Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About You...

It's hard to believe our baby boy is already a week old. I still haven't lost that overwhelming surreal feeling, although it is being pushed aside by a big case of new-parent exhaustion. Since Little Man spent some time in the Special Care nursery while at the hospital and didn't come home until the day after we did, I feel like Husband and I hit the ground running immediately after his delivery. We were allowed to hang out with him every three hours in the Special Care nursery, which we did around the clock for several days. The nurses kept telling me to skip feedings and get rest, which was probably good advice. However, between getting stiched up after his delivery and when they realized he needed to be monitored, I only had about an hour with him and couldn't stand the thought of him waking up and being cared for by a stranger. So we could be found at all hours of the day in the Special Care nursery, even after we had checked out of the hospital.

But now we're home, and I get to snuggle and love on him all I want. It is a wonderful and overwhelming feeling. And at a week old, we're all getting to know each other: Husband and I are getting to know our baby, he's getting to know us, and Husband and I are even getting to know each other again--as Mommy and Daddy. So far Little Man has quite a personality--some of which I recognize from his time on the inside. He likes to have his hands up by his face, just like he always did in his ultrasound photos. He HATES having his diaper changed, and yells mightily the minute his back touches the changing table. In fact, he has very little tolerance for being on his back in general. He has been a good sleeper, and while he's not insistent that someone hold him all the time, he prefers to snooze propped up in his boppy or his swing on an incline.

Little Man is a super eater, and blows through bottles and nurses like a champ. He's also all boy, and his burps often sound like he belongs in a frat house. We always know when he's filled up his diaper because of the unmistakable sound and satisfied smile on his face after the fact.

He has defined alert periods of the day, and while they are short right now, he loves to interact with us and check out the world around him. Much like when he was in the tummy, he still enjoys 3 AM. This morning from 3 to 4 found us wandering around the house in the semi-darkness, looking at photographs and out all the windows. He didn't fuss, he was just wide awake.

Speaking of wide awake, this mama bear is not right now. While Little Man snoozes contentedly in his swing, I'm going to take this opportunity to get to know something I haven't had the chance to spend a lot of time with recently: my pillow.

The First 24 Hours: Crash Course in Parenting

Life, my friends, is a whole new ball game.

From the moment our little guy entered the world and, through the noise and hustle and bustle that seemed to accompany the last few moments of labor, I heard the doctor say, "look down, look at your baby!" I have been living in a surreal world.

It was then, and still seems to be, almost impossible to wrap my head around the fact that what was once an abstract thought is now a solid little creature wrapped up in a baby burrito I can hold in my arms. When they whisked the baby away to clean out his lungs after delivery, I shared a sweet moment with my husband then insisted he follow the baby the five feet across the room to make sure he was okay. The time immediately following delivery is a little hazy to me--between the exhaustion and drugs all I can remember was demanding of everyone who came near me, "is he okay?" I remember hearing the baby squeal and my husband laugh from across the room, and that comforted me. He wouldn't be laughing if there was something wrong. I heard the nurse ask Husband, "does Dad want to hold him?" and then I watched, in that instant, my husband become a father. I knew he would be a fantastic parent, but I have been blown away watching my husband with our son--it is the most natural and easy love I think I have ever seen.

It was over an hour before I got Little Man into my arms--he was alert and looking around and following the sound of our voices. I immediately unwrapped him and counted fingers and toes (20 in total) and ran my hand down--you guessed it--that perfect little spine.

Unfortunately, Little Man has a couple of health issues that needed to be addressed--some jaundice, which is solved by a few days spend under the blue lights of a bililight, and some rapid breathing caused by a little fluid in the lungs. In the grand scheme of things, no big deal at all. But when the nurse looked at me after we'd been settled into our recovery room for less than an hour and said, "I'm not trying to distress you, but..." I thought my stomach was going to hit the floor. He started out in our room and was moved to the Special Care Nursery to be monitored more carefully. Husband jokes that one day he's going to tell our son he started out life in the spotlight with a series of his very own pretty nurses at his beckon call.

It was surprising, after all was said and done, to stop and think about doing something like checking my e-mail. It was even more surprising to realize I didn't really care what was waiting for me in my e-mail. Or in the news. Or in the blogs I usually religiously read. I am happy, for the time being, to live in my little microcosm of the hospital, where Little Man is all I have to think about and there is a never ending supply of apple juice and graham crackers in the little pantry down the hall.

I've taken care of a lot of kids in my life as a nanny. Everyone told me it would be different when it was my own. And they were right. It is so, so, SO much better.

Husband is Officially on Vacation

My husband is officially on vacation.

Usually on vacation, we get up before the sun to make the long drive to Orlando to enjoy Disney World.

This morning, we made the much shorter drive to the hospital, where our son was born a few hours later.

I won't say that labor and delivery was more fun that a trip to Disney World.

But I'm bringing home a way better souvenir.

Welcome to the world, sweet baby boy--all 8 pounds, 4 ounces and 21 inches of you. Welcome to your chubby cheeks and your head of dark hair, and to your long fingers and green eyes.

We've been waiting a long time for you.

Things I Will Miss About Being Pregnant....and Things I Will Not.

Things I will miss:

• Feeling the baby kick. Probably the best part of pregnancy ever.
  
• Being just a twosome with my Husband. Life will never be the same once baby makes three, and I have enjoyed every minute of being a pair.
  
• The anticipation of what our son will be like. The past nine months have been a delightful guessing game of hair color, personality and characteristics. I'm sure that once we meet our boy, we won't be able to fathom him any other way, so it's fun to imagine now.
  
• The comfy clothes. I know that soon the big shirts and yoga pants will no longer be acceptable to leave the house in.

• Feeling no guilt about eating two brown sugar and cinnamon pop tarts for breakfast. Yum.

Things I will not miss:

• Going to the bathroom every 20 minutes.
  
• Swelling up. Everywhere. Sure, you expect your hands and feet to swell, but what about your gums and your earlobes? Ouch.
  
• Having to sleep on my side. And having to alternate sides often because my legs fall asleep.
  
• Heart burn. Oh, the bane of my existence.
  
• The comfy clothes. I am so excited to start exercising and getting my shape back so that I feel confident in things other than big shirts and yoga pants.
  
• Contractions, fake and real. I've been having fake ones since week 20, and real ones since week 35. Over it.
  
• People telling me their birthing horror stories and how much their babies weighed. I have heard more tales of 13 pound babies in the past three weeks than most people hear in a lifetime.

All our bags are packed, we're ready to go...

After being told that our little guy could make his appearance any time now, we got serious about preparation.

The bags are packed. And already in the car.

The car seat is installed, secure, and balanced.

The crib is assembled and made up.

The changing table, also assembled, is well stocked with wipes, diapers, butt paste, diaper-changing distractions, and the daddy-to-be tool belt.

The baby clothes are washed and hanging (in accordance to size) in the nursery closet.

The linen closet is full of clean baby wash cloths and towels, and the bathroom is stocked with infant care necessities and the baby bathtub is hanging in the shower.

The stroller is ready and waiting by the front door.

The freezer is well stocked with food.

We have done everything two people can possibly do to prepare for a baby's arrival. We are as ready as we're gonna be.

However, we didn't take into account the feelings of the other person in this scenario--namely our son, who seems to be quite content to be getting bigger every day and stretching my belly to epic proportions.

We had our 39-week appointment today--baby is healthy and big, with a strong heartbeat....and no change in effacement or dilation. Little stinker. I'm still having regular contractions, so I'll be going back in three days to check again. The doctor mentioned talking about induction at the point, but unless I'm in agony (which I'm not right now, just some discomfort) I think we'll let nature do its thing.

Of course, if nature wanted to speed things up just a little bit, that would be okay too.

A Look Back: Baby Tell Tour 2009

Even once we knew we were expecting, we kept the news to ourselves for awhile. Eight weeks, to be exact. We wanted to have the "confirmation of pregnancy" check-up first and see our little one's heartbeat before sharing the good news.

Much like the day I got the positive test, the day of that first doctors visit was rainy and chilly. It was an early morning appointment, and Husband and I were quiet on the drive. There were no outward signs that I was expecting, of course, and we were still both a little nervous about being too excited. By the time we entered the room for what would be our son's very first photo session, I felt like I was either going to cry hysterically or laugh hysterically--or maybe both.

And then there it was. On the screen, surrounded by what looked like TV static, was a little flickering circle. A heartbeat. A strong one, too. There was that little four rung ladder for a spine, and an indistinct circle--his head. "BABY", the technician typed out on the screen next to his head, and printed out our very first photo.

To be quite honest, after that I tuned out. All I needed to see was that heartbeat, and I was set. I'm sure the tech told us other things that day, like how he sized up, but I have no recollection of that. We met with the doctor after that, who I'm sure had plenty of informative things to say to us. It all went in one ear and out the other. My baby had a heartbeat and, for all intents and purposes, was healthy.

We started sharing our happy news the next day. I called Godmother Doctor and casually mentioned we needed to go shopping for baby clothes the next time she was in town. Her shriek was probably heard several blocks away. Then we had dinner with Godfather Engineer and Godmother Teacher. We apologized for being so late with our Christmas cards, and handed them one containing the ultrasound photo. When they opened it, we all cried.

The next night we drove to have dinner with Husband's parents. The picture in the card had been so successful the evening before we decided to do it again. This was slightly more tricky as I was not feeling particularly well that day, and we sat talking with my in-laws for several hours before we told them the news. My mother-in-law is an OBGYN nurse, and I was sure she was going to see right through me. I sat on pins and needles, trying not to excuse myself to go to the bathroom more than a normal person would. When we finally handed over our holiday card, my mother-in-law's squeal of delight was completely worth it. My father-in-law insisted I order a very big dessert, and has at every meal we've shared since then. Not that I'm complaining in the least, mind you.

On the third night we went to dinner with my mother and uncle. When we handed them their card, my mother stared at it for a moment. "Do you know what it is?" I asked her. She kept staring at it. "It's your grandchild." Her reaction was much the same of mine when I heard the heartbeat for the first time--it took about a day for the news to truly sink in. Since then, I think her excitement has grown exponentially. My uncle's reaction was classic--I'm pretty sure he jumped right out of his chair, cheering.

Word spread, and soon all the uncles and aunts and friends knew that our family would be expanding at the end of the summer. Telling everyone was the highlight of our holiday season--we were met with such enthusiasm and support that I was almost disappointed when we ran out of people to tell.

Soon after, we created this blog to keep all those enthusiastic people well informed--and well, you know the rest of the story.

As We Move Forward...A Look Back

I woke up content this morning. After six hours of being on my feet yesterday in an attempt to "walk the baby out" and a refusal to nap, I managed to get five straight hours of sleep last night...no small feat for someone who usually visits the bathroom every half hour. And while five hours doesn't seem like much, the fact that it all came at once was a welcome treat.

I laid in bed, listening to the birds sing outside the window and feeling the baby bounce around in my tummy. Not long now...

It made me think about the start of this adventure. Back in November, I was tired. Looking back, I really should have seen it coming. But I had just lost my job suddenly, making me rethink my career choice and life path, and I was a little blue. So I didn't think anything of it when I could hardly hold my eyes open at my niece's second birthday party, and had to have Husband retrieve a caffieinated drink for me during brunch. I didn't think anything of it a few days later, when I had errands to run and just couldn't drag myself out of bed. I cut my shopping list down to the bare minimum and headed out into the drizzly, chilly weather to CVS where I bought 3 cases of pepsi (they were on sale!), a box of cheese nips, laundry detergent and a pregnancy test.

We had been trying to start a family for awhile. We weren't being too particular about it--I was trying not to obsessively count cycle days and things like that--but I usually kept a home test on hand just in case. And they were on sale too--a three pack, which meant I wouldn't have to buy them for awhile. And, even though it was still early, I was pretty positive I would need them in the following months. I already felt crampy and cranky as I drove home.

So imagine my surprise several hours later when the little digital screen on the test lit up with the word "pregnant". I stared at it. I was so used to seeing "not pregnant" that for a minute my brain couldn't comprehend it. I had always had all of these grand ideas about how I was going to tell Husband we were expecting, but they all flew out of my head as I walked into the living room and said to him, "when you have a minute, I need to show you something."

Maybe it was my tone, or the look on my face, but he immediately stopped what he was doing. I held up the test. "It's positive," I said, and promptly burst into tears.

We didn't throw a party quite yet--about a year before I'd had a miscarriage and we were hesitant to get too excited too soon. So very calmly, I called my doctor and scheduled blood tests to make sure the correct hormone levels were going up. Four days later, after two pokes of a needle, a nurse called me.

"Your levels look great," she said. "They're going up just like they should."

And then, we were excited. The fact that I'd taken the test in the middle of the afternoon (not in the morning, as is suggested) and far before it should have been positive didn't mean there was something wrong. It meant there was something right.

Stay tuned for the second half of "A Look Back: Baby Tell Tour 2009".

Pregame

When we sent out invitations to our family baby shower, we asked people to join us for "the big game"--AKA, the birth of our baby boy. Well, sports fans, we have officially arrived at the pregame.

A successful visit to our doctor a few days ago brought the happy news that we are out of "pre-labor" and into actual labor--albeit the early stages. I am 70% effaced and 1-2 inches dilated, which means my body is doing what it should to get ready for the proverbial kickoff.

During pregame, players warm up so that when the time comes and the crowd is cheering and adrenaline is pumping, they can score points without thinking about it. In the same vein, my tummy is contracting very regularly and with increasing strength, so that when it matters, our little guy can make a smooth entrance into the world (toooouchdown, baby!).

The crowd during pregame is always super excited, and our family and friends are the same way. Everyone is waiting on pins and needles--Husband has a plan set up at work so he can leave at a moments notice on "vacation". Godparents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents check in on a regular basis. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them showed up in the hospital waiting room with big foam fingers.

Everyone knows that pregame is often the most exciting part of the game. The air is ripe with possibility. Everyone has energy. Anything could happen! No one is overheated from sitting in the hot stands, no one has spilled soda down the front of them, and no one feels sick from consuming too much game day food. The anticipation of getting to meet our little guy is almost unbearable, but in a good way--and I'm consuming as much pregame food as possible, because once that scoreboard clock starts ticking down, it's ice chips and saltines until way after the stands are empty.

So we're enjoying pregame as much as possible, because I know in a blink of an eye, it will be the end of the fourth quarter.

Our Little Man?....Not So Little.

After being told that baby boy could make an appearance within hours (or weeks), Husband and I came home from the hospital and focused on finishing up the last few things on our baby "to do" list. A trip to Target rounded out the last supplies we needed (wipes, baby lotion, and a glow worm--all totally necessary items) and we made sure our bags were packed with the items we absolutely could not do without. The day after our adventure in the hospital we arrived at our doctor's office, eager to see if there had been any change and to get a peek at our little guy and determine if he was in the right position.

Unfortunately, our appointment left us disappointed. There were no doctors available to see us, so we have agreed to have a midwife do the exam--we prefer doctors, but we figured in this case a midwife would be able to tell us what we needed to know. Then we found out I was going to be seen by a midwife resident--who I'm sure is fully qualified, but she wasn't prepared for a visit that was outside the ordinary 37 week visit, which ours definitely was.

She couldn't tell us where the baby was positioned, and couldn't tell if I was dilated because she didn't want to make me more uncomfortable than I already was. I felt like flicking her on the nose and telling her to heck with my discomfort and figure out what was going on, but I did not. As she walked out the door, she told us brightly, "well, go home and if you have the baby tonight, we'll know you were dilated!"

(For the record: I know having a baby is an imprecise art. I know there are no ways, outside of a scheduled C-section, to be able to tell when a baby will arrive. But please, PLEASE--don't say something like that to a woman who is 9 months pregnant, swollen all over and contracting every 10 minutes. Especially if you're a resident who doesn't even have an MD and has never had a baby. It will not be received well.)

So we headed home with no news to tell and an ultrasound appointment for the next morning. The ultrasound tech immediately put our C-section fears to rest as our son came into view on the little computer screen--head down, bum aimed towards my right arm, little feet on the left. We saw his little heart pumping away, could count toes and fingers, and saw that he was practicing "breathing" with his diaphragm--all good signs that he was happy and healthy. We got a nice shot of his profile, and the tech said he has chubby cheeks (I have no idea how she could tell). She took his measurements and plugged them into her fancy algorithm to estimate how much he weighs.

"Looks like he's at...oh," she paused when she saw the number. "7 pounds, 2 ounces. That's a big baby."

A big baby indeed! He's about a pound over the high end of average for his age. If he stays until he's full term, we could be looking at a baby who will check into this world at over 9 pounds.

And, despite the contractions that are still coming regularly and the other end-of-pregnancy discomforts, he seems quite content to stay where he is. Instead of obsessing over when he will make his appearance, I am trying to enjoy the time with Husband while it's still the two of us, put all the finishing touches on the nursery, and relax while I can.

Let the waiting game begin!