A Day In the Life

I cannot conceive how I was ever busy before kids.  I'm sure I felt busy.  I'm sure I felt like there was never enough hours in a day.  But... how?  Sometimes I laugh at this life.  Like--how am I supposed to do all of this?  But they're good days.  And today was a perfectly typical Sunday. 

7:00 a.m. Jason rolled out of bed.
7:30 a.m. Ezra started testing his vocal range, which came through the baby monitor.
7.50 a.m. Jason went into the kid's room.  I listened to him wake the kids.  He left them briefly to take out the diaper trash and I listened to Ezra talk to Broccoli Rob.  "Hello, Rob.  Rob.  Rob.  Rob.  Rob.  Rob, it's a trash."  I could see him clearly in my mind holding up the toy trash bin that goes to his recycling truck.  "It's a trash, Rob.  Rob.  Rob.  Hi, Rob."
8:00 a.m. Jason and the kids were wrestling, and I turned off the baby monitor.  I get to "sleep in" on weekends.
9:30 a.m. I meandered downstairs with my mind on a cup of coffee and was met with Elliot on her floor mat and Ezra watching trash trucks on YouTube.  I chased him into the kitchen, where Jason was making breakfast.  I gave him a peck on the cheek and turned on the Keurig.  We talked about how we slept and how Jason was feeling particularly tired.  He filled me in on Ellie's bottles and diapers while I stirred creamer into my coffee. 
9:45 a.m. I snuggled Elliot.  Jason and Ezra ate breakfast while we talked about some unexpected bills and how our grocery bill is extremely slim this week.  We talked about Christmas and what we wanted to do for Christmas next year.
10:00 a.m. Ezra threw a fit because I wouldn't read him a book about mice making pizza.  Jason laughed because I said, "Ezra, mommy gets autonomy, too.  I'm talking to dada, so I don't want to read that book."  Ezra melted.  He was finally soothed with a hug.  We both commented on how he seemed tired.
10:10 a.m. Jason went upstairs for his designated work time.
10:15 a.m. I started feeding Elliot, who seemed incredibly tired.  She fell asleep in my arms and I had to convince Ezra not to scream about the trash truck he couldn't get onto the ottoman, promising to help him in just a minute.
10:20 a.m. I put Elliot in the Rock n' Play in the bathroom, refilled my cup, and convinced Ezra to bring the trash truck upstairs. 
10:30 a.m. I planned to play on the iPad and sip my coffee while Ezra played, but the kids' room was a mess so I ended up organizing bins of clothes, and too small diapers, and little piles of things that build up everywhere.  Ezra opened and shut the closet door for a half hour, read books, played in his cozy coupe, pushed his train, rolled his garbage truck, and finally melted when he couldn't find his cup of milk.
12:34 p.m. I looked at the time, commented to Ezra that it was 1234, and shut off two lamps.  Ezra jumped in my lap and we read two books and then cuddled.
12:45 p.m. Ezra was in his crib, asleep.  I quietly exited and saw that Jason was napping (unusual!).  I leaned against the bathroom vanity and looked in the mirror long enough to notice I still had yesterday's make up smeared under my eyes, before I heard Elliot cry downstairs.  Big exhale. 
12:47 p.m. I made a bottle, retrieved Elliot, plopped on the couch, and read a news article about a surrogate case in Wisconsin.
12:55 p.m. Jason came downstairs and we talked about our grocery bill again.  We made faces at Elliot and took turns making her laugh.  I tossed her into Jason's arms so I could go upstairs and get dressed.
1:05 p.m. I threw on a pair of skinny jeans and a maternity shirt and threw my hair into a bun.  Mom-style.  I put Elliot into her car seat and Jason had his head under the hood of his car while we drove off.
1:20 p.m. We arrived at Publix.  It was crowded and I had to park far away and lug that giant ass car seat.  I debated whether or not Ellie is old enough to sit on her own in the cart, but decided against it.
1:30 p.m.  Grocery list.

• Strawberries
• Celery
• Bananas 
• Apples
• Carrots (julienned)
• Cherry tomatoes
• Granola bars
• Dinner rolls
• Shredded cheese
• Tomato sauce
• Soup
• Juice
• Sliced cheese
• Milk
• Yogurt
• Ricotta
• Spaghetti sauce

2:10 p.m. Elliot was unfazed by the trip.  $50.  $10 over budget.   I open the carrots and ate some on my way home.
2:25 p.m. I get Elliot out of the car and into the house, wondering to myself if I could ever possibly forget her in the car.  I literally wave to stop my imagination and bring the groceries into the house.  I shut the door behind me just as Jason and Ezra come downstairs.  We each ate a few of the carrots while I put the groceries away.
2:40 p.m. I fed Ellie a bottle and asked Jason if he wanted to go on a walk.
2:50 p.m. Ezra was excited to get into his little car rider and Ellie sat sleepily in her umbrella stroller.  We walked up the road and I told Jason about how much I hate Sam's Club.  We both talked about work.
3:30 p.m. We arrived back home--the four of us sweaty and hot.  I put Ellie in a bouncer, Ezra played with his trash truck, and I started frying up some grilled cheese sandwiches and put a pot of potato soup on the stove.  Jason eventually came downstairs and fed Elliot again.
3:50 p.m. Everyone sat down for dinner.  Ezra promptly poured his soup over his grilled cheese and proceeded to eat nothing.  Jason and I chatted and joked about our children's future political affiliations.
4:30 p.m.  It was clear that Elliot needed a nap, but she refused.  I took a break from trying to make her and clipped her nails while Jason cleaned the kitchen.  I tried to bribe Ezra into letting me clip his nails.  The popsicle was not motivating enough, apparently. 
5:00 p.m. I cornered Ezra on the stairs and he agreed to let me cut his nails if I gave him a popsicle.  Finally.  He enjoyed his white cherry flavored mini popsicle and didn't care when I pretended to cry because he wouldn't give me a taste.
5:15 p.m. Jason asked Ezra if he wanted to take a shower with him.  Ezra threw his popsicle in the trash and jumped into the shower.
5:30 p.m. I set Ezra up with the iPad and some trash truck videos and then bathed Elliot.  I rocked her and fed her and put her to bed.
6:00 p.m. I read Ezra two books in my room and then told him to tell Jason goodnight.  He cried and ran to him and gave him a long hug.  Jason listed all of the things we did this weekend and asked him if he enjoyed it.  He replied "yeah" to each one.
6:20 p.m. I held Ezra, rocking him in his dark room, his sister sleeping nearby.  I thought about motherhood and how I hadn't done a single thing for myself all day--except coffee.  I thought about how I didn't even care--like I didn't even feel like I was missing out and how many years ago, I might have looked at a daily agenda of my current life and felt selfishly guarded of my time.  But now, I just don't care.  I love my life and I loved my day.  And I rocked my baby and wondered if I remembered to put shorts with his outfit for tomorrow.  And I wondered where I put the bug repellent.
6:55 p.m. I closed their bedroom door behind me and breathed a sigh of accomplishment.
7:01 p.m. Ben and Jerry's and a Real Housewives of New Jersey rerun.
7:30 p.m. I started making a list of all of the things I needed to do before bed.  Dishes.  Bottles.  Launder the tablecloth and place mats.  Make my lunch. 
10:00 p.m. Still on the couch.  Not at all productive.  I hope to be in bed in approximately 15 minutes. 

This is the day.  This is a day with an infant and a toddler.  I cannot conceive of how I ever thought I was busy.  And I can't even recall what the hell I used to do with my weekends.  I think I slept a lot more. 

Moms I Don't Know

There were a lot of things I didn't know about newborns.  Like that they eat every two hours.  Or that their umbilical cord stump takes approximately six decades to fall off.
There were  also a lot of things I didn't know about toddlers.  Like how they possess the strength of 20 grown men when you are trying to put them into a car seat they don't want to be in.  Or that WW3 will probably be started over the chicken nuggets you made for dinner (he wanted rice--didn't you know?).

However, I think the most shocking thing I didn't know is how every cell in your body changes when you have children.  Maybe people say that and you hear it, but the level of understanding is incomprehensible.

Like, how I will never read a news story and not think, "What if that had been my kid?"  How I would recall every mean thing I've ever said to anyone and think about how I had no idea that while I was being a jerk, his mom was worrying endlessly about her baby.  How I could read stories about moms lifting cars or thwarting kidnappers or fighting off wild animals without hesitation and know that I'd do the same.  That I'd carve out whole parts of my day to pray for moms I don't know.  That I'd see a mom cry for her baby (which is very frequent in the mom community!) and instantly know.  Just know.  In a way that other people wouldn't know.  That the minute my phone buzzes with an Amber Alert, my first thought is always of the mom.  How politics mean more because it's not about me--it's really, truly about the world I want for my kid.

I didn't know motherhood would be so emotionally taxing.  I didn't realize the weight of the worry would feel like cinderblocks on my shoulders.  I just didn't know.

So at night, when I hold my son, I pay special attention to his head on my shoulder, his chest on my collar, his legs wrapped around my waist, and his fingers twirling my hair.  I memorize how he feels in my arms and whisper that I love him, I love him, I love him, and kiss soft cheeks.  And I unload the weight with prayers for moms I don't know.

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-