the baby blues and other adventures

It was only a matter of time before post-partum depression settled into my otherwise idyllic new life with two children. It's nothing major, but when I went from feeling happy and energetic one day to weepy and utterly exhausted the next, I knew what was up. Since I've experienced this before, I quickly called my doctor and started on some happy pills, and I am already feeling a little better after just a few days. But man, am I tired. More than tired, I am excessively, mind-numbingly weary. I feel like my blood is barely pumping and just getting out of bed and off the couch is a challenge. I am so thankful for Ben, who stepped way up and pitched in with baths and dishes and vaccuuming and hugs. I wish we were closer to my family, who I know want nothing more than to help out. I have struggled with mommy guilt and wife guilt and Christian guilt while being too exhausted to really care about all of the things that I feel guilty about. And to add insult to injury, I am having daily migraines again. Waking up with them this time, which is ridiculous. It doesn't even give me a chance to do anything right or wrong, just, "Good morning, you feel like crap already!" It sucks, because I was feeling so good... more energetic and ambitious than I ever felt while I was pregnant, and just... very up. But I've been here before, and I can already feel it getting better. Today I took Eli to the playground, and I worked out, and I'm cooking dinner. Little things that provide a sense of normalcy, that help me see the light at the end of the tunnel and feel like a slightly less inadequate wife and mother. It's comforting to know that I'll get there. But oh, I hate getting there.

In other news, we enjoyed a wonderful Memorial Day at the beach. We spent several hours at Hug Point, wading in the waves and watching Eli play in the sand. He is still skittish about the waves, but he adores running around and digging in the sand. I am an ocean junkie. There is no place I would rather be than sitting on the beach, any beach, watching waves crash. Put a fruity drink in my hand and I'm a happy, happy woman.

squeaky mcgee

Lucas was born with a condition called laryngomalacia, which means that the cartilage on the back of his larynx is immature, so it is soft and floppy. It is a fairly common condition that in 99% of cases is resolved over time (usually by age 1), and it rarely poses any kind of risk to the baby's health. It does, however, cause him to squeak (and snort) loudly and incessantly. It's particularly bad when he's nursing or in distress, but even when he's deeply asleep he lets out intermittent little chirps. He is a one-man noise machine. So noisy that a woman on the phone with me while I was feeding Lucas asked, "Do you have a hamster there with you?" So noisy that when the music stopped in church on Sunday, twenty heads turned toward us to see whose child was suffocating to death. So noisy that when we asked Eli was Lucas was doing in a picture (he was sleeping), he opened his eyes wide and started mimicking Baby Brudder's squawking gasp... and then explained, "He seeping."

Lucas is so noisy, in fact, that it is impossible to sleep anywhere near him. We've spent the past three weeks trying to figure out a way to get some sleep. The first two weeks weren't terrible, as we had family in town who took turns with Lucas so that we could take turns getting naps. Then my sister left and we were on our own, and for a few days and nights we simply did not sleep. Lucas was waking himself up constantly, squirming awake with what I assume were tummy pains. We tried sleeping on the couch with him in his bouncer, him in his swing, holding him on the couch, holding him in the recliner... you get the picture. But where as with Eli we could at least sleep while he was sleeping, Lucas kept us awake with his crazy noises. After getting just a few hours of sleep over three days' time, I was a complete wreck and sat sobbing on the kitchen floor, desperate for some rest. I was literally crying out to the Lord for help.

And then, as always, God answered. Two nights ago, as I considered the sleepless hours before me, I decided to just try putting him in his room. I knew he wouldn't stay asleep for long, but thought that I might at least get a twenty minutes catnap out of it. I swaddled him tight and put him in his bouncer, turned the monitor on low, and crawled in bed next to my husband for the first time in days. I was shocked and a little worried when I woke up an hour later and he was still sleeping! I hurried to check on him and found him peacefully snoring and chirping away. Hallelujah!

So for the past two days, Lucas has been sleeping for about two hours at a time in his room at night. Yesterday he actually took a two-hour nap in his crib. Victory!! It is amazing what those little bits of sleep do for me. I know from experience that babies are sneaky and like to trick us poor parents with their sleep habits, but I don't care. This is one tired mama who is going to take whatever she can get.

the tale of baby reese

Oh Blog, how I have missed you. It's been two weeks since we welcomed our new son, Lucas Benjamin. I've wanted to sit down every day and write a little bit about his birth and how life has changed since he joined our family. But as those of you with children know, the first days of a newborn-hood are all about survival. The first days with two? Forget about it. If I get a shower, a latte, and an hour-long nap, I'm thrilled. I can't fathom what life will be like with three... so I won't think about that yet.

First, the baby. Lucas joined us on Wednesday, April 15 at 1:54 in the afternoon. Let me say that everything about his birth was the polar opposite of Eli's. With Eli, I went into labor naturally (just before his due date) and endured 36 hours of labor, of which at least 30 were drug-free. I am not bragging about that. Seriously, I was an idiot. Get the drugs. Always get the drugs. Anyway, I digress.

With Lucas, we scheduled an induction in March. After an unpleasant experience with the on-call doctor in the hospital, I decided that I really wanted to know that my own doctor would be there to deliver my baby, and thankfully, she was all for it. We were admitted at midnight to start the process. It was so odd to sit at home all day, twiddling my thumbs and knowing that in a few hours I would be having a baby. Or at least, trying to have a baby. I had my doubts about the whole process, but it went very smoothly and astonishingly fast. Around 7 am I was given Pitocin and had my water broken to start labor. "It's just the tiniest dose," the kindly nurse assured me. "You won't notice any crazy start to your contractions." Ha. Within twenty minutes I was contracting hard, having to breathe through each one and thinking, "Hell to the no. I did not sign up for this again." As luck would have it, the anesthesiologist was just beginning a C-section when my contractions hit, and I had to wait a couple of hours for my epidural. I know that doesn't sound like much, but I had determined that this time I was not going to feel my labor, so I was a little impatient for the drugs. Ben was his usual awesome self, patiently riding the waves of my schizophrenic needs - "Rub my back! No stop! Rub my legs! Don't touch me! Hold me! Ice chips! Water! Leave me alone! HUG MEEEE!!"

Thankfully, Dr. Ford showed up just in time with my happy juice, and expertly and quickly administered my epidural. It helped that he had a wonderful sense of humor and kept a running banter with us to distract me from the pain. Within a few minutes I was blissfully unaware of both my contractions and my legs, and settled in for what I assumed would be many, many hours of labor. I was already beyond exhausted, having not slept for the past two nights. I decided to put in my earplugs, close the blinds, and take a nap. No sooner was I snuggled into my dozen pillows than the phone rang. It was my dear friend Dara, who had taken Eli for the day. She was at my house with both of our kids for nap time, and had gotten my obstinate house key stuck in the deadbolt. It wouldn't budge, so the door couldn't be unlocked and she couldn't wait outside with two toddlers for the next two days until we got home. In a lapse of judgment I told my dad and husband to scurry on home (we live a good 25 minutes from the hospital - barring traffic) and get the key out. In another lapse of judgment, they listened to me.

It was around noon when they left, and I was dilated to 6 cm. The nurse assured me that I had at least a couple of hours before I would even think about pushing, but to let her know if I felt any pressure. With the room almost empty (my mom stayed behind, thankfully), I replaced my earplugs and made another attempt at a nap. Not ten minutes later, I felt incredibly strong contractions and an unmistakable feeling that this baby is coming now. I rang the nurse, who checked me again and, much to everyone's surprise, announced that I was "complete." As in, completely dilated. As in, holy crap my husband is not here he is not anywhere near here now is the time to freak out. And freak out, I did. I sobbed uncontrollably into my oxygen mask as my mother, nurse, and doctor all tried to reassure me that they would make it in time, that we could definitely delay the birth long enough for them, all while my new son swam ever-more-determinedly toward the light. I called Ben in an utter panic and choked out the words, "The... baby... is... coming... and... you... are... not... here!!" In typical can-do spirit, Ben told my dad to hang on tight, gunned the engine and drove approximately 100 miles an hour, weaving through traffic on the freeway to get to the hospital in record time.

As I waited, watching the seconds tick by and unable to catch my breath through the sobs, I decided that I just simply had to calm down. I put on the most soothing worship song I know ("All Praises to the King" by Hillsong - love, love, love it!) and determined that I would not open my eyes until it had played three times. Sure enough, halfway through the second repeat my husband and daddy came rushing through the door. Ben's face was ghostly-pale as he breathlessly raced into the room. He stopped short when he saw his wife, delivery "imminent," lying peacefully on the bed, headphones on, serene expression pasted onto face. After several people assured him that yes, the baby really was coming now, I think he forgave my panicked call. I think.

We got to pushing, and I will spare the details of that endeavor on the off-chance that an unrelated man might be reading this post. Suffice it to say that this baby was ready. In approximately seven minutes, Lucas Benjamin was in my arms, and I was trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened SO FAST. My first impressions of Lucas were that he had a dent in his head and did not appear to be breathing, but all of that was forgotten when Ben laid my precious baby boy on my chest and he snuggled in like it was right where he belonged.

I have to take a moment to say that I had the most amazing birth team, for which I am incredibly grateful. Every nurse I had during my stay was excellent, but Kyleen, who was there from induction to delivery, was absolutely amazing. She was the epitome of what you want in a labor and delivery nurse - attentive, patient, kind, and competent, by turns bubbly and enthusiastic or calm and soothing. My OB was equally wonderful, and of course it was awesome to have my parents with us again to welcome their grandson into the world. And my husband? He simply rocks.

So that was the beginning of my darling baby boy. Lucas has so far been a very "easy" newborn, and many things about new mommyhood are much easier this time around. Nursing, which was a nightmare with Eli, has gone beautifully from the beginning. Aside from a couple of completely sleepless nights which threaten to send me to the asylum, Lucas is sleeping well. Eli, who turned two just a few days after Lucas was born, is completely in love with his baby brother. He calls him, quite practically, "Baby Brudder," and loves to touch his head, tickle his toes and fingers, and give him air-kisses. He checks in on him frequently - "Brudder seeping," or "Brudder eating," and then goes happily about his business again.

I think I am adjusting well to the brave new world of having plural children. I hit a wall of fatigue from time to time that sends me slightly over the edge, but after a good cry and a power nap, I am able to regain perspective and keep going. I am having to re-learn how to soothe a crying baby (I am definitely not the gifted one in that regard - Daddy is the real Baby Whisperer of the family) and constantly having to remind myself to stop doing "just one more thing" and rest. The hardest thing for me was re-establishing my bond with Eli when I came home. I could not believe how grown-up and how huge my baby boy was the first time I saw him. Even though he didn't seem to be too affected by the new arrival, it was really hard for me to feel like I was neglecting him in order to tend to the baby, and then to deal with him turning two at the same time... it's definitely been an even greater emotional roller coaster than my first post-partum experience. I miss being able to sit around and hold Lucas for hours on end like I could with Eli. But I am also overwhelmed by how incredibly blessed I am. It is an awesome privilege to have children, and I am so thankful for it. Finally, I am reminded, over and over and over again, how completely sufficient God's grace is for every moment and every need. I have cried out to him (literally!) so many times since bringing Lucas home, and each time I am met with His awesome peace and strength for another moment.

So now we begin our new lives as a family of four, and I can't wait to share the moments with you. Stay tuned!

tales of domestic bliss

Our vaccuum cleaner bit the dust (heh heh) awhile ago, and we finally broke down last week and bought a Dyson. HOLY CRAP. How did I ever live without this thing? Yes, they're expensive, but oh my, so worth it. Ben vaccuumed a four-foot by four-foot section of our living room carpet just to demonstrate its awesome power for me, and the pictures here show what he picked up in just that section. Ewwww... He also had to show me how incredibly dirty our vents were. Please don't send these pictures to social services.

On another note of domestic triumph, I overcame my crippling fear of baking this week and baked my first ever loaf of homemade bread. I love to cook, but somehow my baked goods have never turned out well. My dear mom found a very simple recipe for me (actually titled "Simple Bread Recipe" - I appreciate truth in advertising), and I tried it out. It didn't quite rise enough, but it turned out pretty darned tasty. I also took a cue from some friends and tried my hand at making strawberry freezer jam. It didn't set up all the way (see a pattern here - just off the mark), but the flavor was delicious. Unfortunately, my clumsy pregnant fingers managed to drop one of the jars as I was putting the lid on, and strawberry jam coated my cupboards, floor, pants, everything. Man, that stuff is sticky. This picture is the final aftermath and does not do justice to the carnage of the spill. Thank goodness I had two other jars, or I would have been sooo mad. So I can't potty train and or get my dog to stop peeing in the house, but I made bread and jam. Suck it, Martha Stewart.

the countdown

The countdown is on, friends! I am being induced in ten short days. Several people have commented to me that they feel like this pregnancy has flown by. I think they're all smoking crack. I didn't much enjoy my first pregnancy, but this one has been pretty miserable. I don't take for granted the awesome privilege of carrying my children and I am so thankful that God has blessed me with this experience twice. But I can't wait to get this baby out!

Of course, I have some mixed feelings about Lucas coming.

Things I'm excited about:

• Holding my precious little boy. I miss having a tiny bundle to cuddle with.
  
• Bending over!
  
• Being able to do normal things around the house without feeling like I'm going to pass out - picking up toys, unloading dishes, doing laundry, vaccuuming, you name it. Because the truth is, just because I can barely manage these tasks now, they don't go away. My overactive guilt complex keeps me from asking for help as much as I probably should, and my inner control freak wants to do it myself anyway.
• Being able to keep up with Eli! I can't wait until I can chase him around the playground again!
• My toes!
• Wearing real person clothes again. I haven't gained as much weight with this baby (and I will have two built in calorie-burners in my boys), so I'm optimistic about getting back into my old clothes a little faster than last time.
  
• Actually being able to sleep when I have the chance to sleep. Right now, so many forces conspire to keep me from sleeping now - achy hips, achy back, uncomfortably huge belly, overactive internal furnace, crazy pregnancy dreams. It is such a cruel trick of nature that I can't get enough sleep now when I need it the most.
• Seeing Eli interact with the baby, and seeing my family grow.
  

Things I'm anxious about or not looking forward to:

• Giving birth. My first labor lasted 36 hours and I spent 30 of them stubbornly refusing drugs. I learned my lesson and I'll get an epidural right away this time, but this time I also know how much it hurts. And of course, I have the usual fears of delivery. The other night I dreamed that I hemorrhaged to death while I was having the baby. Not a happy thought.
• Breastfeeding. It didn't go well the first time around, so I'm really praying it goes more smoothly this time.
• The physical aftermath of giving birth. A good friend of mine who recently had her first child called me to say, "Why didn't you tell me about all the crap that comes out after the baby's born?!" No kidding. Reading about locchia was nothing like experiencing it firsthand. Then there's the gelatinous mass that used to be my tight-as-a-drum baby belly, the overnight Anna Nicole boobs, the pain/burning/itching of said boobs, and the long, tough road back to a body that will never quite resemble the one I had before kids.
• Sleep. I think about the mind-numbing exhaustion of having a newborn, and how this time I won't be able to lay around on the couch all day and sleep in between feedings... which is pretty much what I did the first two months of Eli's life.
  
• Post-partum depression, which I had after Eli.
  
• Adjusting to another person in our family. I know this will be a challenge for all of us, as excited as we are to have this baby. Eli has been our whole world for two years and it's hard to imagine loving another child as much as we love this one.
• What will Lucas look like, and what will his temperment be? Shallow as it may be, we have one stinking cute little boy with a personality to match. Eli has always been a happy, easy going baby. What if Luke gets all of our recessive genes, or is a "high need" baby? Will I still love him as much?

So much to think about as I count off the hours until D-Day. I can't imagine how I would feel if I didn't know God's peace and hope, if I didn't know without a doubt that he is fully in control of all of this family-raising madness. Can't wait to have pictures for you all soon!

the potty chronicles

This past week, I began and ended potty training with Eli. I never worried about getting him potty trained by the age of two, but when I got pregnant again I was determined to have only one child in diapers at a time. I have a group of girlfriends here who have all used the same "method" of potty training and have successfully had accident-free kids by or before they turned two. So I had pretty high hopes that it would happen. I bought all of the "big boy" underpants, the plastic pants, the potty seats, the travel potty seat, the wipes, the handwashing step stools... you need a serious arsenal for this kind of warfare. I started on Wednesday, and as soon as Eli woke up in the morning, I put him on the potty. The timer beeped every thirty minutes, and we went to the potty. Each trip was a good ten to fifteen-minute ordeal: pants off (he refused to have them just down around his ankles), underwear off, on the potty, read a book, sing a song, read another book, ignore fifty-seven requests for "treat?", get off the potty, flush the potty, new underwear on, pants on, get on the stepstool, wash hands, dry hands, and back to play. It was beyond exhausting. Leaving the house was suddenly like having a newborn again, as was one or two full pajama-and-sheet changings in the middle of the night. Cleaning up poopy underwear is a HAZMAT nightmare compared to tossing a poopy diaper. After four days we had two very tired and cranky parents, one tired and cranky toddler, and absolutely no pee or poop in the potty. I had committed to one week, but at the end of day four, I called Ben and said, "Please, please stop by the store and bring home a package of diapers." To which he basically replied, "Hallelujah."

Now, I've never been known for my stick-to-it-iveness. I have quit sports, clubs, jobs, books, and craft projects with barely a smidge of guilt. But this wasn't a normal quitting, this was mommy quitting. And good mommies aren't supposed to quit things, so my mom guilt was working overtime last night. But then I woke up this morning and changed my son's wet diaper in 10.5 seconds, and felt extremely satisfied with my decision. My little guy is simply not ready, and I simply too uncomfortably pregnant, and the combination simply doesn't work. So, we may try again in six months, or we may try when he goes off to kindergarten. At any rate, it feels really, really good to just let it go.

under pressure

I am completely defeated this evening by unmet expectations. It doesn't seem to matter what I get right or do well - how many times I get a nutritious, edible meal on the table, how many times I successfully get my toddler in and out of a series of stores without a meltdown, how many appointments I manage to remember. There is always something waiting around the corner for me to fail at. A bad haircut, a bump on the forehead, a bill unpaid, a paper we can't find. I try to tell myself that this is just life, that mistakes happen, that nobody's perfect. But sometimes, like tonight, the weight of all of the little mistakes and disappointments add up to a crushing sense of failure and futility. I wish I was brighter, more careful, more competent... just... better.