuming.  It can feel like you're holding your entire office's coffee order, while you desperately have to pee, in an elevator that won't ever come to the right floor, in broken heels--and then someone hands you a baby and his 80lb car seat and 20lb diaper bag.  Confession--I've peed my pants more times than I'd like to admit since having a baby.  But I don't love motherhood in spite of what it has done to me.  I love it because of what it has done to me.  I love Ezra and his cute little cheeks, and his smile when he sees me across the room.  I love it when Jason holds him and how he can so easily make Ezra laugh.  I love to hear him sing to Ezra in the morning, through the crackly baby monitor.  I love how motherhood has made me chronically on time and prepared for every emergency imaginable.  I love how motherhood has made me more compassionate and forgiving.  I love that I treat my time as sacred--because every day is the youngest he'll ever be again and I have to love it and notice how small his fingers and toes are, and even at the worst, most disorganized, most frazzled moments, I know I'm lucky to be here and I'm happy to have the worst moments.

So yeah, I'd say I'm pretty good.

And Ez is great!  He's 7 months (today!) and he's just a joy to be around.  He let's us know he's awake by shouting.  I imagine if he had words, he'd say, "Hey mom!  Hey dad!  I'm awake now!  Come get me!"  And when we turn on his bedroom lights, he's usually on his tummy, propped up on his arms, smiling at us.  This morning, I scooped him up and tickled his sides and shared a giggle.  Then I changed his diaper, propped him on my hip and headed downstairs.  He played with his rubber giraffe in his high chair while I let the dogs into the rainy backyard and made him a bottle.  Then we cuddled on the couch and watched the animated version of Robin Hood (dad's favorite!) while he had his breakfast.  Then Jason came downstairs and Ezra's smile stretched from ear to ear and he kicked and danced in celebration.  The three of us cuddled and watched until we decided that the adults needed some Waffle House.  Ezra is always the star of the show wherever he goes, but he's quite the ham at Waffle House.  He's sitting now, so he gets to clap and bang on the table from his high chair these days.  He loved watching all of the commotion in the kitchen while gnawing on a waffle and Jason and I took a moment to talk about his classes and remember when his parents joined us for breakfast at Waffle House, when Ez was just a month and a half old.  I sipped my coffee while the waitresses took turns coming over to coo at Ez and Jason picked some CCR to blast on the jukebox.  I'd call it a good morning.  A good, and typical morning.  Ezra fell asleep on the way to Starbucks (because Waffle House makes good eggs, but their coffee is like water and dirt) and I turned around frequently to stare at his chubby little cheeks in the mirror.


We were working on some small upgrades around the house, but put them on hold when Jason got an interview in Redding, California.  When the possibility of moving seemed heavy on us, a new coffee table didn't seem as important.  However, Jason didn't get the job.  I think we both feel a mixture of disappointment and relief.  Disappointment because we're both ready to move our lives forward, but relief because moving across the country this summer seems a little two forward.  And now that it's looking more like we'll be here for another year, we're back to work looking for coffee tables.

Anyway, the holidays are behind us and we hope that this summer will be cool and slow.  I hope yours is too!

 -xo-

Things to say to people who are grieving...

My cousin passed away last week.  I plan on posting something about it later but the whole experience is very fresh and I want to mull over what I want to say a bit longer.  In short and for the sole purpose of this blog post, she died unexpectedly while delivering her fourth child.  Upon hearing the news, I was understandably extremely upset and wanted to teleport to south Florida to comfort my aunt and uncle and cousins who were undoubtedly in the worst situation of their lives.  The next day, I could barely speak about it, and the subsequent days could only speak through tears about it.  I appreciate that dealing with grief is individual to the person experiencing it.  And I can also appreciate that witnessing a grieving person can be very uncomfortable.  This is my first real experience with being the recipient of condolences and I have to say that I am shocked and awed at how some people offer their condolences so gracefully and know just what to say.  And yet, I'm equally shocked and awed at how some people seem to fumble over their words and vomit the first thoughts in their head.  It is quite fortunate that I don't need to reconcile my feelings with condolences or words of wisdom, and that I'm not easily offended.  But in the interest of preserving others from the word vomit, please allow me to help you find the words.

This baby is sick of your insensitive word vomit.

Do give yourself time to gather your thoughts.  Death is shocking.  It is okay to not know what to say when someone tells you what has happened.  I'm a little more removed from the deceased and I really didn't want condolences as much as I just wanted people to know.  I wanted them to know that I was hurting, and if I needed to excuse myself for a minute, I didn't want people to follow me and ask me why.  I just wanted them to know.  So if you have nothing to say right then, it's okay.  You can say, "I am so sorry to hear that.  Nothing I want to say feels right, so instead just know that I'm thinking of you."

Don't tell the grieving person not to cry or be sad or to think positively.  Death is terrible.  There's a time to move on and beyond and start rebuilding, but immediately following the death of a loved one is not that time.  There are seven stages of grief.  Can I get through stages 1-5, first? 

Do listen.  Part of the word vomit stems from being a fixer.  You can't fix it.  Stop trying to fix it.  Just listen.  Hear them.  The person grieving may want to tell you why this death is particularly tragic or what this person meant in their lives.  They may want to tell you how much they'll miss them or when they last saw the deceased.  It's okay to not have the answers or fix it.

Don't ask the gory details.  This is to entertain your own selfish, morbid curiosity and not for the betterment of the person suffering.  You don't need to know.  And God forbid it was a painful death, the grieving does not want to relive it.  He died of cancer.  You don't need to know that it was testicular or prostate cancer.  It's personal.  She died in a car wreck.  You don't need to know that her chest was crushed into the steering wheel.  Child birth.  You don't need to know that she hemorrhaged.  There will eventually be a time when it's alright to inquire.  While the person is still grieving is not that time.  So keep your curiosity to yourself.

Do let them know you're thinking of them and their family.  Often just hearing that you're sharing their grief helps take a little bit away.  Hearing that even those who didn't know the dead are mourning their loss can be comforting.  Tell them that they've been in your thoughts.  If you're the praying type, it's okay to say that you've prayed for the family.  Tell them you're hoping they find peace and comfort.

Don't suggest that the dead is somehow at fault for their death.  Sensitivity is not some people's strong suit. Even so, I think this one should be common sense.  He shouldn't have smoke so much, and maybe he wouldn't have died.  If she would have laid off the butter and sugar, maybe she wouldn't have had that heart attack.  If he would have not tried to drive such a long distance, maybe he wouldn't have fallen asleep at the wheel.  It's incredibly insensitive.  Even if it was their fault, that provides no comfort.  So shut up.

Do write a letter or a card with your condolences if you don't trust yourself to not be an insensitive jerk.  You might say something like, "I am so saddened to hear the news of John's passing.  You and your family are in my constant thoughts and prayers."  or "My heart aches at the thought of your loss.  I'm so sorry.  Wishing you and your family well."

Don't be a sage.  No one wants to hear your ancient Mayan proverb about how their dead mom is in a better place.  What you say/write should be heartfelt, honest, and with love.  You don't need to come down from the mountain and show us the way to grieve or tell us how much better off our dead loved one is.  You know what doesn't feel good?  Knowing you won't see your deceased aunt again.

Do ask how you can help or purchase a small token.  Is there a fund for the bereaved family?  Can you bake a mean tuna casserole?  Or do you have time to stop by Kroger and pick up some manager special flowers?  Maybe a small tree to plant in the loved ones honor, or frame a particularly special photo?  Those are all appropriate tokens to show you care.

Don't compare your grief. Things that are not comforting: knowing that your grandmother died of breast cancer, too.  Knowing that you had the same labor complication, too, and almost didn't survive but thank God, you did.  Knowing that you daughter got into a car wreck last week but only broke her leg, but sorry your dad died when he was ejected from the car!  Stop comparing. No one needs an anecdote.

If nothing else, offer a hug.  This is great if you can't find the words.  Just a hug.  Hugs feel good.  Hugs allow the grieving to blow snot into your shirt, which also feels good.  Hugs don't say something stupid, offensive, and rude, but let the grieving know that you're sorry for their loss.


Based on my limited experience, if you've ever grieved the loss of someone, chances are people have said some pretty atrocious things to you.  It is my hope that you're able to laugh it off and find the comedy in the word vomit.  I have made a list to remember and chuckle at when the timing feels better.  Ultimately, we should know that intentions are good even if the words don't come out right.
 Still.  Fix your words, people. 

Babies and Marriage

I had a lot to worry about while pregnant with Ezra.  The last four months of my pregnancy were ruled by lists.  Things to do, things to buy, things to put together, things to make Jason do, recipes to make and freeze, classes to take, appointment dates.  Sometimes I felt so overwhelmed looking at my giant yellow legal pad, that I'd write things I already did just to cross them off my list:  Drink water.  Pee.  Take the dogs to the dog park.  Put gas in the car.  Eat bacon.  Pee. Often times, people would make suggestions for what to put on my list.  Get a pedicure when you're 39 weeks pregnant, a friend suggested.  Read a book about breast feeding and get a really long iPhone charger, another friend added to the list.  "Sleep now! Because you won't be sleeping again for a long time," came out of the mouth of every jackass and her sister.  And a few times, "Guard your marriage, because a baby is really going to do a number on it."

I admit, I didn't add that last one to the list.

My husband and I dated for five years.  We moved in together only after we were married and spent the first year learning how to live together and be patient with one another in our 5 square foot apartment.  The next four years were lots of love and laughter, joy, and a solid foundation for a family.  Soul mates, best friends, husband and wife.  What's more, Jason and I spent almost two years trying to make our little turnip, and leaned on one another through what was one of the hardest times of our lives.  If we could get through that, we could get through anything.  I was worried about a lot of things, but my marriage wasn't one.

At 38 weeks pregnant, I had several moments of anxiety where I changed my mind.  I love my husband so much, I didn't want that phase of our lives to end.  I didn't want to bring someone else in the mix when what we had was so perfect.  I didn't want to give up weekends sleeping in and cuddling, movie night on the couch, and lunch dates at La Parilla.  I tried to savor those moments right up to the end--even when I was hot and uncomfortable and wanted that little hot box of a baby out of me.

And then he arrived and as any new mother will tell you: chaos.  Just pure chaos.  I've mentioned those first two weeks with a newborn--but it cannot be overstated.  Chaos.  You don't know who you are, you don't know who your husband is.  You look in the mirror and you think, "WHAT THE HELL?" and you wonder aloud "What have I become?" and "What have I done?"  The only thing you can do is survive.  You're doing everything and nothing all at once, just trying to survive.  And after two weeks, you take your first breath of air since you pushed that baby out, and you think, "Okay.  I can do this."  But even then--it's just survival.  Nothing else.  Just survival.  You're doing what you can to keep yourself and your baby alive and that's it.  I should note here that this is why freezer meals are a God send.  If you're pregnant or know someone who is pregnant, make them something they can throw in the crock pot.  Because crock pots are how new moms and dads survive.

My day consisted of bottles, diapers, crying (from me), crying (from him), attempting to nurse, laundry, washing bottles, maybe 5 non-consecutive hours of sleep, eating a dry Eggo waffle over the sink like a rat, rinse, repeat, all day every day.  Every third day, I'd thrust Ezra into Jason's arms so I could have five minutes to hose off the important parts in the shower and roll some deodorant under my arms.  The other two days, I kept a stack of clean underwear next to the toilet and some body mist on the tank.  I'd place Ezra in the bouncer in front of me and sang a little song that went like this: "Spritz, spritz, good enough.  Clean underwear, good enough."  I never thought I'd get here, but I can actually look back and laugh about those early days.  I can laugh about the things I worried about, the stupid things I did in my sleep deprived, delirious state. 

Okay, five paragraphs in, and I still haven't gotten to the point.  The point is that I forgot about my husband and my marriage.  I didn't have time to mourn our old lives and certainly didn't have time to ask Jason how his day went.  Before Ezra, I didn't understand what people meant when they said a baby will do a number on your marriage.  It is, yet isn't an overnight thing.  It's a gradual chipping away at your ability to care and love.  It's how you used to casually, absentmindedly scratch him behind the ears, but now, when you're not holding a baby, you just want to sit on your side of the couch and enjoy not soothing someone.  It's how you feel so unlike yourself, so unsure of every decision you're making that you can't bring yourself to ask and listen and care about how your spouse is feeling.  It's your husband, watching his wife, who has only had eyes for him for the past decade, suddenly feel out loved and cast aside in place of a tiny person who he loves, too, and can't begrudge.

And then when Ezra was 8 weeks, we sat on the floor of our bedroom and took turns holding him and coaxing him to laugh and coo at us.  As Ezra enjoyed the view of the ceiling fan above us, Jason said, "I didn't think it would be like this.  People told me, and maybe I kind of knew, but I didn't know.  I feel so distant from you, like you don't even look at me anymore.  I'll talk to you sometimes, and you don't even respond.  I'll walk into a room and you don't see me.  You don't touch me, we don't talk anymore, you're just so consumed by Ezra.  I knew you would be, but I didn't know."  And I didn't really respond.   In fact, I didn't actually hear what he said, until I replayed it in my head before bed.  And my first response was anger.  Duh, I'm not listening to you!  I'm so tired and I cry all the time and I'm barely keeping myself alive.  I don't even know who I am.  I haven't known who I am for a while, now.  I can't worry about you.  I'm trying to keep myself from falling to pieces.  I'm putting my own oxygen mask on, and when I get it on, then I'll assist you with yours.

"Guard your marriage, because a baby is really going to do a number on it."

In the morning, I softened.  How would I feel with the roles reversed?  And we can't live like this.  We can't have a house, where 1/3 of the family is feeling unappreciated, left out, and ignored.  Me ignoring him wasn't going to be the new us.  I never thought we were going to be one of those couples who struggled once baby arrived.  Hearing him say we had problems was tough, but a needed reality check.  We can't (and don't want to!) undo the new person in our lives.  So how do we create a new normal?

I function by lists.  So I pulled out that yellow legal pad (which now had eat, wake, sleep schedules for Ezra on about 20 of the pages).  Here's the actual list:

-Notice one thing he's done to help with the baby, and tell him.
-Ask him, and listen, about his day.
-Do something nice for him (buy him new pens at the store, buy him M&Ms, make him chicken tortilla soup).
-Plan an at home date.
-Hug him, every morning and every night.  A good hug.
-Thank him for doing the a.m. feeding and emptying the dishwasher.


It probably sounds so stupid that I had to make a list or that I forgot to love my husband, but I did.  And at first, it was hard.  I was tired and I didn't want to do any of the the things on the list.  If I had a rare free moment, I wanted to shower or sleep or just sit and be.  But as I checked the items off my list each day, they became a part of my routine and I remembered that I love him and it magically became easier to ask him to hold the baby so I could actually shave my legs.  And we laughed hard like we used to in bed reading textsfromyourex and yourshittyfamily and his favorite posts of the day on Reddit.  We risked dates, because they were important, with our unpredictable baby (that's not true--he's pretty predictably awesome all the time).  I was genuinely excited when he came home from work and so appreciative when he folded all the laundry in the dryer and put the bottles on the drying rack. 

Our new normal isn't much like our old normal.  Babies do change everything.  And it turns out that anxiety I felt while pregnant was valid and the need to mourn our old lives was important.  But once we got over that hump, the new normal is actually better.  Granted, we're only 16 weeks out from turning our whole lives upside down and we're still learning to adapt and put the pieces back together.  But if we don't guard our marriage, take stock, and reconnect, we could easily find ourselves downstream.