She Likes Purple

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I was home, day in and day out, for eight weeks. Hard weeks. Beautiful weeks. Weeks filled with the soft scent of my son, a mix between his apple bubble bath and his natural sweetness. Weeks spent in yoga pants with spit-up trails on the baggy T-shirts I stole from Mike. Weeks where I didn't get off the couch, didn't leave the house. Weeks where I ventured out, my son weighted across my arm. Weeks I wished away. Weeks I'll never get back.

There are some mothers who want you to feel guilty if you don't stay home, if you don't cut every corner imaginable in order to be the only one caring for your child, but I've found that most mothers understand that motherhood, although universal, is an experience that can't be duplicated, made up of a billion uncharted roads we're each blazing for the first time. Some moms stay home, some go back to work, some work from home. Each one loves their child with everything they are made up of.

I'm going to miss these weeks even though they almost broke me. As I said on twitter last night, I already miss this time and that's just how I am: hopelessly nostalgic for that which almost killed me. AND IT'S TRUE. But, really, there is so much to miss. When Kyle and I would finally get off the couch in the morning, after lazying about, eating breakfast and taking cat naps, we'd shuffle into his room to get dressed for the day. I would hold up onesies and t-shirts and ask his opinion on them. "Do you want to wear this buddy? No? What about this one?" I'd kiss his neck while he laid there. I'd sing to him and tell him what was going to be on Oprah that afternoon. I'm going to miss taking my time with that part of our day, getting him changed and dressed and doing it slowly and lovingly. I know our mornings will become rushed and hurried, and I won't be able to linger over his flailing infant limbs as long as I want. I'd stay with him every moment of every day, but I know I can't, I shouldn't.

It's easy to make your child your entire world, to forget yourself, your husband, your friends, your passions, your waist line. It's easy to devote all that energy to your baby because you really do believe you've never seen anything so perfect. You believe they're made of magic. But I have to also believe my son will benefit not from me making him my whole world but by making my world beautiful, so he will be inspired to make his own world the same.

He's asleep right now, just in the other room. I already miss him.

(Wouldn't you miss this guy, too?)

 

(Man, I still can't figure out who he looks like.)

(Oh, I also already miss "Felicity," which I tearfully finished tonight.)

Boy oh boy

You're totally not going to believe this. I TOTALLY DON'T BELIEVE THIS. But as soon as I hesitantly posted about our much improved situation my boy went and threw me one mothereffing curve ball and has been particularly screamy and fussy again over the last two days (after a solid week of adorable smiley-ness, remember?). Is this just how parenthood goes? You think you have it all figured out and you think you've rounded the corner and you laugh with your husband about how it only took six weeks BUT WE'RE KICKING ASS NOW and then oh boy, look at that, I think the baby may be flipping us off. Huh.

I am fresh out of ideas about it all, too. We thought the combination of the change in my diet and the new formula and the Mylicon drops and the gripe water and aggressive burping was the magic combination, but nothing has really changed in the last couple days (no wheel of cheese consumption or forgoing the burping altogether) so ... um ... Kyle, what gives? Sigh. Pass the vodka, would you? No, no, THE ENTIRE BOTTLE, PLEASE.

I'm being somewhat dramatic. It's really not that bad. He's still a dream in the car and in public (I think he likes the noise of restaurants and other crowded places). He's also sleeping just fine and eating just fine and just kind of fussy in between the sleeping and the eating and, hey, I'm somewhat fussy between my meals and my naps, so I get it. I just ... miss the smiles that I got borderline addicted to over the last week. (He's got a killer smile, I can tell you that much.)

I hope this is just a growth spurt or regular baby fussiness and not Phase Two of Mission: Make Mama Lose Her Mind. Phase One was pretty damn effective by itself.

So ... let's move on and talk about me going back to work. THIS SHOULD BE FUN. I got a few stunned comments and e-mails regarding my maternity leave being over so soon (next week when Kyle will be eight weeks old). On the one hand, I KNOW, RIGHT? Didn't I just give birth to him? Isn't it irresponsible to leave a baby with strangers when the stretch marks haven't even begun to fade? On the other hand, adult interaction and a little brain time spent devoted to something other than diapers and what fills up diapers will be ... refreshing, I think. Back to that first hand: I AM GOING TO BE A RIDICULOUS, SOBBING WRECK HIS FIRST DAY OF DAY CARE AND I CANNOT THINK ABOUT IT WITHOUT HITTING THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON. On the second hand: My commute will give me time to ... what's that word? Hold on. It'll come to me. OH YES! THINK! That could be nice. Trust me, I think our country's maternity leave policy unequivocally blows and I'd gladly move to Canada in a heartbeat if they had a little place called Target, but I love my job and I love my coworkers and even if I didn't and wanted to stay home with him, I just couldn't. Why, you ask. I have one word for you: DEBT. And, just for fun, here's five more words for you: WE HAVE HEAPS OF IT. This was actually something I considered when we first started trying to get pregnant; I knew that I would have to go back to work to help cover the rent, the bills, the baby costs and our debt. And if we had waited until all of that debt was gone to have a baby, I'd be one of those record-breaking older moms. They would have to send a news team to cover the birth, I assure you. It sounds like I'm justifying my choice, becoming a wee bit defensive, but I'm actually at peace with our situation. We found a great day care center less than a mile away from our house. I walked out of the center smiling, feeling OK about our decision instead of STAB ME NOW, BUT DO NOT MAKE ME LEAVE MY BABY THERE, SO HELP ME GOD. (And there was a center I toured that actually made me scream that. I cried during the tour. The director had to give me a tissue as I fled.) I sincerely think going back to work will help me enjoy every minute with Kyle when I'm home. Quality over quantity and all that jazz. We'll see how it goes, but I'm feeling pretty good about it, really. Although, look, I'm totally allowed to cry buckets and lament about my life and my poverty level come that first day. I'm also allowed to drink. A lot.

(Total mushy aside: I think one thing I've become passionate about since becoming a mother is supporting other mothers' right to choose what's best for their family even if it doesn't even remotely resemble what's best for mine. Whether it be breastfeeding, co-sleeping, day cares, vaccinations, sleep training, etc. Whatever the issue, mothers should feel supported by other mothers. You can believe in your stance without making the other side feel wrong or ostracized. There are too many lines drawn in the parenthood sand and that really sort of sucks. Picture me taking my foot and messing up that line as best I can.)

Now, I'm off to watch a few more episodes of "Felicity," a show I've been devouring during my time home and during those fun, haven't-stopped-yet late-night feedings (seriously, WHEN DO THOSE TAPER OFF?). While I start season three, the season Felicity's hair (thank god) starts to grow, I'll leave you with Kyle's first installment of the Rocking Chair Series, a series I started just today to document his growth. I'll take a picture of him in this chair once a week for at least his first year.

Kyle, Rocking Chair Series Seven Weeks

This was not the first take. Here's a take I decided against framing:

Also, that's a newborn onesie he's wearing! Who cares if it's snug, it snaps therefore IT FITS!

Shit, I just noticed one of the snaps is undone.

I need more vodka.

Interlude

My dad's in town from California. Kyle is enjoying some time with his grandpa during my last full week at home (hold me). We've had a really incredible week, so incredible I've been hesitant to talk about it. But, hell, I may as well document this last glorious week in case it's the only glorious one we have. We've gone out to eat multiple times and the boy hasn't made a sound. At home, he just hangs out and smiles (YES! SMILES!), making us forget all about the skin-peeling screams of a mere week ago (OK, so we haven't totally forgotten). I don't know what's worked, but we look at each other and finally remember why we wanted a baby. Yes, this is incredible, we say. This is unbelievable. It took some time, but thank god for this last week. Perhaps we had to go through the last six weeks to soak up each moment of today. 

Now, look at my little man, growing up and growing ever more beautiful.

Double chins and rolls of adorable baby fat = the reason my baby can't fit into his newborn clothes any longer (hold me again). 

My dad leaves tomorrow, so we're going to enjoy our last day with him. Translation: We're going to be lazy and watch American Idol. 

Oh, what a difference a few weeks make

Kyle's first bath, around two weeks

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Also, Mike and I took Kyle out to his first restaurant tonight and then for his first trip to Target. He didn't make a peep the entire time and, well, I don't think we've ever been more proud. I'm not saying we're completely out of the woods with his colic/gas, but as we sat at dinner tonight, Mike looked at me and said, "This is pretty fun, isn't it?" And it really was. 

Lived forward, loved backward

Something I'll always remember about Kyle's infancy are all the blog posts I've read at three in the morning. Not just regular blog posts -- you're probably wondering if I'll ever come round your site again, and I assure you I will -- but blog posts that touch on the first few months post-baby. I've enjoyed reading some of my favorite parenting bloggers' archives, as it reminds me that time does pass, people do get through this stage and go on to have adorable, grinning toddlers and they even have a record to show for their survival. It's the ultimate blogging cliche: we do this for the community, for the I'm-not-alone factor, for the metaphorical hand that reaches out to pat us on the back with words we could have written ourselves, words I probably will write at some point over the next year. The words of strangers have saved my life these last six weeks. Oh, there aren't enough thank yous in the world for those words, for those strangers. As I said today on a post: thank you a million times for writing this. And then thank you again.

I wrote this post the other day, in part, because I knew there would be a new mom crying onto her keyboard in the wee hours of the morning one day, searching for something to do until the next time the baby squawks for the pacifier she had just put back in his squawking mouth. Sleep? Why even bother, it'll just be 15 minutes before he needs me again, may as well stay awake. I thought my post may help her and if some hypothetical stranger can find comfort in knowing she's not struggling alone, then, god, I'll never stop writing.

We had a good day today, nice long naps, easy bedtime, minimal screaming. I hope the changes I'm making are working. We'll know more after a few days, but if things don't look up by next week, I'll go to a new pediatrician and try to get new answers. 

When I was pregnant I imagined I'd always be pregnant. I could not wrap my head around the transformation from pregnant to mom. Just as now I can't wrap my head around Kyle being three months old or six months or a year. We toured a day-care center recently and the director briefly showed us the toddler room where these walking, squealing kids were playing and making art projects. I said out loud, "Oh, no. He'll never be that big." And, seriously, I meant it. Not in the "my baby is growing up!" way but in the honest-to-god disbelief way. It's this strange, stagnant feeling of parenthood, that he'll always be this size, even though there's solid proof he hasn't always been this size. I can't picture him bigger yet his legs are already too long for his newborn sleepers. I stand in his room, puzzled. Wasn't he just drowning in this outfit? Wasn't that just yesterday? 

Something about having to live life forward but only understanding it the other way around. Something about getting through it to miss it. We can't long for the past while we're standing in the thick of it, so we wish it away only to crave it one day. We try to find the fast-forward button only to long for the pause. 

He was born six weeks ago. Where does the time go? I wonder. 

Just as you said I would. 

Minutes old

One day old

Sx weeks old (and sporting baby's first polo!) 

Looking for hindsight

It took us just about a year to get pregnant, and it would have taken us much longer, I'm convinced, if I hadn't found a very proactive, incredible doctor. From the time we saw the second line, I had about two weeks of feeling incredible and on top of the world before I became so sick I lost eleven pounds in a matter of days, not weeks. I was put on a very expensive prescription of Zofran for eight months of my pregnancy. It wasn't until the last month when I stopped needing it twice a day. And that last month -- when I was off Zofran -- I became so sick due to acid reflux I began regularly throwing up again. So, no, my pregnancy wasn't easy and because of this I sort of (stupidly) assumed that once Kyle was here, everything would be good, everything would be better. I didn't expect to sleep much or to shrink down to my goal weight overnight and I knew breastfeeding and sleep training and scheduling would all be hard, but I figured after everything we had been put through, he would be the smiley, lovely baby of our dreams. And ... well ... he's not. Of course we wouldn't trade him for the world and he is absolutely a dream come true but he's also a baby with something wrong with him and we're desperately trying to pinpoint just what that is because most hours of the day he seems to be in a pretty serious amount of pain. You can see the pain written on his face.

Our first thought was colic but the screaming bouts seemed too sporadic. I took him back to the pediatrician last week and she listened intently while I listed his symptoms through sobs. She concluded reflux. I was relieved to be Told Something and Given Something but I didn't think it added up. After hours (and hours and hours) of researching and asking questions and just going with my gut, we've decided this is a gas issue. A pretty severe one too. He seems uncomfortable most of the time and his little legs are always going a mile a minute while his cute little hands are constantly clenched in fists. He almost always calms down after he passes gas and when we put pressure on his stomach in any way, you can almost hear him sigh with relief.

(Hey, it took just about six weeks before I brought up baby farts!)

So, new plan of action: ridding my diet of dairy, trying a new formula when we need to supplement, trying gripe water, too. Also: praying and drinking like hell.

(If you have any experience with this, please share it. This is one time I'd like the advice as long as that advice doesn't turn judgmental or preachy.)

I hate that my poor, adorable little guy spends much of his days with me, screaming or uncomfortably furrowing his brow or scrunching up his face while he kicks repeatedly and tries to work things out. (Although I do like to sing "Work it Out" while he does this; who doesn't like background music?) I hate that most of my memories from this time are of me worrying or obsessively Googling or feeling anxious or just plain exhausted. I hate that I avoid going places because I don't want to risk Kyle screaming through lunch or a dinner party or an aisle of Target. And I really, really hate that I feel so sorry for our situation when I stumble upon other situations that are far worse than ours. We are still unbelievably lucky. I have a great support system, a great husband, a house, a warm bed and warm food. No matter how often I find myself crying, I know we're lucky and I cling to that.

Something else I cling to is that this hard, difficult, gray phase of exhausting newbornness won't last forever and soon he will be smiling and happy and past this uncomfortable, crying stage. I'm smart enough to rationally know that nothing lasts forever, that every phase has a beginning and an end and we're already well on our way to the next one. But, let's be honest: at 4 a.m. when my son is painfully crying and nothing -- not even his mother -- can comfort him, it's hard to focus on the rational truth of time passing. In those dark moments it feels like this is our new reality and that it'll never pass. I pour myself a glass of wine and try to take very deep breaths while repeating to myself, "We're OK."

There are many times I simply don't feel OK, though.

I have avoided putting this all out there because more than anything else I don't want to peg Kyle as a difficult baby. I have a very instinctual need to protect him, even from the pitying glances of well-intentioned people. A part of me wants to gloss over all this and only cry behind closed doors so no one will talk at dinner about how they're just so relieved their kid isn't like our kid. I always feel like shouting, "But he's beautiful and soft and perfect! You'd be lucky to have him! We're so lucky to have him!" I also thought I'd be better at this, better equipped to handle the stress and the exhaustion. Bottom line: I thought I'd be stronger and it's very hard to admit to anyone, let alone quite a few people, that I'm not as strong as I thought I was.

For whatever reason, though, it's not in my nature to gloss things over, so here I am, opening my book for you to read my story. As I read today on another blog post: "Documenting the moments because they were beautiful and to be savored, every last painful or delightful morsel of each." This is our story, and I want to tell it and that means every last exquisite and excruciating moment.

I don't have a red bow to tie this post up with. We have good days and we have bad. We know we'll get through it, together, but we just don't know when or even how. I do have faith, thank god. Faith that we'll be fine, that we'll some day forget how hard these first weeks have been and we'll even consider doing it again one day. I have faith my son will reach for me one day and I'll be all it takes to sooth and comfort him. I have faith we'll figure this out but it's so much easier to see clearly on the other side of things, isn't it?

So I find myself holding my son in my arms, bouncing up and down to calm his cries and whispering in his ear about the view we'll one day see from the other side.

 

(Still insanely well-dressed, fussy or not.)

Birdseye Photography Photo Shoot

(Alternate Title: Kyle's first stab at modeling)

The Internet is a funny place and not always in the hilarious, knee-slapping way. With all the pervy spam messages and glittery emoticons on MySpace, it's a wonder any of us manage to maintain faith in this medium. With each click of the mouse, one can find more and more evidence that they'll sell a wireless card or a monthly Internet package to just anyone, no need to prove you won't use that service to stalk your ex-boyfriend on Facebook or leave poorly spelled creepy comments on strangers' blogs. But it's not all bad and I know that first hand. Here, let me prove it to you:

A few months ago, I received an e-mail from Julie, a girl I went to middle and high school with. I hadn't talked to her in years -- enough years to make me feel very, very old, in fact -- but she had somehow stumbled upon this site and had been reading about how crazy her old high school friend had become.

(I sometimes wonder how many other high school or college or even elementary school friends have found my little corner of the Internet and thought to themselves: She seemed so normal back in Geometry class, but no normal person is that obsessed with Veronica Mars.)

Julie congratulated me and Mike on our soon-to-be born baby boy and said some other very kind things, and then she took her niceness 76 steps further. Julie is a photographer -- a very good one, at that -- and she offered up her photography skills free of charge to document Kyle once he made his debut. 

The first few days of Kyle's life were hard -- I think I've mentioned that a few dozen times already -- and I just couldn't imagine putting on a clean outfit and being helpful to a photographer for a few hours while she snapped pictures of my boy. Thankfully, Julie couldn't have been more professional, more on-the-ball, more considerate to our exhaustion. She showed up at our house with props and blankets and we really didn't need to do a thing -- didn't need to even move the laundry piles off the couches -- except stand by and ooh and ahh over our little man.

Julie also had the pictures ready for me to see days later, and that's when I had wanted to put this post up. But, it's taken me a while to do this post justice. (Have I mentioned a newborn is hard?) In a way, I'm glad I've waited to talk about our photo shoot because he's already changed so much since these pictures were snapped -- he's already a totally different little boy than he is in these photos -- and it's nice to look back on them and remember how much can happen in a month, how much can change in a month.

If you do live near me -- anywhere in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, in fact -- I'd whole-heartedly suggest you turn to Julie for any photography needs. I'd suggest you book her immediately as you won't be disappointed. Please take a moment to look at her Web site and blog.

Snapping pictures of Kyle with our camera is something we do on a daily basis and something we plan to continue to do on a daily basis until the day he's moved out of the house and won't let us into his new home to take pictures of him there. But there's something about these pictures that I'll forever cherish -- something that only Julie could capture, I think.

Thank you, Julie.

(If you'd like to see the entire set from the photo shoot, click here.)

Weighting

I had Kyle almost six weeks ago, which hardly seems possible but a quick check of the calendar assures me it is. I'm still eating as if I'm nine-months pregnant, though, and can't you just imagine how that's working out for me? And working out for all those dusty clothes of mine that haven't seen the light of day since, oh, SOMETIME LAST YEAR?

I lost just about thirty pounds the first week I was home from the hospital. Every day I'd step on the scale and shout to Mike, "Six more fell off!" And, boy, that helped my case of the blues that first week. Sure, I was crying every 20 minutes but I was also losing weight without even trying and, come on, that's a pretty nice silver lining to the baby blues. Those pounds are still more or less gone -- more if I weigh myself right when I get up or right when I've gone 12 hours without eating because Kyle is being especially demanding and less if I weigh myself at any other time -- but I still have around 30 to 35 pounds to lose to reach my goal weight. Do you know what isn't conducive to reaching one's goal weight? EASTER* CANDY. Do you know what's currently littering our coffee table and kitchen counters? Yep. Uh-huh, you got it. Easter candy. (Tasty, tasty Easter candy.)

I go back to the office in roughly three weeks, and I keep telling myself that going back to the office will provide me with a more solid routine that will allow me to concentrate on adult things such as sending out professional emails and talking news stories with my officemate and, yes, counting calories since that's when my days won't revolve around only two things: 1) Kyle and 2) devouring everything within an arm's length.

(A solid routine is the silver lining I am creating to comfort myself about returning to work. Although I love my job and even miss my job and really, really miss the people I work with, the thought of leaving Kyle in anyone else's hands has me breathing into a paper bag and requiring a Costco-sized supply of Kleenex.)

I do have to be really, really honest with myself here, though: Although a routine is something I'm very much looking forward to, I don't think it will be the secret of fitting back into my size-six jeans. See, my office is much closer to Sprinkles than my house is and, also, my co-workers like Chipotle just as much as I do. The hard truth is that I'll lose the weight when I make the effort to lose the weight and it hardly matters if I'm at home all day taking care of my son or sitting at my desk all day taking care of my authors.

Here's my question for you: would you be interested in hearing about my weight-loss journey? I've written about my weight before -- at length -- but I think if I had some sort of community holding me accountable, it would at least motivate me to put down the chocolate marshmallow bunnies some of the time. But, be honest, does adding diet talk to what's quickly becoming Solely A Mom Blog make you instantly cringe and click over to another Web site? Does a weekly weight-loss update post sound like what insomnia cures are made of?

What if I entice you with before-and-after photos? (Who doesn't like before-and-after photos? It's half the reason I watch "The Biggest Loser.") I'll even offer the before photo ... before (as in this week)?

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*Speaking of Easter, I cannot stop browsing little boy Easter outfits. Mike and I are not religious in the organized sense and we have no religious-type plans this Easter but you can sure as hell bet that I will make grand plans if I can put this hat on my boy or this sweater vest or these overalls (seersucker for babies, OMG).

His life

I'm up most nights at 3 a.m. and not because Kyle is too but because at any given point, on any given day, I am thinking about eight million different things and it's very, very hard to turn all eight million off when I want to sleep. I've never in my life dealt with serious anxiety before but I suppose just like those pregnancy hemorrhoids, there really is a first time for everything.

My posting has been noticeably lighter lately, and it's honestly not because I'm short on time (although I'm short on the kind of time I was spilling over with before Kyle), but because I don't know how to give justice to the experience of motherhood, especially new motherhood. I felt this way -- to a much lesser extent -- about pregnancy: I have this one shot to write honestly and emotionally and well about my personal experience and the pressure causes me to use my computer to update my Facebook status and not my blog.

But, tonight I was reading an archived post of Backpacking Dad's (a blog I just recently discovered) and he wrote about sending e-mails to his daughter while he stayed home with her. I fell in love with this idea, especially since Kyle already has an email account -- has had one for months now because his geeky dad set it up for him when I was still pregnant and sent me emails on my son's behalf. ("Sorry about all the puking, Mom. I promise I'll be cute!") I liked BPD's idea so much, I think, because I know I'm not going to remember these days the way they really are. These days of abnormal sleeping, lounging in yoga pants with my son draped across my chest, and many, many diet sodas getting me through it all. I'll remember it rosier than it has been or fuzzier or better, as we always remember things, but I'll also lose all the little things that make these precious first weeks unlike any I'll ever live again. If I don't write them down somewhere -- through a strange email chain or even a badly-written blog post -- it will be as if they didn't happen at all, in a way. And I just can't stand that. I just can't knowingly let these tiny things slip away.

So here's a start, and it's not all good but it's his life and dammit I should be proud to speak it out loud:

The other day Kyle screamed pretty much non-stop from the time we woke up to the time he collapsed for his afternoon nap, around 4 p.m. He screamed when I held him and when I rocked him and when I danced with him and when I cried tears onto his still-dark hair. We went to the pediatrician today and got a reflux diagnosis, and I'm praying our plan-of-action takes care of his discomfort. Not because the sound of the screaming bothers me or frustrates me but because it kills me. He's in pain and, MY GOD, nothing sucks more than hearing that sound and knowing there's not a damn thing I can really do to make the pain go away.

We don't get out much and that's because of a flu that was going around the area and also because his carrier is a real bitch to carry around. I watched "The View" for the first time in my life the other day and I'll always associate Jason from "The Bachelor" with this time at home because it was, no kidding, one of the biggest news stories of Kyle's young life. I asked my son never to propose to a girl on television especially if he's still carrying a torch for a different girl. I believe he rolled his eyes, so I took it one step further and asked him never to marry a girl who shares a name with our dog, even if she has very pretty eyes.

I have a glass of wine every now and then and it makes all the difference.

Molly has been really great with Kyle. There's constant interest never jealousy, but her barks are the only sounds that really wake him up from a deep sleep, so I find myself yelling and snapping at her far more often than I used to. I hiss in loud whispers, "Don't! Bark!" and she cowers in the corner wondering, no doubt, where her mama went and who is this mean woman always sending her to bed. And the guilt piles on top of the guilt. (See: I'm drinking wine again.)

I still cry, especially when he cries and I can't seem to comfort him. I still feel like I'm doing this all wrong. Give me a do-over, please! I'll have another kid just to prove I've learned some things these first weeks! But that's not the only reason I think of doing this again, something I really didn't think I'd consider after those long, hard months of being pregnant. I would do it all over -- would do it over and over a thousand times -- because I'm in love. And you've been there, haven't you? You've been exhausted and drained of energy and scared and unsure and weak in the knees when you lock eyes and a mess when you think of them hurt and hopeful and proud and humbled, too. You can't imagine feeling better or feeling worse. You can't imagine how you ever managed to wake up before, without the possibility of spending even a minute with them motivating you. You grieve for a life you've given up but your only truth is that you would gladly give it up again and again and again because it's only with that sacrifice that you have all you'll ever need.

Earlier tonight I thought I saw him begin to smile at me. Absolutely fucking worth it.

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My first e-mail:

Hey buddy,

Today was cold! I think Texas pissed off everyone else in mid-March just so I could put you in this hip sweater we bought for you way back in October, when we first found out you had (have!) a penis. Texas is trying to redeem itself for being kind of an asshole in many other areas. We went to the pediatrician today, just you and me, and then we swung through Chick-Fil-A so Mama could get lunch. I promised I'd bring you back one day soon when you have teeth and a better appreciation for fried meat. You're fussy, can't lie kid, but we think we know why now and we hope to fix it quick. That's what I'm here for -- among other things -- to do everything I possibly can to fix things when they're not right for you. And, remember buddy, you can always tell me when they're wrong.

Love,

Mama

Guilt, happiness, wine

Sallyjo kind of had a point when she commented that if I felt guilty about giving Kyle a pacifier or a bottle, motherhood was going to be a very long road for me. Granted she could have made that point while being a little less ... bitchy ... but she wasn't revealing anything too shocking, was she? When you sign up for this job, don't you kind of understand that it's a long, never-ending road? It's not like I'll wash my hands of Kyle when he's one or ten or eighteen or just being a giant pain in my ass (LIKE LAST NIGHT, AHEM). He's kind of mine ... forever, you know? I'm going to be a mom for the rest of my life, so, yes, I'd say it is going to be a long road, whether I feel guilty along the way or not.

Guilt is tricky and it's a slippery slope and it's toxic, too, but it's also a painfully normal emotion for not just mothers but for all women, I think. Perhaps it's just me that regularly feels it, but I'd be willing to wager it's not. When we don't have nine million balls in the air, a cloud of failure starts to settle above us. We're self-critical to a fault, and then you throw a life into the mix -- a life that is totally, completely dependent on our choices and decisions -- and there is kind of a helluva lot riding on us not screwing up. Insane pressure + perfection being a total impossibility = GUILT FEST! 

(Not to mention our lives are not isolated existences and every choice we make can be judged by friends and strangers. And nothing alleviates guilt like being judged by other imperfect people, right?)

I've been a mother for fifteen seconds, but it seems to me that no matter what choices we make as mothers, there is one universal thing we can do to ensure our kids are happy: be happy ourselves. Whether it's putting my screaming child down in his crib for a few minutes, so I can take some deep breaths or supplementing a bottle every now and then so the middle-of-the-night feedings aren't something I physically dread or leaving my guy with someone I trust so I can go to lunch with a friend, I know that when I am less frustrated, less wound up, less panicked and, yes Sallyjo, less guilty, I am a better mother. 

You may have very strong opinions about bottle feeding or day care or crying-it-out or the glass of wine I allowed myself to have tonight (yum). You may send me studies that support those opinions. You may even be right, but thankfully you aren't my concern. Kyle is. And I am no good to my son when I'm on the verge of breaking down or when I'm denying how I genuinely feel. Sometimes I feel worn out, spread thin, scared, frustrated, GUILTY, and if I bury those feelings, they won't ever go away. Addressing them lessens them and allows me to go about sticking his adorable feet in my mouth for a mid-day snack.

Kyle was awake for much of the night last night and, hey, that means I was awake for much of the night last night, and it made today especially challenging. There's just not much you can physically do without at least a couple hours of sleep, so I put Kyle on my chest around noon today and let him nap there. It meant I couldn't do the dishes or make lunch or fold laundry or check the mail or check in with work, and the guilt of all the things I wasn't doing started to sneak up on me and press down on my chest along with my son's surprisingly heavy head. And then I took a deep breath and acknowledged that there are going to be some things I consistently suck at (finishing chores; getting dinner on the table; etc) and some things (my son) that will always be more important than that which I suck at. I can't pretend that I won't ever feel guilty along this long road of motherhood and womanhood, but I can say that I know it's not ever going to do me or my little man any bit of good to paste on a fake smile while going ABSOLUTELY BATSHIT INSANE inside my own head.

So I'll pour a glass of wine, I'll let Mike take a late-night feeding, I'll plan lunch dates and dinner dates and time-alone-with-General Hospital dates in order to de-stress. Feeling sane and together is more important than feeling perfect. And, sometimes sanity comes with a little side dish of guilt. 

Thank god it also comes with a full dish of this:

(A picture I just found of Kyle when he was roughly 10 minutes old.)

One month

Kyle, 

Last night was rough. You were fussy and thrashing about and just as soon as I would doze off, you'd screech about the injustices of being warm and dry and fed. HOW COULD I TAKE SUCH GOOD CARE OF YOU? THE NERVE OF ME! As my clock ticked over to 6 a.m., I realized I had yet to actually fall asleep. And look at your mom, stringing words together after clocking roughly three total hours of sleep in the last almost 24. I've become kind of a badass, Kyle, all thanks to you.

We brought you home just under a month ago, and that first night will haunt me forever. It was the hardest night of my life, and I regret that you spent your first night at home watching your mother break down. I know you have no recollection of it or of the many other ways I fell short this past month -- forgetting to change you out of your pee-stained onesie, leaving crusted milk on your face because the wipes were clear across the room, giving you a bottle AND a pacifier before all those lactation consultants told me I should -- but all those shortcomings are etched in my memory. I'm now convinced that God actually created alcohol to help mothers cope with The Guilt. Thankfully, though, with each day I put behind us, I become more and more convinced I can do this, I can totally be your mom and, you know, I can kind of rock it, too. I hope you feel that we're becoming a stronger team with each passing nap, each flash of your grin, each time we head out into the world and I remember to pack extra diapers in the diaper bag. I hope you feel as I feel, that WHOA it was kind of bumpy at first, but it's now becoming pretty damn awesome. 

People say you look a lot like me, and I'm starting to see that, especially when I look at my own baby pictures, but, OH MY, you are your father's son. You are already stubborn and particular and you make 9,000 different expressions, each one a variation of the faces your dad makes. When you are hungry and ready to eat, you do this dramatic head shake as if you can't possibly wait one moment longer for food. WHERE IS MY MILK, GIMME NOW NOW NOW, your face screams, and every time you do this funny little thing, I think of all the many times your dad has stomped his feet and pouted and whined when his food wasn't brought to him just as soon as he wanted it. No matter how many times I sigh and shake my head at him, though, I adore your father, and it's really only fitting that he would give me you, an adorably suspicious mini-version of himself. 

I kiss you a lot, and it's one silly little parenting cliche that is insanely spot-on, the one that says you will not be able to resist sticking half your baby in your mouth. I kiss your feet and hands and stomach and ears and nose and, yes, I kiss you right on the mouth at least 65 times a day. I assume you'll eventually ask me to stop doing this -- one day far too soon, I know -- so I want to be able to look back on these early days and remember a time when I could kiss you as often as I wanted. When you're screaming on the changing table or quietly asleep, I munch on your fingers and toes and chin. I'll avoid doing this when your prom date comes over, but you should know that if you really want something from me -- an extra $20, a curfew extension -- all you have to do is let me kiss you like I was able to do every moment of every day of this month. 

So, yes, last night was rough. There was one point I had you in my arms, your big steel gray eyes looking up at me, with an actual tear in the corner of one. Your little arms were crossed and your mouth was pursed, and you just looked worn out. It's tough being born, I totally get that (it's not a piece of cake birthing someone either, you should know). As you looked up at me, I said to you, "Oh, baby, it's OK." Because, Kyle, it absolutely is. If you need to be up all night, thrashing and screeching, it's OK. If you need to cry, that's OK too. If you want to nap at the same time for five days in a row and then go two days without a single nap, that's fine. If you don't like being changed, totally understandable. If you need to be suspicious of this world we brought you into for a while, we get it. We don't want or need anything of you other than for you to be exactly as you are. It's all OK with us. We love you just this way. And even under a thick fog of exhaustion I know that those 6 a.m. moments are going to be the exact moments I long for one day. I know that even though it doesn't always feel like it, these are going to be my favorite days. So I hold you at 6 a.m. and I look back at you and I wipe your tear away and I smile. And I pray you know -- today, tomorrow, always -- that you are my dream come true, my miracle, my perfect, beautiful light of a boy. You are finally here with us, and that will always be enough for me. 

Now, could you please take a nap?

Love,

Your Mama

Constantly, adorably suspicious

I have posts (PLURAL) running around in my head and also in draft form, but look at my little guy making the most painfully adorable face:

His onesie declares "I am a rock star," but his face isn't convincing, is it? Also, wow, that boy does not stand a chance with the ladies unless his mother quits pulling his pants up to his armpits. I'm not certain -- perhaps you can help me out -- but rock stars tend to wear their jeans a tad, don't they? Not his fault though, he'd want me to point out. 

I can't tell you why he's constantly got that brow of his furrowed, but I sure do love that he already has his ways about him, quirks and qualities that are his. 

This making another person thing is getting kind of fun. 

Appreciation

Last night my mom came over to watch Kyle so Mike and I could go out to dinner, just us two, and even though my stellar plan of timing my son's dinner Just So in order to allow me my first small glass of wine fell through when the wait at Red Lobster was FIFTY-FIVE MINUTES -- apparently there are many families in a small suburb of Fort Worth who have not gotten the American Recession Memo -- we still had a really nice time and I had a very tasty Diet Coke. 

For the first couple weeks of Kyle's life, I honestly feared Mike and I had gone and ruined our relationship by having a baby because never again would we be the Us we were before Kyle, and, really, I rather liked that Us. I spent a lot of time crying those first two weeks due to a very shocking lack of sleep and all those killer hormones coursing through my body and one thing I kept coming back to cry over was how much I missed my husband even though he was just in the kitchen. Thankfully, the hormones dissipated and naps became more frequent and what was fuzzy sadness just short weeks ago is now brighter, crisper joy.

Last night as we were driving to dinner, Mike mentioned that having Kyle has been hard, sure, but it has also made us appreciate one another more. We can no longer drive to dinner without first calling one of Kyle's loving grandparents to come take our place at home. We can't just flop down in front of the TV without making sure the baby is fed and happy so we can criticize the American Idol hopefuls in peace. We can't both sleep in Sunday mornings; one of us has to take Baby Duty while allowing the other to squeeze in a few extra hours of sleep. And that right there is making us a stronger couple, even though we'll never again be Just The Two Of Us. Mike encourages me to go sleep for a couple hours once Kyle has eaten and gone down for a nap, and he doesn't make me feel guilty about abandoning the dirty dishes in order to do so. I take Kyle out to the couch in the morning so Mike can sleep, uninterrupted, in our comfortable bed. Mike goes in late to work when I've had a particularly paralyzing night, so he can be there for me, even if it's just to fix me a bowl of cereal. And I don't whine and complain (too much) when Mike goes out with his friends for longer than three hours -- the maximum amount of time I can steal away from our son before The Boobs demand I return home.

There were one or two nights when we first came home when I begged Mike to just go in the other room and leave me alone to deal with our screaming child. I couldn't handle the guilt of knowing I was doing something wrong with my newborn combined with the guilt of knowing I was doing something wrong as a wife, as well. But, I appreciate that Mike ignored my begging and sent me off for an hour of sleep while holding our wailing child close to his chest, kissing his head and then kissing mine, staying ever-so calm and ever-so composed. 

Of course I appreciated Mike before we had our boy -- he has this amazing ability to make me laugh regardless of the situation, and he can also make the best peanut butter and jelly sandwich I've ever tasted -- but our child has already made me appreciate my husband on levels I couldn't have fathomed less than a month ago. And it's not just Mike, of course, I appreciate everything -- from sleep to the time it takes to apply make-up to using the bathroom -- much more these days.

Sure I miss sleep and showering every morning, but it's beautiful that I've been given a gift that makes me savor what I used to take for granted, that makes me relish what I used to zombie-walk my way through. It's a huge, throbbing cliche, that having a baby makes you look at just everything differently, and it makes you look at the smallest and mundane of life's tasks with a more focused point-of-view. You stop taking a thing for granted because you now know what it's like to have to carve out time to do something simple, like make lunch. It's frustrating, yes, and it's even something that could make you miss your old life -- your old relationship -- kind of a lot, but it's only on this side of things that I fully realize how beautiful life after a baby can be to me as an individual and to us as a couple.

We went out on Friday night to a friend's house for a small get together, but we brought Kyle with us for his First Social Gathering (outfit seen here) and I had to begin getting ready to leave the house HOURS beforehand. What used to take me five minutes and little-to-no thought took lists and double-checking the diaper bag and calls to Mike at work and I was fairly exhausted by the time we pulled out of the driveway. I soaked up every minute at that party because DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT TOOK TO BE THERE? I know it'll get easier. I'll schlep him to and from parties with much ease in just a few short weeks/months, I'm sure, but there's something kind of neat about soaking up every minute of something because of all the work that went into being present for it. And that's it, right there, that's how I can sum up the few weeks of parenthood I'm tucking under my belt: being present. Because we worked so hard to be here, because we gave up a lot, because we loved our old life and want to love this life even more, because we appreciate where we are and who we're with the way those places and people finally deserve.