January Flashback

I've been quiet for a while now. Not for lack of things to write about, or for lack of moments I'd like to record and share. Strictly for lack of time and willingness to separate myself from my amazing and adorable daughter for long enough to come up with witty anecdotes and cogent points.

The aftermath of all those holiday firsts ("Baby's First Thanksgiving!" "Baby's First Christmas!" "Baby's First New Year's Eve!!") is a little like the day after your wedding. There's a bunch of planning and a bunch of anticipation. Not to mention all the family gathering madness. When you have a new baby, you're like a celebrity at these things. In our case, we were seeing a bunch of people we hadn't seen since before Fiona was born. And boy, were they psyched to meet her.

But then it was all over. Fiona will never again have a First Christmas or First Turkey Day. It was a little bit sad. But with the end of the holiday season and 2007 came the start of 2008 and a whole bunch of new possibilities.


In mid-January, we took our first road trip with the young one when we headed up to North Conway, NH for a weekend with some good friends and all the associated kids. It was chaos - all those adults and children (and adult children). The kind of chaos I never expected to tolerate and even enjoy. Fiona handled it all pretty well, even though we went through every single one of the more than enough (or so I thought) outfits we had packed. The child has a gift or... something. M was banished to the couch on the second night due to excessive snoring and the fact that Fiona refused to sleep in the pack 'n play provided for that very purpose and instead had to sleep with me in the big bed.

The weekend after that, Fiona hit the five-month mark with relatively little fanfare. It wasn't until the end of the month when she reached a small development milestone and started babbling like a maniac. For those of you with kids, you know what I'm talking about. This stuff is pure comedy. I admit, my babytalk is rusty, but I understand her perfectly well. Usually, she is just talking a blue streak and swearing like a truck driver.

February has been a pretty big month for us, but I'll get into that more in depth later. To whet your whistle, here's a preview: air travel, meeting the other grandfather, turning 1/2 year old, and ... TEETH! Stay tuned, kids!

Month Four Stats

I'm a little late with this (what else is new). But better late than never, I suppose. I have to keep track of this stuff somehow anyway. Fiona's four-month wellbaby appointment was the week before Christmas. As with the last visit, the doctor declared that she is very healthy. And while last time she was moderately impressed with Fiona's strength, this time she was legitimately surprised at what a little bodybuilder we have on our hands.

Let's get Stats-tastic!

Weight: 16 pounds, 8.7 ounces. Another three pounds gained since her two-month appointment. Based on the constant ache in my lower back (seriously, I'm considering medical intervention), I was moderately surprised it wasn't more. Anyway, she remains in the 97th percentile.

Length: 25.5 inches, a gain of two whole inches since her two-month checkup! And now she's up into the 90th percentile. She's practically taller than me already.

With all the good news about how fat and tall and healthy the young one is, just like last time, there was some pain. Three more shots and the tasty (read: disgusting) rotavirus (right?) drink. Fiona was no worse off than last time - she screamed diligently. I, on the other hand, did a little better this time. While I felt like crying momentarily, I did manage to keep it in check.

We got the go-ahead to start solids (rice cereal or something similar) and will be watching for her to turn over from back to front (she's already mastered front to back). She'll also likely start raking toys toward her (another thing she's already somewhat doing, much to the doctor's amazement), babbling even more than she already does, and laughing more.

The idea of solids is a bit daunting to me for some reason. Firstly, I'm not positive she cares much about food other than what she's getting out of the boob. And secondly, I finally just stopped being jealous about the whole bottle thing. But, that's a decision for another day.

Balding

In the beginning, there was so much hair. Beautiful, luxurious hair with a fine chestnut sheen. And then it started falling out. Slowly at first, but then with a vengeance. All that lovely hair, disappearing.

Sadly, I am not talking about the hair on Fiona's head. While it is true that many babies lose the thick locks with which they are born (and Fiona has lost some of hers), I am referring, regrettably, to my own hair. It is falling out at an alarming rate. I expected this, of course. I was warned by a dear friend sometime in the middle of my pregnancy. Granted, I'd never heard of such a thing before actually getting pregnant (add it to the list of "Things no one ever tells you about pregnancy and childbirth before you take the plunge and go get knocked up" - a list that seems to get longer all the time), but a couple people had mentioned it may happen.

And happen it has. Whenever I shower (every other day, since I fear if I showered every day I would go completely bald) I think to myself, "Damn, I could knit another me with all the hair I'm leaving in the drain!" I could definitely not get away with any crimes these days since I leave no fewer than 482 hairs behind everywhere I go.

Sigh. I've always had rather thin hair. But when I was pregnant, I suddenly had gorgeous, shiny, lustrous hair. All the words you hear in shampoo ads actually applied to the mop on my head, and it was good. A friend who has not seen me since shortly before Halloween (and before I started losing my locks) suggested I change nothing about my lovely hair - no color, no cut. "It's so pretty like it is!" I'll be interested to see what her reaction is when she sees me tomorrow. Not only am I scraggly-haired, but the color also appears to be changing from its previous chestnutty brown to a dull ash. Clairol Nice 'n Easy, here I come! If I weren't awash in the glow of motherhood, I'd be disgusted with myself! (just kidding)

Baby's First Christmas

Christmas crept up like a stealth killer this year. We were utterly unprepared. No Christmas cards, no family picture to send out, no Advent calendar to count down the days. Thankfully, Fiona - being only four months old - won't remember our inadequacies during her first Christmas season. We will, but we're not particularly important anyway. As long as Fiona's happy, we're happy.

It was a lovely holiday in spite of our shortcomings. We spent Christmas Eve with M's extended family as is the annual tradition. Christmas morning the three of us lounged in bed together, Fiona apparently unconcerned with the significance of the day. I had a little trouble convincing her that she should wake up at all (she loves to be in the big bed with Mommy and Daddy). But convince her I did. And then I did what at least 50% of all new mothers who celebrate Christmas probably do on their baby's First Christmas: I dressed her in a ridiculous holiday outfit. Oh, but she was so cute in it that it was worth any annoyance she may feel toward me when she's older and wondering while I dressed her like a little drunken elf.

Once the kid was dressed in her holiday finery, we loaded her, Ollie, ourselves, and a boatload of wrapped presents into the family sedan and headed over to Nana and Papa's for the full celebration. More presents awaited us. It was gift-wrapped mania! And it was exactly what I would have hoped for the day. Fiona made out like a bandit. Clothes to last her until she's 2; toys to entertain her for... well, we hope at least 30 or so minutes. And books galore! As for M and me, we made out like bandits, too. We are very fortunate indeed. But our best gift, of course, is our awesome little elf baby. (Cue "awww")



One other fun thing about this Christmas was thinking about how last year at the same time, we had just learned I was pregnant, which put a whole different sheen on the holiday. We've moved beyond the "one year ago now" stage of things and are into full-time parenting in the present. What a difference a year makes!

Back to Work - The First Month

It's been a month since I returned to work. Clearly, I haven't had a lot of time to write about it. I haven't had much time for anything but work (when I'm at work) and being with my kid (when I'm not). When I was pregnant, evenings after work could be spent posting my mother-to-be musings with no distractions. Then during maternity leave, I could post whenever I found a spare moment during a rare nap or what I have come to call "Daddy Time."

Now, though, the most important thing I can do with the precious little free time I have is be with Fiona. Not to mention try to do my part to keep this household running (I am largely failing at this one. But who needs clean floors anyway?). No offense to the fine people who have been keeping up with my life by reading this blog, but Fiona's really, REALLY cute and it's hard to stay away from her.

Anyway, so I'm back to work these days. In all honesty, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. The first morning I left her was admittedly awful. I managed to hold back the tears until I was out of the driveway, but then was a disaster for the next 30 minutes with only a Dunkin' Donuts coffee to ease my pain. But once I got to work and back with the people I used to spend most of my time with, I was remarkably... fine. I missed Fiona terribly to be sure. But it was actually rather nice to be back in the adult world. At work, away from baby, I can have some semblance of free will. I can eat when I am hungry or during typical meal hours instead of when I just happen to have a spare 30 seconds to wolf down a granola bar. I can go to the bathroom when the urge strikes, and I don't even have to figure out where to set down the baby - who may or may not pitch a massive fit. And I can use my brains for things other than trying to remember what time it was when I last changed the baby's diaper, or when I last fed her, or how many hours she slept last night.

Of course, there's plenty I'm missing while I'm gone. But I'm starting to come around to the idea that it's really OK. I'm in no way alone in this. Lots and lots and LOTS of mothers have to leave their babies, and I'd be willing to bet the majority of them have a hard time with it. And I am fortunate to have a job I really like that is challenging and fun with co-workers I enjoy spending time with at a company that has been good to me for the past 3+ years. And Fiona is being very well taken care of in my absence by someone who loves her dearly, which is great for her. This separation thing could be a lot worse.

As a result, however, I'm even more of a homebody than ever. I've always been the type to really enjoy my time at home, due in great part to a very long commute that allows relatively few waking hours there during the workweek. So while I used to be somewhat possessive of my time at home - not keen on long phone conversations with friends or frequent weeknight forays out on the town - I'm even more so now, because my time at home means time with Fiona and M. Which means I'm a little (a lot) out of touch with anything outside the four walls of home. But for the time being, that's the way it has to be. Fiona's changing so fast these days I can barely keep up. More than that, though, I'd really rather be hanging out with her for the most part. She smiles and laughs and talks (baby babble, yes, but she's quite expressive!) all the time, and is super entertaining. And being that our little family is still so shiny and new at this point, it makes sense to really enjoy it now as much as I can. So while I must go to work in order to make ends meet and do my part to keep a roof over our heads and all of us fed, it could be worse. Of course, it is a bummer to not get to see this face every minute of every day.

One week to go

For the past eleven weeks of my life, I have dreaded this one: the twelfth. At the end of this week I will be returning to work. The dread isn't because I hate my job or anything of that sort. On the contrary, I like what I do and am looking forward to getting back to it. But I do not want to leave my infant daughter for the bulk of every day's waking hours.

Oh, who am I kidding? The kid rarely goes to bed before 11:00, and that's on a good night. I'll probably have oodles of quality time with Fiona, even if it is time spent trying fruitlessly to get her tired-but-unwilling-to-go-to-sleep tiny baby butt to bed.

But I digress. My maternity leave has been amazing, and an enormous gift. I know a lot of women who have babies don't get to take nearly the same amount of time I have been able to take. I have been immensely fortunate to spend this much time with Fiona during her first few months of life. I don't know how some women go back after only six, five, or even just a couple of weeks after giving birth.

Of course, the anticipation of leaving her has already made a basketcase out of me. I have been known to start a lullaby to her only to have it choked off with sobs when I remember that our daylight, weekday hours together are numbered. Then there are the times when I just spontaneously combust with tears as I'm feeding her, knowing that I'll be cuddling a lot more with my breast pump than with her by next week.

There are two things keeping me sane at this point. The first is the knowledge that I have only a week and-a-half before the Thanksgiving break when I'll have four solid days to spend with Fiona and M. And after that is the anticipation for the holidays, plus a visit from my mother and grandmother at the end of the month. I'm hoping it all serves as a nice distraction.

The second thing keeping me sane is the biggie. Instead of having to go to daycare or a sitter, Fiona will be in the care of her grandmother, M's mother, and my amazing mother-in-law. Whatever time I am not spending mentally willing us to win the lottery so I don't have to ever work again, I am spending thanking my incredibly lucky stars that my child will be taken care of by someone who will love her almost as much as I do. And that is what will make it even remotely possible for me to keep it together one week from today, when I take that long drive to the office next Monday morning, and the even longer drive home that night to be with my baby again.

Five Years

Recently, M and I celebrated the fifth anniversary of our wedding. It was a small milestone, but one nonetheless. And it's one that scarcely seems possible. In some ways, I feel like we're still those two clowns who met at UMASS. We both had a crush on each other, and while nothing came of it until years later, we both somehow knew we'd get married someday. The relationship I have with my husband has surpassed everything I ever hoped for. We're fairly different people, and anyone who knows us can attest to the fact that we're not the picture of wedded bliss. We're constant bickerers, and act more like friends than spouses. We have fun together, not necessarily connubial harmony.

But that's good for us, and underneath our bickering, sniping, and weird little inside jokes is great love. M has long been the one person in my life that I don't think I could live without. He's my best friend and the person with whom I want to share all the details of my life. And the details - mundane or otherwise - of whose life I want to know.

While I was pregnant with Fiona, I spent a lot of time thinking about how important M is to me, and how I really didn't want that to change. It was my greatest fear, in fact. He's been my other half for so long I felt the need to jealously guard our relationship from the child we were awaiting.

I've always thought that our relationship should always be the top priority, even if we were ever to bring a kid into the mix, which, truth be told, we never expected to do. For the first five years of our couplehood we eschewed the very notion of kids. Our mantra, whenever we'd see a child throwing a tantrum or hearing a story about a kid being annoying, was, "NEVER." We also used to say, "Reason No. 483 not to have kids" on a regular basis. So when we changed our minds about having kids and I got pregnant, it was imperative to me that our relationship not change. After all, you pick the person you spend your life with; you can't choose your children.

But you can't expect to bring another person into the world without changing yourself, and thus the relationships you're in - all of them. M and I are still reeling from the little interloper in our lives. I think neither of us knew just how much we'd love her when she arrived. When you throw that much more love into the mix, things automatically start to shift.

What has changed the most is that we're now a family. There were two (plus animals). Now there are three (plus animals). I guess I'm less concerned about anything getting in the way of what M and I share, because we are and always have been very simply US. There's just one more of US. Having a baby changes everything, and it's wonderful, frightening, earth-shattering, and awe-inducing. There's no denying that our marriage and our relationship have and will continue to change. Now, instead of loving just M more every day, we both love each other and another person more every day. More love is good.